San Francisco is a city surrounded by water. Yet, with the exception of surfers and a few die-hard swimmers at Baker Beach, hardly anybody ever goes in the water. And really, why would you? The Bay is cold and dirty, with the occasional shark spotting. It’s not exactly inviting you to break out the snorkeling gear and go for a swim.
However, the Bay is beautiful to look at, which is why so many of the city’s most famous landmarks are built, if not directly on top of the water, at least with a direct view of the water.
The water is what gives “The City by the Bay” its name and it is one of the main reasons the Giants stadium is built where it is. AT&T Park (née Pac Bell Park) offers sweeping views of the Bay and is the only ballpark in America where a batter can hit a home run into the water.Not only did this offer great novelty during the halcyon days of Barry Bonds when the park first opened, but it allowed for the rebirth of the soggy trench under the Third Street Bridge.
What was once an industrial causeway became McCovey Cove, a sunny haven for baseball-loving mariners. Now, on game days the cove is packed with sailboats, miniature yachts, and various floating devices. Struck by the prospect of actually doing something on the water in San Francisco, I set out to join the baseball fans floating out behind right field.
I don’t own my own sailboat, skiff, yacht, or canoe. I don’t even own a pair of water wings. So I made arrangements to rent a kayak from City Kayak. It’s located right next to the stadium and offers a special McCovey Cove package on game days that includes everything from kayak rental, clothing, and supplies to a commemorative inflatable Giants glove. I spoke with one of the incredibly friendly employees on the phone who said as long as I showed up an hour or two before the game, I would have no problem getting outfitted and into the water in time for the first pitch.
When game day came around, I packed some sunscreen and a six-pack of beer into a bag and headed down to the stadium. Before mounting up, though, I stopped at Happy Donuts at 3rd and King Street. Happy Donuts is probably the best loosely-kept lunch secret within walking distance of the ballpark. Not only does it serve donuts, it also offers an excellent selection of sandwiches (as well as, inexplicably, fried chicken). A Burnin’ Italian on a sourdough roll with chips, potato salad, and a banana lollipop only sets you back $5. One of my friends describes it as the best mortadella on 3rd Street.
With all the necessary provisions packed into a small cooler, I walked over to Pier 40. City Kayak is somewhat difficult to find, and I had to ask a few people for directions – an effort made all the more frustrating by the fact that almost everyone down at the Embarcadero on game day is a tourist and doesn’t know North Beach from Ocean Beach.
For the record, here’s what you do: Look for the rack of kayaks next to the Java House immediately north of the stadium. Behind that you will see a giant, semi-decrepit warehouse. Walk through the warehouse past the parked cars and guys working on their boats, all the way to the back. When you reach the small, fenced-in corner with a stack of paddles out front, call out toward one of the open shipping containers. Somebody from City Kayak will be right there to help you.
From there it was back out to the docks, where a friendly hipster helped me load my gear into the kayak and pointed me toward open water. McCovey Cove is just beyond the seawall, so it only took me about 10 minutes to paddle over. The waves out on the Bay are a little daunting in such a small vessel, but I was well rested and had just eaten breakfast, so the trip barely fazed me. (The return trip would be a different story, however.)
The fog had just peeled back over Twin Peaks about an hour before, so the cove was warm and sunny. A nice breeze blew in from the Bay. As somebody inside the ballpark finished up an operatic version of the national anthem, about two dozen other kayakers and I paddled to the back of the inlet, into an area designated as a “no motoring” zone. This meant we had the stretch of water closest to the stadium all to ourselves, while the bigger, fancier boats anchored farther back.
I was with my friend Scott, and we decided that we were ready to break out the refreshments. We each cracked a beer, opened a bag of sunflower seeds, and dialed up the game on an AM radio we had brought along. We leaned back in our seats and listened to the soporific voice of the announcer as he called the first inning of the game.
We weren’t paying much attention to our neighbors or our surroundings, so it came as a bit of a surprise when, not five minutes later, we found ourselves being sucked under the transbay ferry. We quickly holstered our beers and paddled furiously back into the cove. We had only just gotten ourselves back into position – a perfect spot right beyond the foul pole from which you can see the scoreboard and the jumbotron – when we were once again pulled out by the tide. This time we found ourselves forced into the weird catacombs that run underneath the promenade.
At this point we took a look around and realized that most of the bigger boats had anchors. While our kayaks were not so well equipped, they did have thin ropes hanging from the bow, which we were able to fashion into a crude sailor’s knot and loop over one of the buoys. Neither of us is what you would call a Boy Scout, but our knots held, which freed up our hands to eat sandwiches and open a celebratory beer when the Giants scored in the third inning.
As the game progressed, the cove got more crowded with new boats arriving every half hour or so. This created a convivial, tailgate atmosphere, with boats anchoring against one another, neighbors sharing food and drink, and everybody cheering when the Giants scored. One guy did a cannonball off the top deck of a small yacht called Some Like It Hot . Another yacht (which we named the “USS Douchebag”) came into the cove driven by a guy with greased hair, a freshly pressed Ed Hardy shirt, and a pair of sparkling DKNY sunglasses. He tried to execute an awkward three-point turn by the bridge and ended up whacking the side of his boat against the pier.
Whether he was drunk or just incompetent is unclear, but I can say that another very specific problem does arise on McCovey Cove as a result of drinking. That is, after four cans of beer and a bottle of water, where are you supposed to go pee? My solution was to paddle under the bridge and execute an awkward half-crouch maneuver while gripping one of the grimy pipes above. Let me just say that it takes a certain amount of technique to pee from a kayak under a bridge without falling out or soaking your shorts in the water that inevitably pours into the seat of your kayak. (It takes even more technique to use the hand dryer in the public restroom to dry your crotch after you fail.)
With the game winding down and my butt uncomfortably moist, my friend and I decided to head back to Pier 40. A striated sunburn was spreading over my legs and a warm beer buzz was taking over my head, so I moved a little more slowly toward the back of the cove. When I rounded the seawall, a strong wind hit me in the face and pushed me right into the wake of a passing ferry. I turned into the waves as I had been instructed, only to get smacked by the rebound of those same waves bouncing off the wall.
For the next 20 minutes, I battled a stiff wind and choppy sea as I made my way back to the dock. My shoulders began to burn and my neck stiffened. Somehow I managed to lose my friend along the way, but I barely noticed. It was all I could do to put my head down and keep paddling.
After what seemed like a very long time, I finally pulled up at the City Kayak platform. Scott, who had slyly taken a shortcut through the harbor, was waiting for me, chatting up the girl from the rental desk. I handed over my paddle and dragged my tired body out of the water back onto solid San Francisco ground.
Hit up City Kayak for everything from hourly kayak rentals to advanced sea kayaking packages. If you go on game day, try to get there a little early to catch batting practice, when you’re most likely to see a ball hit out of the park. And don’t forget to stop by Happy Donuts beforehand for the Burnin’ Italian sandwich special.
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