first swim in the Strait

first swim near tierra del fuego.

black dolphins flying against the current to the pier as we strip by the roadside. Scott, Cris and I wade into the thick purple kelp, colder than it felt last night and then we are up to our waists. tentative between the bits of rusty metal and mussels along the bottom, we stand a moment, feeling the wind. Cris and I dive at the same moment, and then we are swimming.

moments and my nose scrapes bottom. the three of us laughing, standing, walking through sandy shallows and then deeper again, calves, knees, and we are adjusting our goggles and off again to the pier, chasing the dolphins through thick kelp. Scott is yards ahead; Cris and I catch him just beyond the pier. we flame red. five minutes.

and off again, in the other direction. I panic after a brief entanglement with ruddy white-spotted kelp. it's shallow. I spot the hull of a boat, buried; a beer can, golden; crabs lurching in the waves. Cristian spys a boot, left foot.

I'm not cold, but I'm cold. suddenly we're far from shore, and flying south with the current. the water tastes less salty than last night, and is incredibly clear. Cris and I swim head to head until it begins to get shallow, as Claudia had warned us it would.

We turn and sprint into the current, a totally different light, storm light. a sudden wind breaks up the surface and my mouth is full of cold smooth ice. back to the pier, this time in strangely small but violent chop, and I pull into Cristian's draft to avoid the kelp. it is there, deep fuchsia waving like thick heads of hair along the bottom.

at the pier, I realise that I am cold- whether from exhaustion, relaxation, flight, or just the cold, cold water. the straits are calm again. we turn, swim to scott, and head in. thirty minutes-- our longest swim in 40 degrees yet. I shiver for what seems like nearly an hour. Tomorrow, we'll meet with the Armada, then attempt a full hour before meeting Anu at the airport...

the end of the Americas

after three takeoffs and three landings on the airbus, arrival in Punta Arenas. A warm reception from Claudia and Carlos of Chile Deportes, the woman from the government sports agency who is hosting our swim. It's windy and sunny and about forty degrees cooler than Santiago.

a stop at our training-beach-to-be. Cristian and I slip off boots and shoes and nervous-ecstatic roll up our pantlegs. The waters of the Strait, chilly and a brilliant choppy swirl of turquoise and purple, tasting of salty kelp, slowly numbing my feet. the wind howls and screeches against the electric-blue sky.

The taste of seafood, locos and centolla, bringing out subtle nuances of the sea, tastes one often finds in the complex flavor of the water while swimming. by the second bottle of wine, 10.30 at night. the surreal cerulean light, tinged with indigo, of a sun that doesn't quite set at 11, and teases its way back up at 5.

the desolation, the strangeness of a city by the sea, where the weather varies from minute to minute in a perpetual winter that leaves a heavy mark even on the summer. prehistoric trees, strange groves, primary colours against the sky and Strait, an endless palette of greys and blues.

it's the end of the earth. journeys from east to west are dramatic. journeys to the extremities of north and south are another planet-- as if we hover nearer to space, in a world of wind, speed, cold, light.

in a land far, far away...

meanwhile, back in Coney Island...


while we summer in Chile....

impressions of punta arenas

011809

back in New York, Michael reports-- dear Michael! without whom swimming becomes slightly less lighthearted-- he and Jonathan braved sheets of ice along the beach, 12-degree air and 34-degree water. perfect arctic conditions. it's really amazing how we have the ability to experience this sort of training in our hometown-- and at the same beach that becomes our living room, our bar, our gym in the summer months. I am inclined to say that I would rather swim there than anywhere else in the world. and it's not just training-- there is no particular goal involved. it's just beautiful, and crazy, and challenging, and continually presents itself as a new opportunity to stretch and overcome limitations of all sorts.

so how on earth did we end up here, on a bunk bed in the Chile Deportes hostel, the wind howling and shuddering around our slight refuge? what does this mean?

someone in our party, donning jackets after dinner, catches a bottle of wine which explodes on the floor with a bang. Libations, christenings, weddings come to mind. the black dolphins in the strait. children playing along the shore beside the hulls of rusted old ships as the clouds re-array their whiteness and wine-blue haze against a sunnyraining sky. all good omens, if omens. again, the tendency to overinfuse with meaning-- though Cristian and I, at least, are inclined to resist that sort of romanticism. the Lautmans, merry, witty, vacationing, have a different style.

the chop we saw from the airplane was terrifying: whitecaps as far as the eye could see, even from 15000 feet. the weather here turns on a dime.

it's going to be a tough swim.

expectations of Magallanes

The miracle of aviation always brings me instinctively to the threshold of prayer. Still, after years of feeling religious all the way down a runway, I never get beyond that point without stopping and questioning this reaction.

