Polar Plunge in the Puget Sound

           On the ferry back to Vashon Island on January 1, after New Year’s Eve celebrations in Tacoma the night before, I learned that a New Year’s Day tradition on Vashon is the Polar Plunge – a swim (or plunge) into the ice-cold January sea, for those so inclined. Because of my propensity for swimming in cold mountain lakes, I was definitely so inclined but didn't think I could do it because I hadn’t brought a swim suit.

            No problem, said a friend from the island. She could provide me with everything I needed.

            The event would take place precisely at 2:00 – “If you’re late, you’ll miss it,” the newspaper said. As soon as we got to the island, my friend became a whirlwind of preparations. She pulled out an orange and black mountain biking outfit for me to try on as a swimsuit. She tossed me a crazy, multi-colored, flowery swim cap. “People wear costumes,” she said, handing me some pink and grey polka-dotted rubber boots and a pink tutu to wear as a bustle. The finishing touch was a pair of pink wings to slip over my shoulders.

            “How do you win?” her daughter asked as I shoved some warm clothes and a couple of towels into a bag.

            “It’s not a competition,” I explained. “There’s no winning. It’s just to see if you are brave enough to go into the cold water in January.”

            My friend put directions to the beach on my phone, gave me the keys to her car, and told me to park on the road and walk down to the beach because there would be a lot of cars there already. She took a picture of me in my costume, and I took off.

 

            The weather was clear and cold. Mt. Rainier rose snowy and majestic above the water. The Puget Sound was clear and sea-green. Lots of people were standing around, either swimmers (or plungers) waiting for the two-minute call before shedding their warm clothes or their friends and family waiting to witness their swim (or plunge). 

 

I didn’t see any other costumes (I didn’t have much time to look), but people smiled at mine and made amused comments. At the two-minute call I shed tutu, boots, and wings and joined the line-up of brave swimmers on the beach. Then came the call: “Go!” and with great shouts and screams and cries and whoops the crowd dashed into the water. What was all the noise about, I wondered, as I slipped into the cold sea the way I slip into cold lakes, with hardly a splash, much less with shouts and screams. As soon as people were about thigh-deep in water, they started plunging in head-first, so I did, too. The surprise for me was not so much the cold but the salty taste. When I lifted my head above water and started swimming, I was surprised to see everyone else splashing out of the water already. Someone said, “Look at her. She’s swimming!” I had thought that was the point. But apparently not. It was just to see if you were brave enough to go into the cold sea in January.

            I swam about under Mt. Rainier until everyone else had left the water, then swam leisurely to shore.

 A woman from the local paper was taking pictures of me. I asked another woman if she would take a picture of me swimming if I went in again. She said she would, so I did. I enjoyed my swim for several minutes more before swimming back to shore.

There were campfires on the beach, but I wasn't cold, so I stood around a bit, warmed by exhilaration, before changing into warmer clothes for the walk back to the car. I had forgotten to bring shoes and didn’t want to force my wet, sandy feet into the too-tight boots, so I walked barefooted up the hill. I wore my wings.

            The exhilaration was terrific, not only from the swim but also from the sense of winning (at an event that recognized no winners). “I won three times over,” I told my friend's daughter when I got back. “I swam the longest, I was the only one to go in twice, and I definitely won for best costume.”