Swimming to Antarctica (17 page)

What this did, though, was to enable us to study the current alongshore by watching the movement of kelp in the water. The kelp was stretched completely out, at right angles to the shore. That meant that the current was whipping around the cove, moving at full bore, at nine knots. Tides were going to be critical in this swim, and our success would depend on the way we crafted our course.

John and I were very concerned that the current flowing into the strait from the Atlantic would be so strong that it would push me too far west, to an area where the Strait of Magellan expanded; there the distance across was at least ten miles. We were also very concerned that the current flowing from the Pacific side of the Strait of Magellan would be so strong that it would push us completely out of the First Narrows and into the Atlantic Ocean, so that we would never make it to shore.

What we decided to do was to start the swim at the tail end of the tide when the water was flowing from the Atlantic toward the Pacific, from east to west. Then the tide would go slack for a period of time. We had no idea how long this would be, but it would be when I could swim directly across and gain the most direct distance. Then the tide would turn and the current would flow in the opposite direction, from the Pacific toward the Atlantic, west to east. The change would start out gradually, then build like a freight train. Any miscalculation and we would be either too far east or too far west and would fail on the attempt.

To hedge our bets, we figured that we would make the starting point in the area of the First Narrows in the middle of Tierra del Fuego. That way, if the current carried us too far to either side, we would still be able to land onshore before being swept into the Atlantic Ocean or into the widest part of the Strait of Magellan. From that midpoint, we could aim for the center of the beach on the Chilean mainland. The beach there was seven miles long, which would give us a three-and-a-half-mile margin for error. There was another major consideration, too: the ferryboat captain had warned
us that if a storm approached and the tide changed very rapidly, whirlpools would occur at the headlands, near the area where we would finish the swim. The whirlpools reached full velocity when the tide was flowing at maximum speed. They were extremely dangerous. Local people had told John and me that these whirlpools had taken down ships and small boats, killing everyone on board.

Using binoculars, Captain Furniss studied the shore, looking for a small beach where we could land. The spray off the wave tops was so thick that he had trouble seeing through the veil of saltwater mist. He directed his men to sail closer to shore, then turned the ship directly into the current and increased the ship’s engines to nearly full throttle so we could hold our position and all of us could take a good look at the shore. We found a cove without many rocks or much kelp, perfect for the start of the swim. But the weather conditions were deteriorating so rapidly that Captain Furniss had to turn the ship around and head for the Chilean mainland before the storm hit.

The sea in the Strait of Magellan could become ferocious within twenty minutes. Storm fronts originating in Antarctica sweep northward across the Drake Passage, and without any real landmass to buffer them, they hit the Strait of Magellan suddenly and at full force. Fortunately, the Chilean navy had outposts and weather stations at Cape Horn, at the southernmost tip of Tierra del Fuego, and along the Antarctic Peninsula where men and equipment gathered meteorological information and transmitted it to the ship; they had alerted Captain Furniss. Without a doubt, it was an impossible day for a swim. Still, it was disappointing; we all had great expectations and underlying tensions, and we wanted to get the swim off as soon as possible. I think Captain Furniss understood this better than anyone. Perhaps it was to boost our confidence, to give us a chance to get to know Dr. Fernandez and the commander, or just to give them a break that Captain Furniss asked Dr. Fernandez and the commander to join us onshore for dinner while he stayed with the ship.

We hadn’t planned to spend the night at the First Narrows, but there was a small hotel very close by, and Captain Furniss had arranged for rooms for John and me. Over dinner, while John and the
commander were engaged in conversation, Dr. Fernandez and I talked about everything from Patagonia to hypothermia. He discussed his concerns about the cold exposure; he told me to take core temperatures before and after the swim, and that he wanted me to rewarm as quickly as possible afterward. I had a wonderful time talking with him and found myself wishing the night wouldn’t end, but it was nearly eleven and both men had to return to the ship. All night long the wind blew so strongly that it tore shingles off the hotel roof. Somehow I managed to block the noise and wind vibrations and fall into restless sleep.

