Magellan Swimmers try Beagle Channel in 2010

Four American swimmers to attempt January 2010 Beagle Channel crossing between Chile and Argentina, with support from Chilean Armada and Claudia Molkembuhr of Chiledeportes

In the third week of January, a trio from Brooklyn's Coney Island Brighton Beach Open Water Swimmers (CIBBOWS), together with a swim-partner from Seattle, will go after another frigid success to augment their 2009 Strait of Magellan swim: a Beagle Channel crossing. R. Cristian Vergara, 51, a Chilean-American accountant and accomplished distance-swimmer from Brooklyn, NY; Rachel Golub, 33, a New-York based musician and writer; and Olympic trials finalist and 200-meter butterfly world-record holder (50-55) Scott Lautman, 56, Human Resources Manager for Alaska Airlines in Seattle will swim the icy, choppy waters in simple bathing suits, caps and goggles. They will also be joined by another intrepid year-round CIBBOWS swimmer, Patricia Sener, 43, a photographer and casting director from Brooklyn, who was on the crew for their January 2009 Magellan swim.

The four are extremely grateful to Claudia Molkembuhr, a program director for Chiledeportes, without whom neither swim would have been possible. Molkembuhr has singlehandedly managed logistics and liaisoned with the Armada, making two extraordinary swims tangible for the team.

The swim will head North from Puerto Williams, Cabo de Hornos, Chile--the southernmost town in the world, just 75 miles from the last island of South America-- to Ushuaia, Argentina, on the Big Island of Tierra del Fuego.

Chiledeportes, the Chilean Sports Ministry that organised the Strait of Magellan swim last January, has enlisted the Chilean Armada to support the swim. The organisation runs athletic programs for children, young adults and professional athletes across Chile.

"We anticipate that water temperature will be close to 4 degrees celsius, or 39.2 degrees fahrenheit," says Vergara. "Having swum for nearly two hours in those conditions on our Strait of Magellan crossing, we're confident that we'll be able to succeed in the Beagle Channel as well, though it certainly won't be any less physically or mentally challenging".

In fact, some of the most difficult challenges surrounding such a swim are logistical. Chiledeportes representative Claudia Nelyda Molkhembur Sapunar (Region de Magallanes) will co-ordinate with the Armada to determine which day will have the best weather, organise the escort boats and recruit coast guard personnel. The swim requires a large and well-coordinated support team of at least ten, as well as a large ship and several smaller boats.

"Serious training and cold-water acclimation are required for even a short swim in water under 40 degrees, but the exhilaration of swimming in such a remote place and our apparently freakish talent for cold tolerance took us across the Strait of Magellan in twice the time we'd anticipated", Golub weighs in. "We are really hoping to find clean waters there, but pollution taints even the most remote wilderness these days, and the Beagle Channel sees plenty of shipping traffic. I think I speak for all of us when I say that this swim is about re-asserting our connection with our environment, albeit in a rather extreme manner." Golub is developing a musical instrument that will play bodies of water in real time, using oceanographic data, to transpose the concept and emotions of the swim into music.

The swimmers will be in the water for at least one hour, depending on conditions, swim speed, and currents over the 3-mile distance. Only Lynne Cox, the pioneer of cold-water distance swimming, has successfully completed the crossing, which is complicated by strong currents, unpredictable weather, and frigid water temperatures. There are also pernicious katabatic winds in the Beagle: the uniquely ferocious and unpredictable Williwaw gusts up to 200 knots, coming off of the Andes under compression.

Cox did the initial swim in 1990 as a way to promote co-operation between the Chilean and Argentine Armadas in a region that has been plagued by bitter border disputes since the land was initially settled in the mid-20th century.

