The Toughest Swim of All

A Farallon Island

People who know the geography of San Francisco City and County usually think of it as a seven mile by seven mile square at the northern tip of the San Francisco Peninsula.  The little known fact is that the City boundaries extend to include the Farallon Islands, a 211-acre archipelago of rocks and islands nearly due west of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Closed to the public and inhabited by only about a half dozen researchers, this area has legitimate claim to the title of "roughest neighborhood in the City."

Denizen of a Rough Neighborhood

"Every September, one of the world's largest and densest congregations of great white sharks assembles in the waters surrounding the Farallon Islands .... No one fully understands what this gathering represents, why great whites, the ocean's most solitary hunters, choose to reside for a period of time in such close quarters.  What's known for sure is that the sharks remain at this location for approximately three months."  This excerpt is from Susan Casey's book, The Devil's Teeth:  A True Story of Obsession and Survival Among America's Great White Sharks.  She goes on to say that Scot Anderson and Peter Pyle, researchers for the Farallon White Shark Project, recorded almost 80 attacks in the year 2000.

Sharks are only one reason that swimming between the Farallon Islands and the continental Pacific Coast is the toughest swim in the world.  The currents are a brutal deterrent to a successful crossing. In most famous open water swims such as the English Channel or the Hellespont, the current flows perpendicular to the swimmer.  In these cases, for a well-planned and well-executed swim, the current moves the swimmer sideways, but doesn't necessarily impede forward progress.  Not so for a Farallon Islands swim.  The land pinches in between Fort Point and the Marin Headlands to a distance of about a mile and a half.  The flow of water here is subject to the "Venturi Effect" where a fluid's velocity must increase as it passes through a constriction.  As a result, the maximum current at the gate exceeds five miles an hour.  Coincidentally, this is the maximum swimming speed ever recorded by a human over a very short distance.  For someone who has swum 26 miles from the islands through frigid water, even a slight ebb can throttle a successful attempt.  Timing an arrival to catch a flood tide is a dicey proposition given wind, waves, ocean current, and flagging swimmer speed.

Rough Water in the Potato Patch

The powerful currents create another obstacle.  The ebb tide shoots through the Golden Gate like the buckshot from a blunderbuss, scattering silt and piling it to form shallow areas just outside the gate called "the Potato Patch Shoal."  Openwaterpedia describes it as "an extraordinarily rough area of living hell for boaters, fishermen, and, especially, open water swimmers."  The shoal got its name in the 1800's when the crushing waves would capsize freighters, scattering their cargo of potatoes across the seascape.

Adding to the difficulty is the water temperature.  57 degrees Fahrenheit is considered cold in the English Channel.  This is balmy for the Farallones swim.  Some attempts encounter water as cold as 46 degrees.

"Stew" Evans

Only two people have successfully made a solo Farallon Islands swim.  The first, Lieutenant Colonel Stewart Evans, completed the swim under basic "English Channel" rules:  one swim cap, one standard swimsuit, goggles, and swimming untouched.  In August, 1967, he crawled ashore at Point Sonita, north of the Golden Gate after 13 hours and 44 minutes of swimming.  Current day English Channel swimmers would cringe at his diet of 7-Up and lemon Jello.  The caption on the video of his swim claims that he fulfilled the final dictum of Channel rules and went from "dry land to dry land."  That claim is suspect.  Jack Gordon writes of Col. Evan's start, "He crossed himself and I then fired the [starter] gun.  He tumbled over backwards into the water at 10:17 P.M. Pacific Daylight Saving Time." Col. Evans is still the only solo swimmer to finish on dry land. Since the Farallon Islands became a wildlife refuge in 1969, trespass by the public is now prohibited and a "land to land" swim is highly unlikely to ever happen.

