"That's the way it's done." ~ Open-water swimmer

And now one has escaped in San Diego

Some things are difficult; especially those things that aren't easy...

We have been on quite a journey here at Team Beyond-Avalon, attempting, with our limited organizational experience, to pull off something as daring as swimming 75 miles in deep water. And to assemble 12 capable swimmers, who are not afraid of the night, and are willing to swim in pelagic waters among the top predators in the sea, has been just the first challenge among many. 

Over the past few months, each time we sat back and said "What an amazing team of extraordinary individuals we have assembled," we, not long after, found one or another of the team members either didn't really understand the mission, or didn't understand their limitations. "A man's got to know his limitations."

The early efforts to recruit for the team brought the usual suspects: accomplished open-water swimmers with the swimming equivalent of a curriculum vitae that left us saying: "Who are we to say 'no' to someone of that caliber?" Those early casualties, once coming to understand that we weren't so much about swimming, but about honoring those who have sacrificed so much for us, were taken quickly.

Those who didn't know their own limits brought about the next round of aquatic chairs; and there is truly no shame in finding absolute darkness in shark-infested waters an intimidating prospect.

The most damaging of changes endured by the core team came as a result of an apparent complete lack of understanding--or worse--regarding the method behind the mission, combined with a presumption that what we were doing was just another swim that, surely, would look like all the others; thus, the lament: "That's the way it's done."

That unfortunate casualty brought about what appeared to be a planned chain reaction, a fissioning of the nucleus. Team Hiroshima. Being a particularly devastating day of losses for the team, I got into the Pacific and swam one hour in memoriam for each of those lost, realizing that changes this late in the game are potentially catastrophic to our stated goal, and meant some deserving veteran, somewhere, wouldn't be served by the funds we wouldn't raise.

When I returned to shore, five hours later, I put my feet down in chest-deep water and stood up, only to find myself face to face with a rubber duck (below). Though weathered, sun-bleached, and coated with the detritrus of humankind's industrial castoffs, it made me smile, as it reminded me of why there are still "roads" untraveled. From the television series Touch, in the episode entitled "Gyre":

In 1992 a shipping container fell overboard on its way from China to the United States, releasing 29,000 rubber ducks into the Pacific Ocean. Ten months later, the first of these rubber ducks washed ashore on the Alaskan coast. Since then, these ducks have been found in Hawaii, South America, Australia, and even inside the Arctic ice. But two thousand of the ducks were caught up in the North Pacific Gyre, a vortex of currents spinning between Japan, the U.S. west coast, Alaska, and the Aleutian Islands. Atoms that get caught in the gyre tend to stay in the gyre, doomed to travel the same path, forever circling the same waters. But not always. Their paths can be altered by a change in the weather, a storm at sea, or a chance encounter with a pod of whales. Twenty years after the rubber ducks were lost at sea, they’re still arriving along beaches around the world, and the number of ducks in the gyre has decreased, which means, it is possible to break free. Even after years of circling the same waters, it’s possible to find their way to shore.

When I got home, ostensible gyre-escapee in hand, I found a message informing me that we had two new members: accomplished swimmers, kayakers, and long-time lifeguards, was just the beginning of their qualifications. John is a U.S. Army veteran, and he and his wife, Michelle, are serious about social service, having started their own non-profit, in which they spend their time volunteering in Mexico, teaching underprivileged children water safety and how to swim. Again, that is just the beginning...

A little later in the evening I was contacted by perhaps the most famous open-water swim organizer known to most Americans who swim open-water today. He and his team had become aware of our efforts, applauded them, and guided us to design our swim in accordance with our goals and the greatest possible safety for the team at sea. And for that gift, I must say: Thank you all, primarily, for increasing our odds of achieving our goal safely, but, equally, for the spiritual lift the team experienced in feeling our efforts to support deserving veterans have been sanctioned by "the best there ever was." Though, let me be clear: there is no guarantee of safe passage when nakedly entering an environment where one is no longer at the top of the food chain; there is always a risk involved, regardless of having taken all the precautions of those who have successfully gone before. And should The Sea decide that one or another inhabitant should prevail when we enter Her territory, we hope that it is us, and we understand that only we are responsible for what happens out there. Nobody, no matter how well informed, cautious, and prepared, can say "no" when The Sea says "Oh, but yes."

