The Lake-Swimming Adventures Begin

One hot, dry September nearly a decade ago, I traveled with two friends to swim in the lakes south of the Grand Coulee Dam in eastern Washington. We spent hours in both Lake Lenore and Banks Lake swimming in the refreshingly cool water after long hikes in the dry, cactus-loving hills above the lakes. And I do mean swimming—crawl, breast stroke, back stroke—not just dipping into the shallows to cool off. 

Ten years ago, I was newish to Washington and to the story of the Missoula Floods that shaped this strange landscape. I remember being impressed by the strange basalt cliffs and asking my family to imagine the boulder fields of Joshua Tree National Monument laid out in the bottom of the Grand Canyon and then to imagine the canyon flooded with water to leave the tops of the boulders exposed. That’s what it was like swimming in these lakes. When I turned my head to breathe while swimming in Lake Lenore, my face was inches from the sheer basalt walls. In Banks Lake, you could swim into a maze-like cove strewn with sun-warmed boulders, crawl out onto a boulder to warm up, then slip right back into the water. 

It was sublime.

But I had since forgotten exactly where that Banks Lake cove was and I wanted to swim there again. After a spate of unseasonably warm March days in Olympia, I packed my wetsuit and my husband and I strapped the canoe on the car for a weekend at the lake.

Alas, Banks Lake was not how I remembered it.

Why didn’t anyone tell me it got really really cold in eastern Washington in winter? Photo by M.D. .Ruth.

Yes, that’s ice. Except for the liquid water along the nearshore, Banks Lake was frozen. 

Yes, I could have found this out with a simple phone call, but it was inconceivable to me that all that water could have frozen at all or could still be frozen. Though I’ve been living in Washington for 12 years, I am still very newish to eastern Washington.

I was disappointed but luckily, there was a vast landscape to explore by foot and car. There was much geology to see and understand. And I was happy to embrace the legacy of the Missoula Floods without installing an ice-breaker on the prow of our canoe or getting hypothermia.

Embracing the Missoula Floods meant doing my homework and reading a few of the excellent books on this subject. It meant studying the interpretive signs posted along the highways that lead from Soap Lake to the Grand Coulee Dam along Highways 17 and 155. It meant asking my husband (the geology major) lots of questions he cannot answer because it’s just too incredible. And—most importantly—it meant giving my imagination plenty of time to expand to take in the scope and magnitude of the floods. 

Next Blog: Why Banks Lake is a lake and why it is where it is.

Munn Lake Swim #1

What better way to celebrate the vernal equinox than to tiptoe into a local lake with a friend and fellow cold-water enthusiast? It was a spontaneous plunge—planned just minutes before the official moment of spring at 2:58 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time. With the air temperature in the low 80s in Olympia today—and cooling back down to the 60s tomorrow, it was a carpe diem kind of event.

I had been to my local Y in the morning with my new swim goggles and plan to see if I could swim for an hour without any significant breaks. Surprisingly I could. It was almost anticlimactic. I thought I would be struggling by the end of 45 minutes and would finish the hour feeling like I had preserved and really accomplished something. I swam for an hour and ten minutes and then I just felt done. Eventually, I’d like to build more speed, strength, and stamina so I can swim comfortably for an hour in open water. But there is a big difference between a lap pool and a lake (especially if its cold) and I wanted to work on getting acclimated to cold water so I could enjoy a long swimming season this year. I didn’t want to wait until the summer solstice to start. So why not see how cold a cold lake feels right now?

A few e-mails back and forth with my friend and we were off to Munn Lake, at the south edge Olympia. There were just a few fishermen on the lakeBetween the two of us, had two enormous towels, one wetsuit, two big fleecy sweaters, one hotpot of water for tea, two mugs, one thermos of coffee with Kahlua, and Discover Pass, and one very excited golden retriever. And a thermometer for testing the water. It was 52 degrees F. Bracing? Refreshing? Painfully cold? It was hard to tell.

I wasn’t sure I was going to get all the way in the lake, but my friend just peeled down to her bathing suit and started walking down the submerged concrete boat ramp. Just like that. I announced that my goal was to get in slowly, eventually, and not scream or use any swear words. By the time my ankles were wet, my friend was already in up to her neck, smiling. “It’s lovely! It’s hard on the arms, but otherwise perfect.” She looked like she meant it.

So I tried to follow suit. The longer I stayed above the water, feeling the unseasonably warm sun on my skin, the colder the water felt. Forward, ho! My legs numbed quickly, I splashed water on my arms, winced, then pushed off the last concrete slab and was in. It was…not bad.

