Invading Boston Light - My first OWS

A few friends have pushed me to publish the story of my first open water swim, despite it potentially getting me in a little trouble. I've told this story a few times, and each time, I'm amazed everyone who participated came out (mostly) unscathed.

To set the scene:

I had recently moved from Indiana to Boston. Not knowing many people and looking to make friends, I joined a masters team at a community center in Jamaica Plain and was introduced to a few local outdoor adventurers. A pillar of JP and of the entire Boston cycling community, Jeffrey Ferris, owner of Ferris Wheel Bikes and amateur star gazer, invited me and some other swimmers to one of his wild adventures.

I learned more of this plan for a wild adventure plan during a pizza party Jeffrey hosted, where he invited a handful of swimmers and kayakers to woo us all into exploring the sand bar between Little Brewster Island and Greater Brewster Island. For an hour, Jeffrey passed around celestial maps, trying to hypnotize us with the grandeur of the negative tide and the opportunities it presented. On September 10, 2014, the negative tide would expose the sandbar between the islands for about an hour. His plan was to swim from Hull to Little Brewster Island, landing just after sunrise, run around the sandbar for an hour, then swim back to Hull... all in time for all of us to get to work at a reasonable time. What could go wrong?

I had never done an open water swim. Ever. At best, I had swam around my parents while playing in the waves on a vacation when I was little. I had grown up racing in a pool. So I was intimidated by warnings of mid-60 degree water and no walls. Jeffrey recommended wearing a wetsuit, but I didn't own one. I researched rental options and found a store just west of Boston that would rent wetsuits by the day. On September 8th, my friend Kristen (who was voluntold into paddling for this crazy adventure) and I drove to Fast Splits in Newton, where I sausaged myself into a mens wetsuit that seemingly fit. I was warned to apply copious amounts of TriSlide. Afraid of the "cold water," I also rented a neoprene cap - the kind that velcros under your chin.

Keep in mind, the entirety of the plan that I'd heard so far was: Jeffrey's baloney + stars + the autumnal equinox + the sand bar + 4:30 AM start time. I literally thought to myself, "well, it'll be a little over a mile and it sounds cool, what could go wrong?" I had NO IDEA what we'd find on Little Brewster Island, and didn't think to do my own research. I thought it was just a grass covered little island that we'd swim up to, run around on, then giggle our way back to the mainland.

The morning of the swim, Kristen and I left JP at 3:30 AM and arrived in Hull around 4:30 AM. We didn't even have a designated meeting place - Jeffrey had just said to meet on the long strip of Nantasket Road by the Yacht Club. We realized there was no place for us to park, so we dumped the boats and gear on the side of the road, left our cars somewhere halfway legal, and gathered on the road at stupid o'clock. I didn't even bring a headlamp, so I didn't realize that there's no "beach access" where we were planning to set off from.

In the dark, balancing ourselves and the 5 kayaks and 1 canoe, we managed to not die while carrying equipment down massive sharp and slick rocks. This is around the area we opted to yeet ourselves into the ocean - it's just a rock wall.

It's dark, but everyone's in a rush to go, so although I'm nervous, I just get in next to the tandem kayak father-son team that somehow got roped into this chaos as well, and is my assigned monitor. Kristen somehow got into the canoe, and off we went.

I'd like to take a moment to explain Kristen, my dear best friend who passed away in 2020 from stage 4 breast cancer:

Kristen was on therapies to keep her stage 4 cancer at bay from before I met her in 2014. She had broken several bones due to the cancer and side effects from her various treatments, and although partly recovered, was wobbly at best. She had the most infectious "let's go do it!" attitude that I now realize was her trying to do as much as possible before her death. To say that her grappling down a bunch of slick rocks in the dark to canoe across an active shipping channel was not recommended by her oncologist would be the understatement of the year.

So, keep in mind this is my first time ever open water swimming, and I don't have lights on me or feeds or anything that any reasonable person would have brought to this type of swim. Thankfully, the kayak watching me stays close, despite us falling away from the rest of the group. I had never swam in my rented wetsuit, which I was quickly starting to despise. The neoprene cap was chafing under my chin, the wetsuit was chafing my neck, and I felt like I couldn't move my arms. About a half mile from shore, daybreak was starting, and I started throwing up from the waves. I have no idea if the waves were actually large, but in my memory, it felt like I was getting battered and thrown around. I get motion sick just looking at planes, trains, and automobiles, so the frisky water quickly took its toll on my stomach. I was uncomfortable, but there truly wasn't another option other than to just continue. There were no walkie talkies to inform the main group that we were struggling, and if we had turned around, no one could have been made aware. So, I kept trying to swim between vomiting spells, and slowly, we managed to creep the 1 mile from Hull to Little Brewster Island, landing 5-10 minutes after everyone else.