Team jackets have been graciously provided by Patagonia.

countdown to puerto williams

we leave in just over two weeks for Santiago.

this is one of these crazy moments in life when I feel poised to spring in about seventeen different directions. a week abed watching movies- I never knew Cool Hand Luke was such a religious parable!-- leaves me surprisingly fresh-minded, which is a good thing, because there's just too much about to happen: my vocal coming-out performance; some chamber-orchestra recording sessions; my record release in March; our trip South. I'm holding tight to the old adage that Lance always quotes: it's better to be fifteen percent undertrained than one percent overtrained. That's a grand thing, in my case, since I've been either working or ill so often this past month that I've only made it to the ocean two or three times. Time will tell. Stay tuned here for more details.

the beagle has landed...

our swim dates aren't totally confirmed, but my travel plans are...southheading once again this january, arriving a month from today in Santiago, Chile, and with the incredible assistance of the intrepid Claudia Molkhembur Sapunar (of Chiledeportes, the Chilean ministry of sports) we have again enlisted the support of the Armada in Punta Arenas and Puerto Williams. We plan to swim from Puerto Williams, Chile, to Ushuaia, Argentina-- a distance of at least 3 miles in similar temperatures to the Strait of Magellan. We'd initially hoped to attempt a double crossing, but the distance doesn't seem short enough for that to be feasible (plus, getting out and back in to 38- or 39-degree water would be psychologically complex). Lynne Cox, my heroine in more ways than one, is the only woman who attempted and accomplished this swim. Lynne did the crossing in the early 90s, as a way to encourage co-operation between the Argentinian and Chilean Armadas (Coast Guard) at a time when the two countries were in bitter dispute over this remote southern area. Our goals are more personal, and have more to do with the challenge presented by the elements, the environment, and the joy of our ability to do these swims. We are also so thrilled to have Claudia on our team making this swim happen!

Sponsorship from Patagonia, the clothing company, is pending, and we are thankful to Kristo Torgersen for his help and support.

Water temperatures in NYC have reached the low 40s. It looks like we may be heading into the 30s by early 2010-- a rapid drop compared to last year. My body is ready for the challenge, but the initial cold days will test my endurance for pain in my hands. Luckily for my violin career, there doesn't seem to be any long-term damage from regular training in the 30s, as long as we don't stay in over 20 minutes. That's about a quarter-mile sprint, for those of you who might ask how far we swim when the water hits 32. We would swim longer, but we still have to get something on and make it up the beach! Even more pressing, i often have to rush off to play a concert somewhere.

I still haven't found my haute-couture bikini sponsor, sadly...

the thaw

summertime, and it's back to the grand old routine of the pool- both indoor and outdoor, thanks to the proximity of the majestic astoria pool-- how I love the scent of the old, open-air showers in the early morning-- and long swims and cold beers on the beaches of brooklyn. I'm considering a new approach to this blog...and also looking into some more long, cold swims for the coming winter.

34 degrees of Coney Island

Last night, rounding out the end of our celebratory return week, a slide-show and pisco sours in Brooklyn, putting together the story in pictures.

I assemble my own in words in my head on the subway, the street, over coffee, in bed; then the party, and I finish the night in Patricia's magical round room overlooking Norton Point, sprawled on a furry rug wrapped in blankets and sea-beach-white-wood glow. Waking to the sight and smell of the ocean, lazing in a heap of furblanketcoffee and excellent company of my host, it occurs to me that this is the sort of space that one wakes to and marvels how did my life lead up to this particular morning, where I awake in a white, round temple of Victoriana by the sea, as comfortable and happy as I've ever been? from Cristian's warm, lived-in mansion to Patricia's beachfront castle-in-the-waves, I think of my own New York City dreamhouse: the old Piano and Adirondack Chair factory on Hallet's Cove, a maritime-industrial garret overlooking the little beach and the sculpture park.

Then it's nine, then ten, and eleven-- time has been eaten by words, and we're off to the beach again.

and back to the chill, on a balmy day in the midst of deep-winter ocean. this water is cold. thirty-four degrees burns the skin of the thighs despite the sunshine. Hassidic man on the beach-- turkish-style fur cap-- watches intently, hands in pockets, as BorisPatriciaMichaelJonathanCristianMe strip, thankful for nowind as opposed to breezy-freezy yestermorn. Waves hit the shore in a perfect parallel, not diagonal to the northeast as they often roll across into Jamaica bay midwinter. we can smell the sea today.

