Taking the Plunge: Lakes of Washington

The lake above is where I ended my last book, A Sideways Look at Clouds. I was floating on my back contemplating the watery bodies that are the lake, the clouds, the human body. And this is where I am beginning my next writing project (hardly anything I can call a book at this point).

The Washington landscape is a feast of lakes that are scenic, ecologically significant, life-sustaining, and a source of joy for a wild swimmer. “Wild swimming” the name for swimming in natural lakes, ponds, rivers, sounds, bays, and open ocean. It’s a big deal in England. There’s the Outdoor Swimming Society to prove it.

Ever since I moved to Olympia in 2006, I have been swimming in lakes around the state. Though my pursuit of lakes to swim in has been casual, not purposeful, I’m up to about 30 lakes so far and am only just dipping my proverbial toe into the thousands of lakes our state has to offer. So where to begin my research? The usual places for this natural-history writer. In the library and in the field.

Every writing project begins with a gentle plunder of my public library and mining of resources on my own bookshelves. And a map.

The subject of lakes, lake ecology, limnology, lake swimming, and the pleasure of swimming and being in water is not new territory. The research is potentially endless and the physical territory where lakes are found is vast. The same was true with the clouds—only the clouds were more variable and ephemeral and required several (as in eight) years to capture in my book. A writer has to begin somewhere—to get to know the territory, to cast a wide net, to explore, brainstorm, dream. That’s where I am now.

This winter, I have been reading, taking notes, gathering resources, signing up for newsletters and emails from organizations monitoring lake water quality, watching films about people swimming in really cold water, and marking this summer’s swims on a state map. In 2018, I began swimming in late April and continued into early October. The real “wild swimmers” who swim year round would rightly call me a “mild swimmer,” so I hope to develop the skills to extend the swimming season and increase my tolerance and enjoyment of very cold water. I am not sure how to accomplish this. Probably cold showers are a start. I hear they are invigorating.

Brrrr.

Maybe this should be the working title for my book! Brrrrr: A Wild Swimmer’s Plunge Into the Natural History of Lakes in Washington.

Battle Ground Lake

This does not look like the kind of place I would expect to find in a place called Battle Ground, Washington. Nor the kind of place I would associate with a volcanic eruption. Battle Ground Lake is  too peaceful, beautiful, and lush. And, on one of the hottest days of Summer 2018 so far, it was a place full of happy human beings enjoying the simple pleasures of a cool lake in a state park. Listen:

There were hundreds of people on one side of the lake at a small beach area, picnic tables, a dock, and restrooms. Everyone seemed happy. It was as if everyone checked any grouchiness and stress at the entrance gate. Whether people arrived with picnic coolers, silly inflatable floating devices, swim goggles, kayaks, stand-up boards, beach chairs, or paperback books, everyone was enjoying themselves and--it seemed to me--happy others were enjoying themselves. Even when, late in the afternoon, someone cranked up their boombox with classic rock and roll hits--no one glowered or complained. A few swimmers were actually dancing to "Eye of Tiger" as they stood waist-high in the water on the concrete boat ramp. 

The sounds from the shore created a pleasant summer din as my friend and I swam the perimeter of this 27-acre lake. We rested on logs floating along the lakeshore. We watched very small fish take an interest in our wiggling toes (big, fat worms!). Near the rope swing, we dog paddled to watch young teens scramble up the steep muddy hill and then swing out over the water for a plunge that looked so fun and sounded so refreshing it brought a smile to my face. 

Battle Ground Lake is named for a battle that never took place near present-day Battle Ground in 1855--a non-battle involving Klickitat tribes living on the Lewis and Cowlitz Rivers, U.S. troops stationed at Fort Vancouver, and  "friendly fire" mistakes. The origin of the town and lake name is not half as interesting as the origin of the lake itself. 

According to the U.S. Geologic Survey, Battle Ground Lake in Washington, a maar volcano, was formed when magma encountered water and blasted through a 100,000 year old lava flow. This is one of the youngest volcanoes in an area known as the Boring Lava Field, which extends east and north from the Vancouver-Portland area. Battle Ground Lake is one of 80 volcanic vents and associated lava flows evident in the area. Geologists believe many other vents were buried during the Missoula Floods.

The map below shows some of the Boring Volcanic Field. Battle Ground Lake is not shown here but is located in the orange areas at the top of the map, east of the I-5 and on the south side of the East Fork of the Lewis River. More on the Boring Volcanic Field from the USGS here.

Map image from USGS, Everts et al 2009

The skyline in this region and its 1980 eruption is still so fresh in my memory that I have to remind myself that, even though Mount St. Helens transformed the local landscape, Mount St. Helens was not the only show in town. 

