Louise Minchin: from the breakfast sofa to Alcatraz’s shark-infested waters

As a journalist and endurance athlete I particularly love hearing stories about courageous, brave and intrepid challenges. My new book Fearless: Adventures with Extraordinary Women is inspired by a moment when I was presenting BBC Breakfast and I realised that the majority of times we interviewed people about epic stories they were men. It made me ask two questions: was it that women weren’t climbing the highest mountains, running the furthest distances and setting Guinness World Records? Or was it that we just weren’t talking to them? The book is the answer to both of those questions. 

It is a celebration of women who are doing heroic things, taking on huge challenges, setting world records and breaking down stereotypes in sport. Women like Zee Alema who wants to be the first black Muslim woman to play rugby for England. And Cath Pendleton, an ice-swimmer who set a world record for swimming a mile in the Antarctic Circle wearing just a swimsuit. To hear these women’s stories and to get to know them, rather than sit on the sidelines and talk about their endeavours on Zoom, I decided it would be more fun to go and try the things they loved alongside them, so we could all be inspired by them.

Amongst many more inspiring stories in the book, one of the most daunting things I did was to accompany Mitali and Anaya Khanzode and swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco. They were only 20 and 17 when I met them and they had made the crossing more than 75 times each, braving shark-infested waters and killer currents. It was one of the most exhilarating and alarming things I have ever attempted.

I don’t look down but look ahead towards Bay Bridge, raising one hand as if in alarm with the other pressed against my goggles to make sure they don’t get pulled off my face. When I surface, spluttering and trying to make sense of where I am, I can feel the current pulling me like a magnet towards the ferry. I don’t want to be pushed up against its sharp bow, which rears alarmingly above my head. I can feel it drawing me in and struggle to get out of the way. I can see I am not alone; Mitali and Anaya are trying to do the same.

I have just managed to manoeuvre myself out of the way when I hear the loud blast of the second klaxon rippling across the water, heralding the start of the race. There are no words from anyone; in unison we put our heads down and swim.

I always find it hard to control my breath and settle into a manageable pace at the start of any race, but there is nothing more alarming than being dropped in a swathe of deep dark water with nothing between you and the shore over 2km away. I feel discombobulated, not sure of where I am going and breathless. The rising feeling of alarm makes my lungs constrict, and the fact that it is much choppier than I had expected doesn’t help. I am being buffeted by nausea-inducing waves.

I try to settle myself down and swim steadily. It’s not working, and that alarming brush of something along my calf, followed by an accidental gulp of salty water when I rolled over to see if it was another swimmer, has made things worse. The double rush of adrenaline and rising panic switch my brain into survival mode. I need to concentrate and use my skills and experience to get myself out of here. I remember what I have been told by both the girls and the safety crew: head for the towers. I can just about see the dark shape of the square buildings in the far distance and set my course, but they seem an impossibly long way away.

As I calm myself down, I think over what they have both said about swimming being their happy place and remind myself it is mine too, if only I could relax and start enjoying it.

Anaya told me that the cold water particularly is a very important part of her life, a vital stress-reliever. “This is the only place where I feel like I am, truly, truly happy. Nothing from school or my personal life is bothering me, and I am in the water, just swimming and being in the present moment. This is the only place where I can really, truly do that. It is also the thrill, the fun of it. We are thrill seekers.”

Mitali feels the same. “This is very therapeutic and relaxing for us, because it forces you to think on your feet and to be fully present in the moment. Swimming is not like academic work; it is more spontaneous. You get to use more of your critical thinking in an on-the-fly manner. It feels like you use different parts of your brain or different ways of thinking to succeed. And that is really good for us.”

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That thought about being present makes me stop for a moment and take in the view. I tread water and with my head slightly above the waves am delighted to see that I am at last making good progress; I am about halfway across. Alcatraz is falling into the distance behind me, and a squadron of pelicans are wheeling above me. The way they fly, necks tucked in and wings outstretched, reminds me that their ancestors are dinosaurs.

To my right I can see the unmistakable ochre towers of the Golden Gate Bridge suspended in the fog. It is eerie but beautiful. Ahead of me is the metropolis of San Francisco. Now I am a bit closer, I can make out some of its extraordinarily steep streets which look almost vertical from my position semi-submerged in the Bay. It looks like an optical illusion – but having struggled to walk up them, I know it is not. I chuckle to myself at the sight of two San Francisco Police Department officers scudding about on their jet skis, blue lights flashing. The whole scene is surreal but brilliant.

I would have loved to have been able to swim alongside Anaya or Mitali, but in my confusion I have lost both of them, so I carry on alone. The current seems to have weakened as have the waves. I am finding it easier and feel more relaxed until my left hand bounces off a jellyfish I hadn’t seen in the murk. It gives me another frisson of fright but, as they promised, it doesn’t sting, and I continue making solitary progress.

When, finally, the seawall marking the entrance to Municipal Pier is within striking distance, I catch the welcome sight of another swimmer in front of me. I can see they are making steady headway. They have a powerful, rhythmic stroke and their strong kick is making an impressive wake of white water behind them. I try to accelerate to see if I can catch them up, and slide into their slipstream. When I get closer, I notice a bit more detail. They are wearing a white hat, and I spot the straps of a pink swimming costume crossed over their back. Wow!

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I know Anaya was wearing a white hat and remember the flash of her pink swimming costume as she jumped off the ferry. What are the chances that I would find her 300m from the finish? Is it her? I can’t be sure, but I am not losing a companion now. I stick like a shadow behind the swimmer, delighted that they are taking a perfectly straight line towards the flags marking the exit on the beach. They clearly know what they are doing, and I feel safe with them. The water is flatter and feels warmer. This is the type of swimming I love; I have found my happy place.

Extracted from Louise Minchin’s new book ‘Fearless: Adventures with Extraordinary Women’ (Bloomsbury), available to buy now. She will be speaking about ‘Fearless’ at the Henley Literary Festival this week on 4 October: henleyliteraryfestival.co.uk/events/louise-minchin-interviewed-by-katherine-grainger/