Five years ago my daughter-in-law introduced me to the Polar Plunge, an annual New Year's Day event on Vashon Island (in the Puget Sound), as in many places around the world. (See post on January 2, 2016.) She didn't participate, but she thought it was something I would enjoy.
Towards the end of 2020, Leah asked me if I were going to do a Polar Plunge this year. Now that she mentioned it, maybe I would. I couldn't do it in the Applegate Lake because there is no water this winter in that dam-controlled lake. But maybe Squaw Lake, up the mountain from the Applegate Lake…. It's a popular fishing, swimming, and camping lake in the summer, but there probably wouldn't be anyone around now. I would think about it.
I stayed up late on New Year's Eve working a jigsaw puzzle, as Mike and I had done the year before. At midday on New Year's Day, I suddenly decided that, yes, I did want to do a Polar Plunge. I threw a swim suit, a towel, a warm sweater, and a wool hat in a bag and drove forty-five minutes to the Applegate Lake, then turned up the mountain towards Squaw Lake.
I had forgotten how rough the road was. I had forgotten how far my destination was from the Applegate Lake and how much higher in altitude. I drove another half-hour. The sky glowered with potential rain. I drove past the main campsites and on up the road. I stopped at a turn-out up the hill from the lake. Another car was there, but that would just have to be as it was.
Just as I started down the trail to the lake, a young man and woman were coming up it, back to their car. "It's a nice day to be out," the man said, pleasantly, and I agreed. I guessed they had not taken a polar plunge.
I walked down to the lake, past a picnic table and down to the shore, where there was a good swimming entrance. I did a little ashes ceremony for Mike first, spreading ashes on the rock by the shore, thinking how much he would enjoy being there to witness my swim. Then I stripped off my clothes and entered the lake.
The water was ice-cold. The only thing keeping the lake from freezing must have been the wind blowing across its surface. I waded in farther. The lake deepened quickly. I let the water slowly fold over my torso, gave a little push, and was swimming.
I thought, "How far do I want to swim?" Then I thought, "There's no use being foolish about this," and turned around and returned to shore.
My body was bright red. I have climbed out of a few other lakes lobstered in the same way: Marie Lake, in the Sierra, where I swam with icebergs; Mirror Lake, under Mt. Hood, where it had snowed the night before and my companion told me the water was probably 33 degrees. That's how I know Squaw Lake wasn't far from freezing—because my flesh burned when I got out.
It was wonderful. I was exhilarated I pulled the warm wool sweater over my raw-cold body, the hat over my head, and walked barefooted to the picnic table to put on my boots. I walked up the hill to the car, turned on the heat and the seat warmer, and drove back down the mountain. Before I got to the Applegate Lake, the rain was pelting down.
I couldn't stop smiling. I had done a polar plunge in Squaw Lake, at an altitude of 3,022 feet, on New Year's Day, 2021. It was a good start to the new year.
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| No one was there to witness the swim, so a selfie is the best I can do for proof. |
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