There is definitely a timing trick here. Plunge in to quickly and you could shock your system (heart) in a dangerous way. Too slowly and you are letting matter get over mind, giving yourself too many opportunities to change your mind, lose your resolve, and retreat to your big warm towel and steaming cup of hot something.

I turned on my back and floated myself up the surface of the water to take advantage of the relatively warm water and the very warm sun. Now it was delightful and I relaxed into the lake, into the landscape, into an afternoon that was the fulfilled promise of Spring.

How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Plunge

“Wild swimming” and “open-water swimming” both take place in lakes, ponds, rivers, bays, and oceans, with “cold-water swimming.” Cold-water swimming takes places in natural bodies of water, too, but it is accompanied by xtreme bravado and/or a wetsuit, yelping and/or cold-water acclimatization training, and the risk of both hypothermia and euphoria. At least this is what I thought.

This winter, I have read Lynne Cox’s Swimming to Antarctica(not a metaphorical title). I’ve watched many videos of crazy-happy people dipping into icy lakes in Speedos and wool hats. I stood idly and warmly by while 300 people jumped off a dock and into a lake during the New Year’s Day 2019 Polar Bear Plunge. The water as 40°F that day. No one really “swam,” but they were immersed in that water for at least 30 seconds, which counts for a lot in my book. The Polar Bear Plungers looked ecstatic as they waded back to shore—either because they were glad to be done or because they had quickly reaped the benefits of a dip in cold water: adrenaline rush, exhilaration from increased endorphin levels, and reduced cortisone levels. Or they knew that they would later benefit from increased mental fortitude and clarity, boosted immune system, supercharged metabolism, reduced inflammation, less pain from rheumatism, fibromyalgia, and asthma. What’s not to like about cold-water swimming? 

Just some of the 300 swimmers who joined the New Year’s Day 2019 Polar Bear Plunge in the extremely-cold-by-any-standard Long Lake, in Lacey, Washington.

You have to get into cold water.

Really cold water.

But how cold is “cold” water I wondered. “Cold” is very subjective, it turns out. Some people consider water below 70°F “cold.”  Others use a standard of 64.4°F to define “cold”—or really “too cold.” This is the temperature at which hypothermia is believed to set in for those people not acclimatized to this temperature and who are suddenly immersed in such chilly water, typically when cast overboard from a boat. Some rare swimmers are acclimatized and habituated to swimming as low as 45°F and do not become hypothermic. Is 45°F “cold” or “too cold” for them?

Cold? Cool? Bracing? Refreshing? Too Cold? It’s up to you to decide.

Because I am planning to write about the natural and human history of several lakes in Washington, I wanted to be prepared for swimming in them when I did my “field work.” I figured I would have to work hard to join the ranks of the elite open-water wild swimmers who frolick in those 45°F waters year-round. I was dreading it. I worried about not only becoming hypothermic but also about just being plain uncomfortable. But wait! 

I swim in cold water! I’ve swum in the Tenino Quarry Pool for crying out loud! The water temperature is between 50 and 55°F. In 2018, I swam from April to October in lakes and rivers around western Washington. I doubt any of them were over 65°F. Only once did I feel the water was too cold and that my safety was at risk. I returned to shore as quickly as my sluggish body would let me.

The perception of cold is influenced by many factors: Air temperature as well an individual’s acclimatization and habituation to cold water, physical condition, body size and build, body mass index, attitude, alcohol level, psychological makeup, swimming ability, can affect an individual’s response to the water. The importance of knowing how cold is too cold for yourelates to yoursafety, which is really about and how far and how quickly yourbody temperature drops and you become hypothermic. The temperature of the water and how long you are in the water must both be factored in. A 2-minute dip into 50°F water is one thing, but a 20-minute swim is another. 

On the excellent LoneSwimmer blog, I found references to a smart and flexible guide for clarifying “cold.” Using the “Combined 100” method for ranking “cold.” If the combined temperature and water temperature (in Farenheit) is less than 100. For example, when the water temperature is 60°F and the air temperature is less than 40°F, it’s cold. But on a 70°F day, 60 is merely “cool.”

Now that I have convinced myself (sort of) that I am not a wimpy swimmer or an Xtreme cold-water swimmer, I can stop worrying about the semantics and look forward to a long season of wild, open-water swimming in water that may or may not seem to be cold. I have to remember to carry a thermometer to test the water and air temperature before I enter a lake. And I have to pay close attention to how my own watery body responds to being in the water. Relaxing into a nice long swim is a valid response. So is yelping, swearing, and thrashing, and shivering yourself warm. 