I'm usually struck by the meaninglessness of particular words or actions that come to mind. Invoking one god or another, muttering this benediction or that, solemnly or otherwise-- these are all pretty pointless. They might make sense in attempts to relate the feeling of a momentous action, but trying to feel a connection to a greater being, for me, doesn't have much to do with religion. I can bismillah- and sh'ma my way across the strait, crossing myself between strokes, but it won't do a damn thing if the ocean changes, or if my mind or body fails me.

The control of my mind, on the other hand, is certainly my own, and if I choose to call on something or another within myself, or to generate some sort of vibe in my head and body, that's another story. In cold water, these things are so present, so urgent, that I prefer to leave it bare-bones, unnamed.

This reminds me of my first Hudson swim, which had me terrified and shaking for nearly two weeks beforehand. All for naught? I'm not sure whether I would have been as mentally prepared had I not gone through the fear. In the end, the swim was a wonderful, light experience from the minute I jumped in the water.

As for fear, this swim around, I've been so busy these past two weeks that I've barely had time to sleep, let alone think about anything. On Tuesday, Cristian called up to tell me about a katabatic wind current known as a williwaw.


The williwaw blows off Antarctic mountains, creating micro-hurricanes on the Strait. The pernicious wind gust apparently plucked a Mexican swimmer from the strait, 800 meters from her goal, and slammed her back down into the water, displacing the meniscii of her knees and cracking her lumbar into little bits.

This strange wind only happens in Magallanes and around the Aleutian Islands, off Alaska. It sounds almost supernatural. We are clearly headed into very wild territory, very unknown territory for swimmers.

Relaxing today in Santiago with Cristian's family, the reality of the swim grows and fills my mind. I've rarely been so focused in travelling; I can't wait until tomorrow to get down to Punta Arenas and see what we're really getting into.

Now that we have a small entourage, I'd like introduce them, briefly:

Anuradha Bhagwati and I went to Yale together, though we were barely even acquainted-- we played in the Symphony together. I spotted her on the beach at the CIBBOWS race, Grimaldo's Mile, in August, and we've been in touch since then. She'll be writing an article and has already proven herself an extremely thoughtful journalist over hours at the beach with Cris, Jonathan, Michael and myself.

Patricia Sener is a dear friend at this point, though I still remember her as we were introduced, four beers into a post-race party, singing karaoke in a wife-beater simply labeled CONEY ISLAND POLAR BEARS. We are fast friends, swim-buddies, team-mates. She is probably one of the only true open-water photographers, and will be bringing her considerable talent to our story, as well as looking out for us in the Strait and otherwise. And blogging: Salty Tales

Between these two intrepid journalists and our own documentation, verbal and photographic, this swim should be pretty well covered.

The New York Times sent a reporter to the beach with us on Wednesday-- that's yesterday, though it feels like last week-- to watch while we gave the 15 below coats a first run. He seemed a little underwhelmed. At least the story will be getting out. The coats are excellent, well-designed and warm-- much moreso after the swim than before. We only took a dip, just about ten minutes, but it was a nice one. the water was very clear, and the air was pretty nippy: around 22 degrees, minus windchill.

Thursday morning I held the newborn baby of dear friends-- Kabir. Standing by a picture window overlooking the snow-globe of the West Side, this little tiny sleeping head rolling about in my tricep, I wondered at the innocence, and the potential- a little person, with no knowledge of snow, or cold. Several hours later, a plane crash-landed in the Hudson, leaving 150 people inches from the chilly waters-- no doubt a terrifying experience. The world is a strange and many-colored adventure.

All of this brings me back to the basic notion I was trying to get at before: cold-water swimming will really straighten out your spiritual priorities pretty quick. It's just you out there. Even with training partners you love and trust, with no competition, and intense support for one another in and out of the water, it's still everyone for herself. You are in charge of your body and your mind. It's up to you not just to keep a tight watch on every physiological sensation; you must also be aware of how psychology affects that, and balance accordingly. Finding and keeping this balance is where the connection to a larger cause comes in: only in this case, the Great External is natural-- the ocean-- and the Deep Internal is right there, naked in the cold, accessible, unavoidable.

After the Manhattan Marathon swim this July, I recall a conversation with Cristian, something about channel-swimming. He leaned in, to impart yet another brilliant gem of open-water philosophy: you have to be very, very comfortable with yourself to do long swims. That definitely goes for cold as well.

I'm thrilled to announce that we've teamed up with a great cause: the
15 below project, a Canadian-based initiative to provide weatherproof parkas for the homeless. They have distributed 3,000 free coats on the streets of the US and Canada, on behalf of the advertising firm Taxi.

