Pacifica's Amy Appelhans Gubser became the first person in history to swim from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Farallones Mountains on Saturday, May 11, 2024. It took Gubser 17 hours to swim the 49.7 miles, considered the most grueling swim in a marathon. world. (Photo courtesy of Sarah Roberts)
A 55-year-old grandmother became the first person in history to complete the treacherous return journey this weekend, overcoming jellyfish, darkness, fog, frigid water and the shark-infested Red Triangle by swimming 17 hours across Farallones Bay. It became. .
Friday was just like any other day for Pacifica's Amy Appelhans Gubser. She was working her usual 10-hour shift in fetal cardiology at the University of California, San Francisco.
And at 3:25 a.m. Saturday, she jumped off the boat into the dark waters beneath the Golden Gate Bridge without a wetsuit and began swimming, only to reach a swaying buoy on southeast Farallon Island, 47.7 miles away, at dusk. Then it stopped.
Members of the support team who were watching over her safety from the fishing boat cheered.
But in the world of extreme marathon swimming, the miles between the Farallon Islands and San Francisco are said to be the world's toughest course, with cold, rough water, ripping winds, swirling currents, and hungry carnivores. I am.
To date, only five people have completed this swim. They went in the opposite direction, from the Farallones Mountains to San Francisco, which was also very difficult because they had to time their passage through the Golden Gate. However, the water gets warmer and less dangerous as you advance.
Gubser took five years to plan and crossed Lake Tahoe, Monterey Bay, Catalina Strait, Strait of Gibraltar, and the notoriously difficult Channel, among other adventures.
With fog above and muddy red tide below, she followed the Pacific Rival, a fishing boat piloted by Captain Chad Dahlbar. A team of seven others on board her vessel, all trained in marine rescue and CPR, assisted her.
Food was thrown into the water with ropes. Tourniquets and other first aid equipment were kept on deck in case of a shark attack. The U.S. Coast Guard wanted to know the color of her swimsuit (black and white to mimic a ferocious killer whale) in case she needed to be recovered.
Compliments have been pouring in from across the global 'open water' swimming community. The sport was first inspired by Captain Matthew Webb's swam across the English Channel in 1875, and more recently has seen films such as Nyad, which chronicled Diane Nyad's extraordinary journey. Popularized by movies. From Havana to Key West.
“Congratulations to Amy on this amazing world-class feat of cold water endurance and athleticism,” the Marathon Swimming Federation wrote.
As we neared the rocky islands, kayaker John Chapman accompanied us and sang upbeat 80's tunes.
But her happiest times were spent alone.
“When I'm swimming, that's when my mind is most free,” she said. I lose track of time. ”
“I feel so peaceful. It's the only time my brain actually calms down,” said Gubser, who trained as a pediatric intensive care nurse and now coordinates high-risk fetal care. . “Swimming is easy for me, easier than walking. I feel like I could go forever.”
Sometimes she counts – reaches 77 and repeats. she composes poetry. She imagines solutions to the world's biggest problems. She plays her songs in her head and often stares at the same verses over and over.
And she enjoys the strangeness of the sea.
“We were swarmed by bats!” she said. “It was very funny. One plane landed on the crew. They came out of nowhere. What were they doing there?”
Gubser was taught to swim by his mother, who was a lifeguard, when he was a toddler. She grew up on the beaches of Southern California, where she attended the University of Michigan on a swimming scholarship. Her husband, Greg Gubser, is the acting port master for the San Mateo County Port.
She trains by swimming many miles a week in the frigid San Francisco Bay with members of Aquatic Park's South End Rowing Club, and does additional training at Burlingame's pool to perfect her technique. She weighs over 200 pounds, a deliberate effort to prevent hypothermia.
Saturday was chosen because there was a strong ebb tide. The new moon's gravitational pull caused tides to vary from 6 feet to minus 1 foot, forcing millions of gallons of water to rush through the Golden Gate and into the Pacific Ocean.
And the wind was unusually calm, never exceeding 7 knots. The water was like glass and there were no white waves to fight with.
“We were waiting for perfect weather,” she said. Once on her boat, she refueled by eating rice cakes topped with peanut butter and honey. She was wearing only a suit, hat and goggles.
But before Gubser got wet, he faced the challenge of a passing container ship. This delayed her departure, which had been timed to align with the perfect tide and time needed to safely evacuate before the sharks' dinner time.
Once in the water, another container ship passed us less than 200 feet away.
“I could hear the engine in the water,” she said. “I knew it was coming because I heard the horn and I could only see lights in the fog. Her first 12 miles are on a container ship, playing 'Frogger,' because that's the shipping route. .”
But then Mother Nature provided help. Riding the ripping tide, Gubser made it about a third of the way in just four hours.
“Mr. Toad's Wild Ride,” she joked. She glowed in the dark and had a little blue light on her head and a green light on her butt.
After a few miles, the current weakened and she had to power herself up. She completed her remaining distance in 13 hours, swimming her freestyle to the end. Every 30 minutes, the crew threw her a 3-ounce container of chicken broth, along with a carbohydrate drink for energy. When she felt her sleepy, they gave her a caffeine-rich goop.
The jellyfish attacked in waves and stung an estimated 20 times.
The water was cloudy due to an outbreak of red tide algae. Enveloped in fog, “it was like being in a sensory deprivation room. The sky was gray and the water was brown. You could only see the tips of your fingertips.”
As we approached the Farallon Escarpment, the slope was steep and the depth reached more than 6,000 feet, but the water temperature dropped to 43 degrees.
Concerned crew members saw her skin begin to turn pale. They gave her hot chocolate and warm water and poured it on her neck and her hands. However, according to the rules, she was not allowed to touch the boat.
“I knew if I didn’t finish at that point, I would feel terrible,” she said. “I have children and grandchildren. I wanted them to be proud of me.”
“I dug deep,” she said. She said, “I wanted to show that you can do anything if you put your mind to it.”