Though having arrived "here," with an extraordinary team and the advice of the accomplished, there have been some significant mistakes. And all said and done, I am the culprit behind every disappointment the team has been forced to endure: Intimidated by the innumerable accomplishments of so many who have expressed an interest in participating in our mission, I have failed to be explicit, demanding, clear in what we are doing and how we are doing it; for fear of insulting or losing people that I had not imagined we would have the opportunity to call team members. Due to those errors of omission, lack of leadership, and, perhaps, cowardice on my part, we have lost some truly exceptional people that, had they just known the architecture of our efforts, may have joined us in brainstorming a path to a common vision that addressed the primary goal.

But that said, for all my mistakes, the goal of supporting our heroes is so abundantly worthy, we have found that there are no rules, no stone tablets weighing us down, and the team continues to exceed my expectations by another unfathomable measure every time we enlist a new recruit. So, to those who say: "That's the way it's done," I say: 

This is how it's not done "that way."  

This duck is free.

Actual Rubber Duck!
Found July 21, 2014
South Mission Beach, CA

El Niño Tiene "A" Temperatura

The letter "A" 

This balmy July's night-swim was "indundated" by a sea of concepts that washed over us via an alphabet soup that seems to have forgone the luxury of choice: A-nomolous temperature; AAA; Type A ; and a big wave out of fric*in-A nowhere!

The night began with our meeting along the Avenida De La Playa, the street leading to the area on La Jolla Shores beach which is known as the "boat launch," but don't try to launch a real boat from the sandy end: kayaks and their nuclear family only.

Dan Simonelli offered our first "A" of the night. As all were ready to enter the water at approximately 8:15 pm, he was the last to close a door on a vehicle; unfortunately, being the last, knowing that others are waiting on you, often distracts from the little details.  Dan: "Oh f*&!," he groaned, just after he slammed the car door shut, leaving the keys inside. "AAA?" "It'll be twenty minutes." It was thirty.

In A-ccordance with the building theme, as yet unknown to us, John and Shannon accidentally nurtured it along: We'll take category "A" for Another lost key; this one easily found in the grass by a gracious guest by the name of Carlos Lopez, a friend of Dan Simonelli's who is visiting from Mexico City, and a guy who is one of five elite swimmers that will swim 35K across a shark-owned bay in the deep south of Baja in October. It is a good thing he is acutely aware of his environment--to the point that he knew where that key was when John realized it was missing: "It's on the grass over there." Thank you Carlos.

Next up. "A" for: "Fric*en-A! Where'd that wave come from!" After spending a half hour under the bright street lights of Avenida De La Playa, we waded into the Pacific, a very dark place when looking out to sea--at night: you look into the sun for 30 minutes, then step into an unlit closet and close the door. We couldn't see darkness, never mind anything resembling shapes. And putting a kayak in the ocean without being able to see the kayak, the  ocean, yourself, or even your imagination of what you are doing, let Mother Nature assault us with a wave,  and wham! There goes John, the kayak, and any sense that we were in control of the evening.

Recovery and "embarkation." Once in deeper water, kayak and John recovered, the letter "A" bathed us in its essence once more: "Wow! This water is like...hot!" Anomalous temperature it was: never below 75.6 F! We could have swum to Avalon Bay that night--if  it didn't take 36 hours to do--and never felt a chill; I think Shannon was tempted. We all know she could do it if we let her; maybe she just has to suggest she wants to...

Never enough "A's" in the average night-swim, we all left with one more in mind: "Type A." And that is to say, John and Shannon Welter--that they have the same name isn't because they don't find things in common--expressed their opinions on the details of the planning that have been left up to those of us who started this endeavour: "Details? Oh, that stuff will work itself out." That just wasn't going to do for two people as successful and competent as they are. To paraphrase their ever-politically correct and generous way of handling those of us who rely on good fortune to get the job done: "Maybe we could add a little definition to the amorphous mass of what it is we think we are doing." Of course, they were much more generous in their restraint.

Thus, the only thing that didn't evoke an "A" for the evening was our grade; perhaps "B." But due to the fantastic 2-mile swim we all shared in Tropics-like waters, under a near-full moon which we never saw due to the cloud cover, and the fact that we did it together, in unison, while laughing, and with great appreciation for the magical experience of what we were sharing, no lower than "B". Never mind. We deserve another "A" for that recovery. A!

All setbacks aside, what a team! Every setback ignored; every generous gift of the Pacific exulted in. We had a great time and emerged from the sea, satisfied, satiated, and ever more sure that something was right about this coterie of swimmers that has come together with great passion, in an attempt to make the lives of those who make ours possible, at least a little bit better.

Q.E.D.

Team in A-ttendance: Revered Guest, Carlos Lopez; Dan Henry, Dan Simonelli, John Welter, Lee Grove, and Shannon Welter.