Ted Erikson

Less than a month later, Ted Erikson, a legendary open water marathon swimmer, swam the longer distance from the Farallon Islands to the Golden Gate.  Like Stew Evans, he wore standard English Channel swimming attire as well as a specialized grease concoction.  Paul Girard was the official observer on behalf of the Dolphin Club.  He records in his log, "6:50 am:  Ted comes up from his bunk after taking a nap.  Frank Drum and I add two packs of shark repellant to the Chevron FM-2 grease he is to use.  It is a mess.  The grease is a blue-grey now and somewhat lumpy as though it had rocks in it.  I spend about 5 minutes picking out the larger stones and throwing them overboard.  The grease looks good."  After 14 hours and 38 minutes of swimming, Mr. Erikson reaches the Golden Gate bridge and Girard sets off a flare to signal completion of the swim.

In his log, Girard writes, "9:45pm:  He is still strong, but not strong enough to head for Aquatic Park.  We will bring him aboard after we cross under the bridge at the green lights or dead center."  Grumbling ensued among some of the Dolphin Club members at the time regarding the "water finish" in spite of Erikson having swum 9 and a half miles farther than Evans.  Today, the recently formed Farallon Islands Swimming Federation has decreed the Golden Gate bridge as the "official" start and finish line.

Stew Evans' account of the race

The first successful Farallon Islands relay completed a year later with a satisfying landing at Aquatic Park beach on September 9, 1968.   Conceived as a race between the South End Rowing Club and the Dolphin Club, South Ender Bob Roper and Dolphin Ed Duncan started swimming from the southeast Farallon island at exactly 11:09 pm.  Lew Cook, Conrad Liberty, Stew Evans, Bill Harlan, and Bob Jimenez from the Dolphin Club followed in succession, maintaining a constant lead.  At the end, the South End team, using dead reckoning as their navigation device, swam too far south and encountered a building ebb when they reached the Golden Gate forcing an end to their swim.  The Dolphins, on the other hand, were using LORAN to navigate and swam straight into the Golden Gate.  Pete Biannucci was piloting at the time in a wooden rowboat and frantically steered the swimmer away from the vortex that would have swallowed him at the South Tower of the bridge.  The Dolphin team achieved landfall when Conrad Liberty beat his way across a dying current to Aquatic Park beach for a team time of 14 hours and 54 minutes.

Subsequent solo and relay attempts from west to east have failed, one team even resorting to the use of wetsuits.  But, like the English Channel, swimming east to west is a less risky proposition.  The start can leverage a predictable slingshot effect from a strong ebb tide to shoot through the Golden Gate and squirt past the Potato Patch.  2011 saw the success of two relay teams utilizing this strategy.  On May 20, the co-ed team of Phil Cutti, Darin Connolly, Dave Holscher, Vito Bialla, John Mathews, and Kim Chambers made the crossing 43 years after the first one.  A couple weeks later, on June 4, 2011, Kim Chambers, Laura Vartain Horn, Cathy Delneo, Melissa King, Patti Bauernfeind, and Lynn Kubasek created history becoming the first all-women team to complete the Farallon Island swim.

West to east, east to west, Golden Gate Bridge, Bolinas Bay, or Aquatic Park beach:  This is still one tough swim.  The cold, the current, the wind.  And did I mention sharks?

Dolphins in the English Channel

Crossing the English Channel is widely regarded as the pinnacle of open water swimming. More people have climbed Mt. Everest than have successfully swum between England and France. I would argue that swimming from the Farralon Islands to San Francisco is a more dangerous, arduous, and rare endeavor. However, there's no question that a solo swim across what the French call "La Manche" is a crowning achievement.

The shortest distance between England and Europe is across the Dover Strait. This is a narrow band of water that forms an hourglass pinch in the English Channel. The bulk of cross-channel swims start at Shakespeare beach, just southwest of Dover Harbor since France has disallowed starts from their shores. The most favorable landfall would then be at Cap Gris Nez in France, a rocky promontory south of Calais, which pokes its grey nose towards England. A straight line from Shakespeare Beach to Cap Gris Nez is 18.15 nautical miles. As with most measures, international standards bodies have been tweaking the various definitions but, as of 1929, a nautical mile is the equivalent of 1.15 statute miles, making it 20.89 miles or 33,123.75 meters across for us landlubbers.