On December 28, 1976, as I took off my sweatsuit and waited for everyone to move into position, a light wet snow began falling. John was in a skiff twenty yards off my left side, seated near the crewman who would be operating the skiff. Off to my right side, in the rubber inflatable, were the three elite frogmen wearing dry suits and an official who would time the swim. If I showed any sign of distress, they had been ordered to pull me out of the water. The
Elicura
was waiting offshore; it would stay there until we passed and then follow from behind. Captain Furniss was communicating with the two small boats via walkie-talkies.

The delicate snowflakes melted on my shoulders, which were turning bright red. I was starting to get cold. This was not good; it increased my chances of going into hypothermia. There were a few strands of bull kelp offshore that were pointing west but just beginning to relax. This was exactly what we wanted. I knew we had to start now. Impatiently I waited for something; I had no idea what. There must have been delay on the ship.

I stood on the beach, hopping on one foot and then the other, trying to generate heat to stay warm. “What’s the problem, John?” I yelled through cupped hands. He was just as ready to go as I was. He borrowed the walkie-talkie from the skiff captain. The reporters were trying to convince Captain Furniss to come ashore for the start of the swim. We had already decided this was not a good idea; there just wasn’t time or enough boats to jockey them in to shore and out again. We couldn’t delay. The tide wasn’t going to wait for us, so I decided
that if I began moving into the water, everyone would follow. Shouting to John, I asked him to have the crew synchronize their watches with the official starter. Then I asked him to give me the go signal.

Quickly I slipped into the water. It was funny—after standing in the snow flurry with tiny snowflakes melting on my cheeks, the forty-two-degree water didn’t feel as cold as it had during my training sessions. Taking a breath and dipping down quickly into the sea, I began sprinting. I knew that I was going to have to race the entire three-mile distance if I was going to make it in to shore before the tide pushed us too far one way or the other. I would have to swim faster than I ever had before.

Racing across the sea with the frogmen on my right side and John and the skiff captain on the left, I felt happy that they were there with me. Taking a long breath, I turned and smiled and looked into their eyes. Startled, they looked back into mine and smiled. Everything had been so serious, but now they knew that this was about enjoying the experience and sharing it. Everything was working just as we had planned. It almost seemed too easy. The current continued carrying us to the west; and then the waves started. Three-foot waves were breaking in the direction of the current. They pushed us farther west, more rapidly than we had anticipated. Looking up, I could see that we were moving out of the First Narrows. The shoreline in front of us was dropping back, perhaps five miles away now. In waters this cold, there was no way I could stay immersed for more than two hours; it was just too dangerous. The seas continued to grow, up to four feet, and then, thankfully, the tide went slack.

From the skiff, John yelled at me to sprint, to make as much forward distance as possible before the tide changed and carried us to the east. We were racing the tide, flying over the sea surface, airborne, caught in a shower of spray, then rolling, being lifted, and spun and driven deep under the waves, popping up, surfacing, seeing the frogmen with looks of concern on their faces, laughing at them, them waving, cheering, and laughing back. Moving fast, hearing John’s directions, staying near him, too. Watching him taking his gloves off, trying to wind his camera to take a picture. His hands were too cold
and stiff; blowing on them, trying to warm them, he hunched over to shield the camera from the spray. Inside I laughed a little:
I can do this; I really can do this, without a wet suit or anything to warm me. It is amazing how incredible the human body is that it can do so much. That it can go beyond the everydayness of life; that it can be extraordinary and powerful, and harbor a spirit of hope and pure will.
I was so excited being out there, feeling the tide suddenly going slack. There was no more drift to the west except for the push of the waves. We were more than halfway across.

John pointed at shore and told me to aim for the beach in the distance. Lifting my head above the waves, I could see the gray-green brush and grasses. It was perhaps a mile away. Pulling harder, faster, I knew this was where I had to gain distance, where I had to get across as fast as I could before the tide changed. Catching, pulling, pushing the water, faster and faster, arm over arm, I sprinted. My lungs were burning, my arms on fire, my legs completely numb, my fingers dead. Turning, I took in a large breath of air and saw the intense blue sky, and pure white clouds rushing in. In a few more breaths, looking back, I saw big gray ones chasing them. Another storm was rapidly approaching.