The lake I was swimming was created about 100,000 years  before Mount St. Helens' 1980 eruption. I knew I was swimming in an older landscape. I was swimming in a 60-foot deep lesson in local geology. I was swimming the cool refreshing legacy of ancient magma and boiling water. 

Evidence of Battle Ground Lake's geologic history is easy to see if you walk/hike the 1-mile long Lower Lake trail in the park. Here is a chunk of volcanic basalt with vesicles formed by trapped gas. The Lower Lake trail winds through mature evergreen forest--and offers plenty of shade, access points to the lake and the rope swing. (Photo by M.M. Ruth)

For more information,  WA State Park website or  Washington Trails Association website for a description of the Lower Lake trail. More on the Boring Volcanic Field from the USGS's Cascades Volcanic Observatory here.

The Shape of Water

"No one can say accurately how many lakes there are in Western Washington or the State as a whole. Man-made ponds, reservoirs, and natural lakes all form and disappear with surprising frequency..."

So says Ernest Wolcott, author of the Lakes of Washington, still the standard reference book on the subject. The first volume includes data and discussions of 3,813 lakes. Yes, that's right. And that number refers to inland bodies of standing water in the western part of the state that  over one acre in area. It also includes all named lakes even if they are under one acre. 

Lake St. Clair is 233.1 acres is southeast of Olympia and is accessible for swimming, fishing, and boating from two public boat ramps managed by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, which stocks it with rainbow trout, brown trout, and channel catfish. The lake also has naturally occurring populations of bluegill sunfish, largemouth bass, yellow perch, and black crappie. 

I was not there to fish but to swim in one of the 3,813 lakes in our state--one of the 108 lakes in Thurston County included in Lakes of Washington. Swimming in freshwater lakes is one of my favorite things to do though I didn't discover this until 2007, my first summer in Washington. A friend had mentioned Black Lake, the county's largest lake accessible through Kennydell Park. Compared to the YMCA lap pool where I usually swim, Black Lake was enormous, a little freaky (what's on the bottom of the lake? what's in the lake?), and thoroughly exhilarating--especially when a bald eagle flies close overhead and lands one of the towering trees along the shoreline.

I was hooked immediately and began seeking out lakes wherever I went. I always packed a bathing suit in my suitcase or backpack just in case. Knowing there were no snapping turtles or water moccasins in the lakes here (as there were back in the lakes in Virginia where I grew up) and knowing the risk of stepping on a sting ray or getting wrapped up in a jellyfish was zero (unlike in southern California where I swam in the Pacific), swimming in Black Lake and other freshwater lakes in Washington was liberating. Nothing was going to sting me, grab my ankle and yank me into the depths of the lake, or bite off one of my toes. Pretty soon I had bagged 22 lakes and was swimming from late April to early October. Well, jumping in and out quickly in April and October and swimming fully immersed and for at least an hour during the warmer months.

Every lake has a story to tell. Lake St. Clair, for instance, was gouged out during the retreat of the Puget lobe of the Pleistocene-era Vashon glacier about 14,000 years ago. This glacier had covered the land from Canada south to southern Puget Sound with a sheet of ice 3,000 feet thick. Huge chunks of this ice, mixed with sand and gravel, detached from the ice sheet and became stranded as it retreated. The melting chunks of glacier formed depressions called "kettles" or "potholes." In the case of Lake St. Clair, this depression filled with water--currently to a maximum depth of 110 feet. The lake is fed by Eaton Creek and drains to the Nisqually River.  

It is not a pristine wilderness lake, but one that is well-developed (with housing, especially on the south and west sides) and popular for recreation (fishing, swimming, boating--including higher speed motor boats in the large southern basin). On a weekday morning or cool overcast day, you can slip in to the quiet lake from the east boat ramp and think you have it all to yourself. 

A mysterious little seabird lured me to the West Coast in 2001. I wrote a book about this bird (Rare Bird: Pursuing the Mystery of the Marbled Murrelet). One of the nicknames of this bird is the "fog lark" because it flies in the early morning, often in the fog, along the Pacific Coast. After five years of looking up into the fog to spot one of these fast-flying birds, I turned my sights to the fog and the rest of the clouds that obscured the murrelets. I spent many afternoon floating in my neighborhood lakes looking up at the clouds and pondering the water cycle. Last September, I published A Sideways Look at Clouds, a work of narrative non-fiction.

And now, after studying the clouds while floating in water, I am turning my attention to the water--to the lakes themselves to see what I can discover about the lacustrine loveliness of my home landscape.

One of two public access points to Lake St. Clair leads you toward a small island (private property--humans and bald eagles)--one of four little islands in this irregularly shaped lake with many narrow arms to explore. You need a Discover Pass for parking at either boat ramp area. More info on access here.

Sure, we're smiling now but we were not so happy getting ourselves into the lake on this brisk day in "June-u-ary."