Captain Matthew Webb was the first English Channel swimmer. He succeeded using breaststroke in 1875 with a time of twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes. The fastest verified swim crossing is just under seven hours in 2007, a record held by a Bulgarian, Petar Stoychev. Michael Phelps set a world record in the 200 meter freestyle at the Beijing Olympics in 2008 with a time of slightly less than one minute and forty-three seconds. If Mr. Phelps could string one hundred sixty-six of these performances together in open water, he could cross the English Channel in about four and three-quarter hours.


Twenty-five Dolphins have completed this solo swim. Toufie Blaik was the first to succeed when he crossed in 16 hours and 5 minutes in 1953. Twenty-two years later, in 1985, Suzanne Heim became the second Dolphin to accomplish this feat in 10 hours and 11 minutes. The next year, she improved her time to 10 hours and 2 minutes. In 1990, John Davies bested this by one minute, a mark of which he was extraordinarily proud. In 2004, Si Bunting lowered the Dolphin record to 9 hours and 44 minutes. The latest fastest time is 8 hours and 33 minutes, swum by Laurin Weisenthal in 2009. The oldest swimmer was Peter Urrea when he crossed in 1996 at the age of fifty-six.

A large plaque in the Staib Room of the club honors all the members who made this swim. Unlike the Polar Bear plaque, there is more than enough room for future English Channel swimmers. Ninety-five open spaces await tomorrow's successful aspirants. At the current rate, Dolphins may not fill all the available spaces until the next century.

The Victorious Bull

Just like the water in the bay, the population of men sitting in the sauna at any one time ebbs and flows. To some extent, these variations are predictable. On this particular morning, however, several more men than usual were warming themselves after a morning swim and chatting away amiably. During a lull in the hubbub, Joe Mannion declared, "The best tapas I've ever eaten were in Spain." The air was instantly peppered with shouts of, "The best sushi I ever had was in Japan!" "The best kimchi I ever had was in Korea!" The best borscht I ever had was in the Ukraine!"

Eventually, we exhausted our knowledge of local dishes and their origins. Joe patiently waited for the laughter and jibes to subside, leaned forward in his engaging way, and said, "Well, what I should have said is that I had a tapas dish in Spain that I don't think you can get anywhere else." Having skillfully regained the attention of the sauna inhabitants, he continued. "I was in Madrid and asked the waiter for something special and he said, 'Si señor, something special for you.' When the waiter came back, he put a plate down and said, 'This is huevos del toro.' I knew just enough Spanish to know that he had said these were 'eggs of the bull' so I told him they seemed very small for bull eggs. They were no bigger than golf balls. The waiter smiled and said, 'Aveces, señor, el toro gana,' and walked away."

A chuckle burbled among a couple of men as their various competencies in Spanish kicked in. Fortunately, Ivan Balarin, a native of Peru was there to translate, "Sometimes, the bull wins."

We erupted in guffaws laced with winces. Ivan began waving his arms in a "slow down" motion and said, "No, no, no. I have to tell you. I was participating in a skydiving tournament in Spain and I saw the bull win." By now, we were on edge for another punch line but Ivan was adamant, "No, no. I tell you. I don't like bullfights, but my friend said we have to go. And the bull, first thing, it knocks down three picadore horses. Bang! Bang! Bang! Knocks them right to the ground, man! You never seen anything like it! Then the bull jumps into the stands and starts to charge around. People were running like crazy, man. And there was a cameraman in the stands and he's looking through his video camera and he's looking all over trying the find the bull and the bull comes up behind him where he can't see him and BOOM! The bull knocks the cameraman right into the arena and jumps in after him. Boy! that cameraman really ran for his life. So then, the matador comes in and the bull just charges him and stabs him with his horns. Just KILLS that matador, man! Oh, my gosh. That day the bull won, man!"

Of course, we had to know. Did they let the bull live? Ivan said, "Yes. I think so. Yes. I'm sure they did."

