While others snooze, early birds run loose

For the Marina set, 5 a.m. is evidently the best time to swing. Just as long as you're quiet about it. Out on the big channel leading to the Marina del Rey breakwater, an eight-man crew captained by Ethan Benson pulls a sweep boat across the black silk of the water, with nothing but the predawn darkness between the rowers and perfection.

"If the boat is rowing well, and the timing is dead-on, it's calling swinging," says Dave Diekmann, 38, barking out occasional corrections from a launch that putters alongside the rowers. "You're pulling up off the water. You feel like you're flying. You can hear bubbles come up under the boat."

Los Angeles' more well-rested denizens will never know about this kind of swing. Other than a few other rowing crews assembling in lighted boathouses, no one will even know we were ever here. Slicing the water like a floating razor, the shell flies past darkened condos and yacht clubs. The city's otherwise in-your-face ambition crouches behind curtained windows. The roads are empty. Most of Los Angeles is waiting for sunlight. But not the 20-odd men and women of the Los Angeles Rowing Club. The Dawn Patrol.

"It's the perfect time," says Benson, 34. "It's glassy. There's no traffic. Once in a while, a trawler might come in too hot and [splash us with a wake], but usually it's pretty calm."

These are the rationalizations we use: We tell our partners and friends about the glassy water. How we beat the crowds. Get a jump on work. Get the best selection. Add hours to the day. All fine, but that's not the real reason people get up at 4 a.m. when they don't really have to.

Really, the Dawn Patrol is about breaking with the rest of the world. These are the hours no one can take away from you -- unless they're also prepared to peel themselves out of a warm bed, fall asleep at work and ruin their night lives. Morning people are often getting away from something or someone. All over the city, they are moving in the predawn darkness, claiming two or three hours no one else wants -- surfing, meditating, riding horses, golfing, running, working out, making their art, reading or even shopping. They have turned their separatism into a heroic stance.

"I've got a wife and two kids," Benson adds. "So I can go out and get my exercise and have some fun, and I get home and they're still asleep. It's like stealth fun."