On our way into land on shore, the kayakers kept pointing and changing our course, seemingly moving us away from where the sandbar should have been. I realized we were paddling around the side of the island, where there was an actual ramp (ramp!?! not a sandy beach!?!) because the other sides of the island were cliffs or rock walls. Wanting to get the heck out of my chafing wetsuit, I put my confusion aside and walked onto the ramp of Boston Light, the nation's oldest lighthouse and active Coast Guard base.

As soon as I made landfall, a very upset looking woman with a giant radio approached me and started yelling, indicating I had to go stand with the other invaders. My kayakers also got a stern warning to bring their vessel ashore and wait for instructions. At that moment, I truly didn't care what was going on - I had to get my cap and wetsuit off, so I started doing the bizarre wetsuit removal dance and fell over.

Me coming ashore and promptly falling over, writhing in my wetsuit (come on, it was my first time peeling off a wet wetsuit), seemed to be the last straw for this woman. I heard her start interrogating Jeffrey, who was trying to explain the tides and heavens to this woman, and how we needed our sandbar adventure. She likely assumed he was hypothermic and babbling in distress, given he had also swam across and his lips were turning a little blue with cold. She started yelling at everyone, asking why the hell anyone thought that swimming onto an active Coast Guard base without giving any warning or getting permission on September 10th, a day before such a terrible anniversary, had been a good idea... and swimming across in the dark, across an active shipping channel, wearing all black/wetsuits, with no lights on anybody... we all hung our heads in shame. After writing our names down on some paperwork, she told us we were not to ever step foot on Boston Light ever again, and that we would be officially transported back to Hull, where police and ambulances were waiting for us.

A Coast Guard boat pulled into the base's little dock, and all of the swimmers were instructed to get on. The paddlers were told to paddle their vessels back to meet us at the Hull dock and report to law enforcement.

I think someone had brought their cellphone in a drybag with them, and here are a few photos we took during the boat ride back to Hull. Jeffrey was perturbed that our sandbar plan had been foiled, and couldn't believe they had detained and removed us from the island. I was just glad to be out of my ill-fitting wetsuit.

Jeffrey (top left with the moustache) explaining we had every right to explore an island, and that we should be allowed to go to the sand bar.

Me, center in the Wilson hoodie, cheesing because I don't have my wetsuit on anymore. I think everyone's mostly happy we're not in deeper trouble so far.

When we got back to Hull, there were ambulances and police waiting to speak with us. Kristen pulled me to my car, and I somehow avoided getting on any additional paperwork with my name on it.

Most of the group (minus the 1-2 swimmers still stuck in ambulances convincing the team they weren't dying of hypothermia) who had made the crossing and invaded Boston Light

Kristen is sitting in the center of the group, between the person in the green rain jacket and person crouching in the black beanie. She was so thrilled that she came.

Driving away from Hull, I felt like we had evaded law enforcement a little bit, and told Kristen I'd never be swimming in open water ever again. I was incredulous that Jeffrey Ferris hadn't planned the swim at all; he was supposed to have alerted the Harbor Master the group would be making the crossing through the shipping channel, alerted the Coast Guard a group of swim ninjas would be seemingly being nosy around the base, and alerted all of us that we might get in trouble for taking part in his hairbrained scheme. Any one of us swimmers could have gotten struck by a boat or lost, given we weren't illuminated at all. We had been one inch away from catastrophe, and had somehow made it across alive without getting jailed.

When I got home and got in the shower, I realized how painful a full-neck chafe could be. I had rubbed my neck completely raw, just above my clavicle, all the way around. I got to work and a security guard asked me if everything was alright at home, and if I needed help. I didn't realize how prominent and angry-looking the chafe was becoming throughout the day. Just a few hours later, I realized the chafe started to scab over, and looked even darker and visible. By the time I got home, it looked like I had been hung and the noose had burned my neck. The next morning, I had to make an emergency scarf run to buy something to cover up the raw-looking chafe marks, and had to wear cover up scarves for almost 2 weeks to avoid the stares.

I learned a lot from that swim, and somehow, opted to get in the open water again. I do my own research about the course and conditions, and read through any and all event info packets or emails to make sure I know what my options are if things go awry. I'm also pretty keen on keeping myself safe and visible (hence, creating the Quackpackers and night lights).

Kristen also remembered that crazy adventure, and while she was in hospice care in 2020, I told her this story to entertain her a little bit. Although she couldn't open her eyes or verbally respond, asking her, "Kristen, remember the time we stormed Boston Light with Jeffrey Ferris?" got her to smile a little bit. I absolutely don't regret doing the swim, and I do think it helped shape me into who I am today. But, I wouldn't recommend anyone replicating the lack of forethought.