this water is cold. I put my palms in and wince a little inside, but the day is so clear and bright and beautiful, the mood so relaxed, and my mind still so calm and undaunted that I feel I can really enjoy the swim. Jonathan shines next to me in the sunlight on the way to the shark-- the little rock that defines our shortest possible distance. as usual, there are some figures on the beach, seemingly drawn toward the water, walking with us. I don't feel particularly fast, just relaxed. mentally, it's much easier to ease into this momentary swim, probably just ten minutes, without needing to sprint as I did before Magellan. About halfway to the shark, the small muscles in my palms begin to twitch lightly. My hands feel thick. Not numb, but hard, like ice. I consider closing my fists to ease the feeling, but decide against it-- it will be crunchy and will upset me unnecessarily. I turn my focus to the rest of me, which, with the exception of crunch frozen, twitching calf muscle, is perfectly warm and happy. there is no pain in my neck, eyes, or head. the only problem with this swim is my hands. boris, cristian, jonathan and I line up at the shark. my hands are twitching, I tell Jonathan. we are all still smiling. he holds up his hands and waves them. they pop. we shrug, and start back. I can't feel my hands to pull water, which makes my stroke feel rather unproductive, but I'm still moving, so I stretch out and cruise back to our clothes. I love jogging out of the water in the winter. my frozen hands-- fishsticks, Cristian calls his--- are tucked into my underarms. people stop and stare, beam, comment. many ignore us. towel around the shoulders; one, two boots; a sweater; and we're off the beach in seconds.

it's amazing how much we've acclimated to this cold. It barely troubles me, other than the weird stinging numbness of my hands. It's not until after we sit and chat with boris for about ten minutes that I shiver, very mildly, for less than a minute. soon afterwards, hungrysleepy all at once, and our merry band grown to six chatters away until we all go our separate ways, to the rest of our sunday.

the return journey

and finally, leaving.

not to mention finally sober, after one too many pisco sours with dinner, roadside strawberries and rasp-, and hundreds of congratulatory emails.

visiting Cristian's family farm in Rapel, southwest of santiago, first in a whirlpool of urban madness at the airport, not yet ready, then let down gently in a brilliant landscape of galaxy-stars and dusty eucalyptus along the drive. Patricia and I marvel at the air and I am so relaxed-- steakwinecountryside and most of all success-- that I can barely keep myself vertical. strawhorse-hair pillow perhaps the best I've ever had. zamindars, landed gentry, Patricia and I awake and jokingly embrace, giggling, until Cristian brings the coffee.

a snowy dog, unusually vocal and loveable, keeps us company through morning hotdrinks, pan amasado and copious doses of honey. Cristian's tiny, spry father takes us on a tour of his property by boat. I look out nervously for tarantulas, despite knowing that they are relatively harmless.

it seems like aeons since we parted ways with the Lautmans. I miss Scott's dark-tinged good humour.

empanadas, a detour for handicrafts, argentine dinner and extra-strength pisco sours, and we're off again to santiago, changing into winter clothes and finally accessing the internet in the lounge.

suddenly headachingly sober, I find myself right back where I started, breathing invocations on an escalating aeroplane, mercifully seat-mate-less in a spacious exit row-- i'll swim for help! -- and back to the marvelous feeling of a new bookmark in life, a fresh launching-point.

photo: Leopoldo Espinoza Vera

los nadadores que cruzaron...

photos: Leopoldo Espinoza Vera

los nadadores que cruzaron....

La Prensa Austral: Cruzaron a nado el estrecho de Magallanes

are at the moment enjoying the afterglow of many bottles of wine and a fantastically roasted lamb in the company of the wonderful extended family and home of Claudia Nelyda Molkembuhr Sapunar, our brilliant host, who has taken on the production of this swim under the aegis of Chile Deportes...

our swim, assisted by the Armada de Punta Arenas and a wonderful armada of tonino-- Magallanes dolphins-- and penguins, was more than successful. it was positively magical, beginning with calm, then sandwiched between severe storms, ending in a tranquil sea with laughing dolphins accompanying the boats to shore.

Scott finished first in 1 hour, 18 minutes, and Mark, Cristian and I, after battling offshore currents and whirlpools, landed about 100 yards apart around 1 hour 53 minutes.

The water was 40 degrees.