The 15 below jacket, the brainchild of Taxi's creative director Steve Mykolyn and designer Lida Baday, is an all-season, lightweight coat to be given free to the homeless across Canada and the U.S. The coat is easily insulated with newsprint: newspaper is tightened into balls and stuffed into the coat's inner pockets.

The coat is made from Aquamax, a waterpoof, breathable fabric laminated with a nonporous membrane. Mykolyn tried out the garment during an eight-hour test in a meat freezer, and stayed warm through temperatures that dipped as low as -29 degrees Celsius (-20.2 F).

We will be sporting these innovatively-designed parkas to warm up before and after our Strait of Magellan swim (water temperature around 40 degrees) later this month.

Over months of cold-water jaunts, Cristian and I have learned the immense importance of restoring and maintaining warmth after winter exposure. We have read extensively about hypothermia, core temperature and so-called 'survival thresholds' for ocean waters. We watch each other carefully for the warning signs of hypothermic danger, and take care to leave the beach quickly to replenish our lost body heat indoors-- a luxury.

This cold-water challenge is within reach because we have learned, with careful training and utmost attention, to withstand cold, and to understand the process of reversing the cold. We also have the resources to regulate and maintain our body temperature against the elements.

Others not only lack respite from the cold; they live in it, night and day.

The 15 below project is close to our hearts, and to our cores. We have experienced extremes of cold that can kill. Before we swim, and when we exit the water, we wear warm outer clothes that will retain and replenish our body heat.

Rather than our usual parkas, for our Strait of Magellan attempt, we will use 15 below jackets.

The 15 below project is seeking corporate sponsorship to take over production and distribution of the coats.

For more information about the 15 below project:

www.15belowproject.org

Four American swimmers to attempt Strait of Magellan crossing from the End of the Americas to Tierra del Fuego

On the 20th, 21st or 22nd of January, 2009, four American swimmers will attempt a crossing of the Strait of Magellan, from the end of the Americas to Tierra Del Fuego in Punta Delgada, Chile.

The swimmers are: R. Cristian Vergara, 50, a Chilean-American accountant and accomplished distance-swimmer from Brooklyn; Rachel Golub, 32, a New-York based musician and writer; Mark Lautman, 59, Chair of the Economic Development Commission of New Mexico and coach of 1972 Olympic gold medalist Cathy Carr; and his brother, Olympic trials finalist and 200-meter butterfly world-record holder (50-55) Scott Lautman, 55, Human Resources Manager for Alaska Airlines in Seattle. The four will swim the icy, choppy waters in simple bathing suits, caps and goggles, with escort boats provided by the Chilean Armada.

The water temperature will be close to 4 degrees celsius, or 40 degrees fahrenheit. The swimmers will be in the water for one hour or more, depending on conditions, swim speed, and currents over the 2.4-mile distance. Only two swimmers have successfully completed the crossing, which is complicated by strong currents, unpredictable weather, and frigid water temperatures.

Mr. Vergara and the Lautman brothers have numerous worldwide adventure swims under their belts. Ms. Golub, a relative newcomer to open-water swims, has been training year-round at Brighton Beach in Brooklyn, New York with Mr. Vergara. She is optimistic about the swim: "when we realised that we were capable of raising our cold-endurance threshold, we set upon a common dream: to complete a swim that very few have done, distinguished by Antarctic currents-- an environment inhospitable to both people and ships. In the spirit of Fernando de Magallanes and the intrepid Portuguese explorers, we are setting out on a great adventure in Nature. This challenge is within reach because we have learned, with careful training and utmost attention, to balance our minds and acclimate our bodies for cold-water swimming."

For their crucial pre- and post-swim warm-ups, Vergara, Golub and the Lautmans will be using parkas by the 15 below project, a weatherproof, lightweight all-season garment designed for free distribution to the homeless by Canadian advertising firm Taxi. The coat is easily insulated with newspaper, tightened into balls and stuffed into the coat's Aquamax shell, which folds up into a backpack. In initial tests, the coat retained warmth for eight hours in temperatures as low as -29 degrees Celsius (-20.2 F).

"Rachel, our two other training partners and I have all read extensively about hypothermia, core temperature and so-called 'survival thresholds' for ocean waters," says Vergara. "Unlike many who suffer the elements day in and day out, we are lucky to have the resources to experiment with extremes of temperature in a controlled situation. The 15 below project, which reaches out to the homeless, is close to our hearts, and to our cores."

For more information about the 15 below project:

www.15belowproject.org