Aveces el toro gana, I guess.

Polar Bear Champions

The perpetual trophy that honors Polar Bear champions since the winter of 1984-1985 was obviously not envisioned to last over twenty years. Perhaps the originator figured that sanity would ultimately prevail and the need for the trophy would fade. Indeed, the trophy case in the Staib Room of the Dolphin Club is littered with "perpetual" trophies that have outlived their usefulness and the memory of why they exist in the first place.

The Polar Bear trophy is not one of these. The brass plates that name the champions and their distance swum once adorned the plaque in regular and symmetrical columns and rows. Not any more. They are tacked in random order onto any available space whether vertical or horizontal. Eventually the plaque must be augmented or replaced, the madness must stop, or the obsessed must go unrecognized. Taken directly from the current haphazard landscape of the trophy and hand-transferred to paper and then to computer, here are the records to date:

I certainly don't expect the madness to stop and it would be a shame to have the obsessed go unrecognized. Perhaps this will be the year that the trophy gets an overhaul.

The Space Between the Ears

Non-bay swimmers regularly ask, "Why do you do it?" News commentators sometimes report on swim events or newsworthy phenomena such as sea lion attacks. When interviewing a top competitor on the beach, this is a question that's almost guaranteed. The broadcasting team back in the studio will collectively shudder and declare, "Those folks are crazy," or "That's not for me."

One way to describe the total experience of swimming in cold water is to compare it to drinking an excessive amount of alcohol. The sequence of sensations is inverted. For people who like their spirits, that first sip is delightful and refreshing. As the drinking continues, a pronounced euphoria settles in. Next comes the stumbling and the mumbling. Then comes the savage headache, the aching muscles, and the lethargic miasma that can last most of a day.

Swimming in the bay on the other hand starts with the pain. When the water is below 50 degrees, wading into the ocean feels like someone has wrapped a huge pair of vice-grip pliers around your shins and is exerting a massive squeeze. Immersing the chest is slamming your torso into a cement wall. When the heads goes into the water, ice cream headaches can ensue.

After five to fifteen minutes, though, the weightless gliding, the natural beauty, the watery caress and a sense of peace settle in. Climbing out on the beach later often includes a little stumbling. The frozen jaw and lips make communication sound like a drunken mumble. Then, with a warm shower and a sit in the sauna, the body reaches a tipping point. Suddenly, you're no longer cold and the feeling is much like that first sip of cold beer on a hot summer day after mowing the lawn. The subsequent euphoria can last well into the afternoon.

Conrad von Blankenburg once told me with great sincerity that the Dolphin Club has saved the lives of many people. I believe him. If it hasn't saved my life, it has certainly made it much richer. Joe Schatz says the club is "an oasis of mental hygiene." The National Geographic's term for what we experience in the bay is, "a wilderness experience in an urban setting." I think of it as pushing a large button labeled "clear and reset" every day. In any case, for many of us, the effort is only partly about physical exertion. It's much more about what happens between the ears.

George Freeberg's Poem

Walt Schneebli and Rich Cooper have recently completed a painstaking process. They scanned the entire collection of Dolphin Club logs since 1949 and loaded them onto an internet archival site. Their generous effort affords anyone with an interest in club history an opportunity to stroll down a watery memory lane with the click of a button.

I was doing some research for a blog entry and came across the favorite poem of member George Freeberg, published on the occasion of his death in the June, 1974 edition of the Dolphin Log. This is his poem:

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older, and will someday be old.

Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject, and on every occassion.

Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details, give me wings to get to the point.

I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others' pains.  Help me to endure them with patience.

But seal my lips on my own aches and pains:  they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet:  I do not want to be a saint--some of them are so hard to live with--but a sour old man/woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.

Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy.  With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all--but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

On the cusp of turning 60 years old, myself, I related to the sentiment he expressed and thought it worth sharing.

