Stages of a Winter Wild Swim

My friend and I had planned a swim on Saturday but it took until Tuesday to finally get in the water. The air was 42 degrees F, the water 46. This does not add up to 100, which is the number someone recommended as a guide to “swimmable” water in “tolerable” air, but we had done 88 before and so proceeded. Someone asked me recently why I swim in really cold water. I will try to explain. 

There are three parts to the swim: the before, the during, and the after. 

The “before” includes picking a day and time with my friend; dreading the swim (four days’ worth for this particular swim); getting into my bathing suit, fleece, wool socks, wool hat, and dry robe; dreading the swim some more; making hot tea; driving to the lake; standing at the edge of the lake waiting for my brain and body to get in sync and to decide that at this moment right now…now…now (oh, one more photo)…that at this moment now the “before” stage is over. 

Self portrait of author while author’s hippie-hatted brain struggles to convince author to stay out of the 46-degree water. Shortly after photo was taken, author told brain to “get over it.” (Photo by M.M. Ruth)

Then the “during” begins with accompanying my bathing suit and wool hat into the water, slowly, up to my waist. My friend is similarly clad and nearby, but she moves more peacefully and steadily. We dip our hands in, splash water on our arms, rub our cold wet hands on our faces, look at the lake and clouds and trees. We talk to ourselves and to each other. We say things like, “Okaaaay!” “Here we go!” “We can do this!” And we do. We just drop so that the water rushes over our shoulders. I flip onto my back and kick and paddle my hands like egg-beaters and try to not scream and sing an operatic off-key note but usually fail. That I am in this very cold lake is bizarre. That I am not crying or weeping or miserable is astonishing. That I am smiling and laughing with my friend is a wild and wonderful gift.

Yes, I am very cold. 

Despite my constant thrashing, my hands tingle to the point of discomfort. Is this pain? I am not sure. It’s a feeling. But it’s a sign that if I get out much further in the lake or stay in much longer, my hands—and then arms and legs—will not work well enough to get me back to shore. Keep in mind we are about 30 feet from shore but in water over our heads. We stay in maybe ten minutes then breast stroke toward shore. My friend hands me her wool hat, she dives underwater, and emerges with an even bigger smile. I am not there yet, but soon. I am still seeking and hoping to destroy my idiopathic resistance to putting my head under water.

The “after” of the swim begins when our feet touch the bottom of the lake—about ten feet from the shore—and we lunge for our dry robes, exchange wet suit for dry fleece pants and sweater, and then wrap our hands around a cup of hot tea.  We talk. We warm up. We admire the colors and textures of the water, the reflections of the clouds, the harmony of water and sky and trees. 

As we begin to feel a bit of post-swim euphoria (endorphins? relief? gratitude?), we slowly head to our cars where one of us will undoubtedly say, “That was perfect. We should swim again soon.” We are vague about when. Here in the “after,” I am not quite ready to start another “before”. I think of a stanza in Wallace Steven’s poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking at Blackbird:

I do not know which to prefer,   

The beauty of inflections   

Or the beauty of innuendoes,   

The blackbird whistling   

Or just after.   

At the lake, we do not have to choose. We enjoy both the inflection and innuendo, the whistling and the silence, the water and the air, the during and the after. 

The “after” is a really wonderful time and is in no way sponsored by dryrobe, though they do make the before and after quite pleasant, even toasty. (Photo by M.M. Ruth)

Munn Lake Wild Swim #4

After just four early-season swims in Munn Lake, just south of Olympia, I am feeling more comfortable getting into and swimming in cold water. “Cold” is getting warmer in this lake. My first swim, on March 21, was in 52 degree F water. The water (at least in the shallows) was 60 degrees F today, though it seemed colder without the sun and with the air temperature only in the upper 50s.

My friend and I usually use the concrete slab boat ramp to enter the water, but this darling little rowboat was coming ashore and its owner was going to be using the ramp to trailer the boat. To make sure we were out of his way, we moved with a bit more alacrity that usual. Which was a good thing. It meant we didn’t dawdle on the shore. We splashed water on our faces (a trick to help reduce the shock of the cold water on the rest of your body) and were fully immersed in under five minutes.

It’s amazing what happens in those first few minutes of immersion. The anxiety about getting in (which had been building up all afternoon) dissolves in the water. You stop holding your breath. You breathe somewhat normally. And your body relaxes into the water. And then the water feels good. Or perhaps what feels good comes from the fact you got in. You did it—not exactly gracefully but at least without screaming and thrashing and stating too loudly the obvious: “It’s sooooooo cold!”

My friend and I worked our way to the middle of the lake with a combination breast stroke (head above water) and crawl. At first I could do about 10 strokes before my face hurt. But then, as my skin numbed, I could do 30. But my legs were also numb and my muscles fatigued quickly and I my breathing was becoming a bit more labored than I like. Being sensitive to your own comfort and capability in cold water is essential and I felt no need to push myself into the hypothermic zone.

Splashing water on your face helps with the entry into cold water and sipping hot tea helps with the exit. I like to keep a thermos of hot rooibos tea and few cups in the car. Warming up the core from the inside (instead of from the outside with a hot shower) is best immediately after a cold-water swim.

Once I warmed up back at home and looked at my photo of the little fishing boat, I realized how much it looked like a water boatman—the aquatic insects that have long oar-like legs that help them move across and under the water with natural grace.