 Meanwhile…while you are learning what “cold” means for you, please look at this helpful chart and info on hypothermia from the Minnesota Sea Grant program’s website:  

Write here… 

Floating in the Universe

After that delicious first plunge into fresh water, one of the great pleasures of a swimming lake is floating on your back, buoyant, relaxed, warmed by the sun on one side of your body and cooled by the water on the other. 

Over the past several years, I have spent much time floating on my back, mostly to watch the clouds. I float pretty well but am always aware of my legs sinking and my neck straining a bit. And the locations of the few fishing boats, canoes, and other swimmers. And the happy voices of people swimming and cavorting around the lake. Floating is deeply relaxing and meditative but it is not a ‘sensory-deprivation’ experience. I’ve always been curious about sensory-deprivation tanks and what would happen to “me” when deprived of all distraction and sensory input. So I signed up for a 90-minute float at Oly Float near my home in Olympia.

Oly Float does not use the words “sensory deprivation” or “tank” (which sounds more like torture than pleasure). They call it “flotation therapy” and “sensory relief therapy.”  Their website extols the benefits of floating: relief from pain, increased natural production of endorphins and other “happy” chemicals in our bodies, improved sleep, greater athletic performance, deepened self-awareness. This time of year, everyone could use a mood bounce and I’m always trying to get a better night’s sleep but I was simply curious to experience the beautiful feeling of total weightlessness and buoyancy in the water without the distractions of a popular outdoor recreational lake.

So in I went into a surprisingly large private room with a shower, changing area, towels, and a surprisingly small wooden door leading into a surprisingly small “tank.” It was not a tank but an 8’x 5’ space. That space was blue and warm and inviting. That space included the 8’ x 5’ pool of water and a ceiling that was 7 feet above it. I showered, put in ear plugs, and held the grab bar as stepped in. I expected to step down a few steps like I was entering a hot tub, but the water came up to the middle of my calf. What? How was I going to float in 10 inches of water? There was 1,000 pounds of Epsom salt (magnesium sulfate) in there, that’s how. I wasn’t aware of a briny smell or any salty stinging on my leg so I moved into the floating position I hope to assume for the next 90 minutes. I turned off the blue light and closed my eyes.

It took me longer than I thought to find the best position for floating. My lower body relaxed quickly and my legs all but disappeared. It was my neck, where I seem to hold all my tension, that would not relax. As the rest of my body relaxed into oblivion, all I was was my neck.  I tucked a foam pillow under my head. I changed the position of my arms a few times. I put the pillow aside. I held my arms above my head and because but I was pretty sure they were going to float out and touch the sides of the pool (sensation!).  I took a lesson from the sea otters who wrap rooted giant kelp fronts around themselves to stay anchored while sleeping at night. I wrapped my shoulder-length hair around my fingers in a coil. There. Anchored.

And then my small space became as large as the universe and I was floating in a galaxy of stars. This was not a galaxy of my own invention. It was the galaxy of stars in which the young Ludwig von Beethoven imagined himself floating in the final scene of the film, “Immortal Beloved.” It is a stunning scene—the older, now near totally deaf composer is listening to a public performance of his Symphony No. 9 and, during the “Ode to Joy,” he goes into a reverie that takes him back to his childhood. The scene is at night and the young Beethoven is at the edge of a lake. He wades into the water, gets on his back and is floating there in the dark water. Thanks to some simple special effects, the viewer is given a bird’s-eye-view of the scene, with Beethoven’s pale body outstretched like a star in the middle of dark water that becomes a star-studded dark sky. 

Scene from “Immortal Beloved. “

While my body was floating in relatively tiny artificial space, my being was in the middle of the Milky Way with one of the most beautiful pieces of choral music ever written. I have never learned the words to this ode, which is a good thing as I might have spent my 90 minutes singing them in my head.  Luckily, the music didn’t float through my head either. It was just me and the pure experience of floating in a universe of joy. 

After my luxurious float, I found the scene from “Immortal Beloved,” which I had last watched perhaps 10 years ago. The scene in the lake captured the sensation I had experienced. Was it Life imitating Art? Art imitating Life? Or just Life? 

I have friend who, no matter what you are talking about, manages to work in the refrain “We are all stardust.”  I know it’s true in the grand scheme of things and a existentially depressing given that I usually hear “We are all dust in the wind” (remember this sad 1977 hit song from the band Kansas?). But somehow that 90-minute float turned this all around and now I feel grateful to the stars (and the Epsom salt) for the once-and-future moment when I’ll be back among them.

 Here is a 7-minute clip of Immortal Beloved. The first part is unhappy memories from his childhood, but then you just might end up happily floating in your own salty tears.