2012 Polar Bear Results

The results from the 2011-2012 Polar Bear swim are published. 119 folks completed the full forty miles. Another 11 people who are over 60 years old swam 20 miles or more to qualify for "Old Goat" status. The Polar Bear champion this year is John Nogue. He swam 165 miles. As is typical, a story accompanies John's achievement.

Mr. Nogue teaches biology and anatomy to college students Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Since he lives in Napa, this means that he could only swim two days during the week on Tuesday and Thursday.  On the weekend, he'd swim on Saturday and/or Sunday, depending on the demands of domestic duties. On swim days, he drove to the club and began swimming about 8 am. He'd typically swim two miles and head for the sauna to warm up. Then he'd swim another mile and a half and warm up again. Then he'd swim another mile and a half and warm up yet again. The triple-dip kept him at the club until around noon. I presume he was quite ready for lunch by then. This routine strikes me as a tough way to win the Polar Bear championship.

Polar Bear Champion Trophy

One year, I was sitting in the sauna next to Rich Livingston, a previous Polar Bear champion. He had noticed that my squares were piling up compared to the other participants and asked me if I intended to win the Polar Bear that year. I told him there was no chance of my taking that honor, but I was kind of interested in swimming at least 100 miles. He nodded sagely and then boomed in his pronounced baritone, "Ah yes. I call that the 'Golden Bear.'" The club doesn't officially recognize Golden Bears but I think they definitely deserve an honorable mention.

This year, Joe Illick, Ross Browne, and Alex Buehlmann garnered Golden Bears. At the age of 77, this is Mr. Illick's thirteenth Golden Bear. Since the year 2000, he has won the Polar Bear five times. One year, he swam over 200 miles and still came in second. In the annals of Polar Bear history, Joe is a standout.

A perpetual trophy honors past Polar Bear champions. The first winner was Elmer Tosta who swam 101.5 miles in the winter of 1984-85. The next year, George Kebbe won with 200 miles. The year after that, Stan Hlynsky set yet another record with 230 miles in a famously ferocious battle with George. Mr. Hlynsky's mark stood until 1992-93 when he helped (or possibly goaded) his friend, Patrick Freilinger, to swim 232 miles. Three years later, George Kebbe returned to eclipse this mark with 255 miles. At the time, the irrepressible George laughed his infectious cackle and said to me, "Larry, you think anyone will ever beat that? I don't think so." And then he wandered into the locker room trailing his famous guffaw.

Surprising everyone, Suzie Dods did break his record in the winter of 2002-03. She swam 256 miles. It was a stunner. On average, this feat requires a person to swim a little less than 3 miles every single day of the 90 days of winter. No vacation. No sickness. No slacking. The fact that two human beings were capable of accomplishing this in 50 degree water caused all observers to shake their heads in wonder.

To people who know George, it was no wonder that he took this as a challenge. He had already won the Polar Bear five times. He was now determined to put the record on a shelf no one could reach. In the winter of 2003-04, he swam 356 miles. Holding a full-time job, he came early every morning to swim two miles. He'd go to work and return in the evening to swim two more miles. He plowed the measured distance between the Oprah and the Flag like a machine. Four times in the morning. Four times in the afternoon. Unbelievable. Once again, he said to me, "Larry, you think anyone will ever beat that? I don't think so. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA."

So far, no one has broken that record. However, in the winter of 2006-07, Ralph Wenzel tied it. He also swam 356 miles. Ralph also worked full-time and he also swam every morning and every evening. Resisting the encouragement of many people to do a little more on the last day of the Polar Bear, he politely declined, "No, I have too much respect for George to break his record. I'm satisfied with a tie." In one way, I was hoping for a new mark. That would have meant that we'd have the pleasure of George's company in the sauna for one more winter.

One other Polar Bear record was broken this year. Vincent Huang extended his own record, completing his 34th consecutive winter swim of 40 miles or more. Not yet 60 years old, if Vincent stays the course as long as Joe Illick has, he may be the person to finally set the unbreakable record. It's hard to tell since it's quite apparent that so many obsessive-compulsive people belong to the club.