I looked back again. There were bigger gray clouds, and Tierra del Fuego was sliding by to my right. The tide had changed; it was flowing from the west, toward the Atlantic, and it was building quickly, like a hose bent and suddenly released. The force was incredible—we were flying sideways to the west at three, maybe four knots. Now the waves and tidal current were in complete opposition, slamming into each other and rising up like small tsunamis. Swimming was very difficult. There was no rhythm to the sea. Turning to breathe, I drew in water; it flew up my nose and down my throat. Choking, lifting my head to get air, I looked across the sea, and it was chaos: green white-caps darkening to a threatening gray. And the wind, sweeping across the water in forty-knot gusts, showered us with frothy spray.

John was hunched over in the bow of the skiff, using one arm to shield himself from the spray. The skiff captain was getting drenched. Both men looked miserable, and John’s face registered concern. He
told me that we were too far west. He was trying to get the skiff captain to make a course correction, but Captain Furniss had given him an order to hold a specific heading, and he would not disobey that order. John continued trying to convince the skiff captain to change course. He wouldn’t listen.

The current was racing now, moving at up to nine knots, at full bore, like a raging river. I had never experienced swimming in anything like this. There was so much power and energy in the water surrounding me. It felt wild, wonderful, frightening, and fun. At that moment, I didn’t realize we were in real danger. Sonnichsen did, though. He shouted at me, waving frantically. He told me to move close to his skiff. We were heading right for a whirlpool. It spanned fifty feet and it was spinning with dizzying speed, boiling, frothing, churning white water. I felt the whirlpool dragging us toward its center and knew that it would take us down.

John was trying to take the walkie-talkie from the skiff captain so he could talk directly to Captain Furniss. He shouted at me, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the water and wind. He cupped his hands around his mouth and told me to sprint with everything I had for the headland at the far right. The frogmen had been ordered to stay beside me no matter what, and he thought he could reach Captain Furniss in time to catch up to us. He told me to go. The tide was racing at maybe ten knots by now, and the strength of the whirlpool was growing. Immediately, I cut to the right and swam with all my strength. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw John and the skiff captain caught on the outer edge of the whirlpool.

The storm was strengthening, and the tide was surging, dragging me toward the Atlantic Ocean. The frogmen in the Zodiac were cheering and clapping. We were a quarter mile from shore. When I saw one of the frogmen point toward the headland, I summoned all the power I had. A second whirlpool was forming where we intended to finish. This one was one hundred yards across, and we were headed right for it. I glanced to my left and saw John and the skiff captain motoring toward us at full speed. They were okay. But everything was happening as if on fast forward. The frogmen were shouting at me at the top of their lungs to make a sharp right and sprint for shore. We
were within fifty yards of the whirlpool off the headlands. And another one was taking shape, just below it.

We turned more sharply right. Now we were less than two hundred yards from shore. But the force of a whirlpool increases in shallow waters. For the moment, I was in ten feet of water. I saw the sandy bottom rushing to my left, felt the water coiling around me, felt my breath tightening, and saw the water grow murky. The whirlpool churned up sand, filled my swimsuit with it, and chafed my skin. I slid sideways toward the whirlpool’s center. The frogmen pulled within inches of my right side to protect me. One man leaned against a pontoon, steadying himself, about to grab me and pull me from the water. They were shouting, but their voices sounded distant behind the veil of wind and waves. With everything I had left, I sprinted.

When I tried to stand, the current ripped my feet out from under me. I tried again and tumbled. I was only five yards from shore and I couldn’t get in.

Sonnichsen and the skiff captain pulled ahead and landed. Two frogmen jumped into the water to help me in to shore. One attempted to grab hold of me, but I veered away. If he touched me, I would be disqualified, under channel swimming rules. I put my head down and sprinted until my stomach scraped the sand; then I crawled out on all fours. It wasn’t very graceful, but it didn’t matter. In one hour and three minutes we had made it across the Strait of Magellan. I was the first person in the world to make the swim.