December 23, 2020

So today I swam right into a float, unscathed I’m happy to report, and lifted my head out of the icy water to the sounds of cheering.

Life onshore and life in the water urged me on today, as I struggled to manage the coldest water to date. Yesterday snow fell in some neighboring towns, while icy rain overflowed ditches and streams, turning roads into small lakes in some places —and seemed to turn everyone’s eyes to the ground. Including my own.

But today I awoke to a thick mist with the sun slowly seeping through. As I walked the dog in the dank morning air, sunlight lit up the moss and ferns along the trail and trees continued to shed the water from yesterday’s storm—everything sparkled—even my dog seemed lighter on his paws.

As the sun burned away the last fog by mid day I felt certain that this was a good day for a swim, and by the early afternoon under bright sunshine, my errands done and calm water waiting, I headed to the landing.

A deep trench split the small beach at the landing in two, likely the work of yesterday’s deluge, but otherwise all was in order.

Two kayakers made their way to the water’s edge, curious about my swim plans and cold tolerance.

After a brief chat that helped distract me slightly I waded in. The shock shook my core. For the first time since open water swimming I had to fight every cell in my being to not exit. An internal scream shook my thoughts.

“This is nuts! I’m crazy. This is not pleasant, I could be in a pool or on my couch, anywhere but here. What the $&!?%# am I doing out here? What is wrong with me?!!”

After my thoughts were out, I let them sink like rocks to the bottom and reminded myself that I would adjust. I could do this.

My desire to float won the brief internal battle and I bobbed out into deep water, unable to put my head under. My mind flew through details of yesterday—reports of snow from my sister in Seattle, the freezing rain, the muddy waters drenching everything and everyone.

I was letting my thoughts win, bringing the cold in deeper as I connected the dots and realized that all of that icy water had ended up here, all around me. Everything flows downhill. As I neared the pilings desperate for distraction, two seagulls broke out in salty singing together, and I finally broke free of my mind’s attempt to bail , as I watched them finish their caterwauling and take flight.

And then she appeared —my seal friend. A brown hump and then a dark brown head rose nearby me—and the cold left me.

I forgot about the cold. I was among friends. I hovered and waited, turning slowly to wait for this quiet host to share her eyes with me. I put my face under but the muddy green water left little view, and after several checks under water I settled with peering around above the still water to wait for her.

She appeared a third time, not more than ten feet away, her sleek head turned to the side, and then she disappeared, her slick brown body dappled with black spots the last to fall from view.

I suppose I wanted a sign or a guide or something to help me do this swim, or something to help me let go and surrender—and leave this cold wet world.

The seal won. Her invitation to swim had arrived. I could do this. I knew this water. I wanted to stay here, swim with this seal, suspend all thoughts and just blow bubbles and swim as best I knew how.

I looked south and without another thought put my head down and swam. My ears strained at the cold, and I had to lift my head out a few strokes in to squish my cap over my ears and ease the tightness.

But I knew I could do this. And I put my head down and pulled through the thick murky green water, and thought about the ice swimmers and the skin swimmers—my friend, Dave among them. If they could do this with no wetsuit, surely I was tough enough to do this with a wetsuit.

And I was. And in time I warmed up and was happy and found myself at the turn around house quite quickly, and spun around to make my way home.

Winter swimming does not allow for shell hunting or leisurely stops, floating on your back to gaze at clouds or tread water and chat with folks (almost no one is ever out on the water in winter anyway) for long—the cold is too intense, and fear of getting too cold always keeps me hurrying along. I miss the leisurely days of summer when I could take my time and soak in the salty brine, and study the sky and dive below for treasures.

So my light collision with an anchored float was the only real pause I took, other than my seal visit. The cheers startled and delighted me, as I looked to shore to find a half dozen or so people huddled around a campfire on a bulkhead.

I waved hello and said I hadn’t meant to run into the float, but appreciated their encouragement. Smoke rose slowly up around them as they offered me an adult beverage to help me keep going. I declined, knowing that this would be the end of my swim and would require a cold walk on the beach back to the truck.

After a brief visit, and photo, I thanked my new beach friends for their exuberant cheering. They asked if I’d like more cheering to help me on my way, and I accepted. So I put my face back into the cold, while strangers whooped and clapped.

The company today was a sweet gift. Bookending my swim— I had seagulls and a seal capturing my attention and spurring me on at the start of this chilling swim and a jolly group of humans cheering me on, helping me find the resolve to make it through to the end of my little adventure.

The days are officially getting longer now. No complaints here. And the balmy days of August are right around the corner….?

I hope I can keep this up until then.

My couch is nice but no seals or human friends.