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

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.

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.

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.