Water boatman. (Photo by E. van Herk - nl:Afbeelding:Notonectaglauca.jpg, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=506562

Munn Lake Wild Swim #2

After a bit of wavering and wobbling and last-minute rescheduling, the first group swim of the season went off…swimmingly! The previous day, I had checked the temperature of the water at Munn Lake (just 4 miles south of Olympia) and also the slightly shallower Deep Lake (further south in Millersylvania State Park). Both lakes were between 56 and 58 degrees F and so we opted for the closer, small, and more sheltered Munn Lake.

Like many of the lakes in Washington state, Munn Lake was formed in the wake of the retreat of the Puget Lobe of the Vashon Glacier that covered South Puget Sound during the last ice age, which occurred 19,000 to 13,000 years before the present time. Munn Lake is within the Deschutes River Basin and is fed by groundwater seeps and precipitation; there are no inflows and outflows from Munn Lake.

This lake was named after Edwin Munn, a dairy farmer who settled in the area in the early 1900s. Thanks to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, which maintains access to the lake via a paved entrance road, parking lot, and concrete slab boat ramp, members of the public can enjoy non-motorized boating, fishing, and swimming in the lake.

On this breezy Friday afternoon in April, four swimmers and a cheering squad of two made drove in a brief rain shower to gather at the top of the boat ramp. We set up chairs, hot water for tea, and pans of brownies and almond cake. There were just two fishermen on the far end of the lake—incentive for us to go gently into this good water.

“Are we really doing this?” I asked because i knew everyone was thinking it.

Yes. Though not without much “Nooooo!” body language, brief posing for a group photo, mild shrieking, and nervous laughter.

Getting psyched: This looks like a summer day on the boat ramp into Munn Lake, but on April 12, the water temperature was 56 degrees F and the air temperature not much higher. While 56 degrees F might be “warm”to some wild swimmers, it seemed “do-ably brisk” to us. Photo by A. Butler

Our foursome covered what I imagine is the typical range of swimmers: One moved quickly into the water like a mermaid with no fanfare or yelping. One was a wee bit tepid but with a few deep breaths entered the water gracefully, swam several strokes with her head under water and stayed in longer than anyone else. One (me) who really really wanted to get back into the warm car but, once numb from the waist down, stopped resisting, slid in tensely, and then kicked and flapped madly to stay warm. And one who got in up to her neck then retreated to the warmth of dry land to join the cheering squad, vowing to build up her cold-water tolerance. One thing we all had in common was that we were smiling and laughing all the way. And smiling even more broadly when the sun came out.

Getting In: Though we all stood on the boat ramp at the same time, we were out of sync getting in. The two furthest out did a relaxed breast and crawl; the one in the middle (me) flutter kicked; and the one on the foreground wore her flip-flops in, carried one out while returning to shore soon after her plunge. Photo by A. Butler

I’ve been trying to figure out where the resistance to cold water lies, where the lure of cold water originates, and what is happening physically, mentally, emotionally when we overcome 5 minutes of discomfort to reap the benefits of 15 minutes of immersion in cold water. Does the water actually feel good or is the anticipation of the endorphin exhilaration after the swim enough to block any “pain” we might feel in cold water? Does swimming in a group make the water more tolerable, enjoyable, beneficial?

Or was these feel-good vibes just the effect of being in water, in cold water, or simply out in nature? I think I’ll answer “yes” to all my questions here.

All of this topped by post-plunge cups of hot tea and goodies, conversation, and sunshine.

For more than a decade, I have swum in Munn Lake. Sometimes alone (in summer) and sometimes with other swimmers, floaters, and the fish and the osprey. On the first day of spring this year, I swam in this same lake with a friend. The water was 52 degrees, the air an unseasonable 80. We didn’t really swim. We stayed in the water for a good 15 minutes just smiling and laughing and appreciating the company and the very fact that in the Pacific Northwest, we could just walk into a lake in March and loll around as long as we wanted. That swim was at least twice as much fun as my solo swims and very empowering. I could swim in cold water (and enjoy it) and I lived in a community where other people did too. Similarly, swimming with three other people tripled the fun and having a land-based support group (bundled in down, fleece, and blankets) boosted the fun-o-meter even higher.

Getting out: Once you’re finally in it’s easy to stay in. Photo by A. Butler

Feeling Good: Three levels of head submersion: Full (left), none (middle); only the ends (right). Photo by M.T. Goforth

Feeling Better: Oh the joys of warm, dry clothes and a hot cuppa tea! Photo by M.M. Ruth

MUNN LAKE is a smallish, shallow lake 4 miles south of Olympia. It has easy access via the boat ramp managed by the Washington Department of Fish & Wildlife (Discover Pass required). Because this is a relatively shallow lake (19 feet at its deepest) this lake warms up more quickly than other nearby lakes (Ward, Hewitt, for example). Munn is stocked for catch-and-release fishingh rainbow trout and has a naturally reproducing population of largemouth bass, yellow perch, bluegill, sunfish, and black crappie—though none nibbled at our toes during our swim. As with any lake where fishing and swimming occur, watch your step for hooks and other sharp things. For more info and directions to Munn Lake, visit the WDFW site here. Munn Lake is periodically closed to swimming due to chemical treatment of the invasive aquatic vegetation that blocks the flow of water between Munn and Susan Lake. Warning signs are posted at the boat ramp.

Liquid bliss. Photo by M.M. Ruth

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:  

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