February 14, 2021

Funny how things line up sometimes, and nudge a person into one decision or another, like an offering from the future pulling you forward towards something you had only dreamed about. And just like that, you are living your life imagined.

I dreamt of swimming in snow all winter long. My dream came true yesterday.

I knew that if I swam with snow forecasted this week, and took to the open water, I could safely assert that I’d made it in the water weekly through the coldest time of the year. And if I could swim in and with the snow, I could swim anytime, anywhere. The toughest conditions would be behind me. And most importantly, the experience was guaranteed to be new and exciting, and very possibly magical.

Mother Nature delivered. Yesterday we woke to almost a foot of snow, the satisfying first—and possibly only—snowfall of winter.

We don’t get much magical white frozen fluff next to the Salish Sea—some years none at all—so when it does arrive everyone goes bonkers. It is pure magic. Few people here know how to drive properly in snow (myself included), so many folks stay home, bundle up and head outside to find the neighbors whom they usually only see when the sun is shining and it’s gloriously warm. Extreme temperatures bring people outdoors here.

With the first snowfall of winter here in Western Washington, Mother Nature offered up a silent frozen white wonderland for kids and adults alike, and a unique challenge to us open water swimmers—

The thrill of just imagining sea swimming among trees wrapped in frosty white, with whispers of frozen water floating down from the sky in crystal shapes was enough to make me giddy upon waking to a brilliant blanket of snow.

Mid day, after helping deliver (my husband, Josh, drove—an Idaho man with snow driving skills) our teenage sons to various prime sledding spots around the island, we happened upon my neighbor Dave’s wife. On instinct I found myself blurting out that I was thinking of a swim and wondered if Dave might be planning to take a dip. She said she thought he might, and kindly offered to let him know I was interested.

Already I was setting myself up to live a dream I had. There was no going back.

Awhile later I received this text,

“I going to try a swim in the back bay, around 3, maybe.”

Followed by a second message,

“If I can muster up the courage.”

This sealed the deal. To swim we both needed to lean on each other’s courage. I replied immediately.

“Ok. I’m in. Just my swim suit for a very short dip. Over in a few”.

I didn’t have time to end the text with a period—time was of the essence. Normally I write texts like a letter —in full sentences. I know, I’m old. Further proof to my kids that I’m definitely old.

Stating my plan pulled me further down the path towards my dream—or some might argue insanity. Either way I was antsy with anticipation.

I figured my wetsuit would just slow down my prep time, possibly undermine my resolve and I knew my swim would be very brief. I recalled my waterfall swim from a few weeks ago and knew the freezing water would be bracing and exhilarating.

And I was confident that I could do it again. Especially since we would be getting in at the head of the bay, at the mouth of the salmon stream, where the water is mostly fresh water. For those who are not aware, fresh water is colder than saltwater in winter. By a lot. Dave and I had picked the coldest water for our swim. Okay, insanity. Yes.

And I wanted to feel that feeling again. This was the day.

With my red suit on under my clothes, and my thermal cap and goggles in hand, I headed to Dave’s.

He opened the door completely ready—swim cap on, dry robe zipped, can of Crisco (to prevent swim rash) and sporting flip flops. I stared at his feet in amazement.

I knew this was a special swim, as he also carried extra gear—a tripod and iPhone. He would be documenting this one.

We walked the well worn road and trail through the fluffy white, Dave’s flip flops kicking up flecks of snow while my boots stomped oblong circles, creating fresh tracks. Footprints that would soon disappear in place and memory, melting down into the soil to return to the sea.

We arrived at the snowy bank, and looked out over the bay. At first glance I felt disappointment as I thought I was looking at an extremely low tide and silvery brown tide flats. No. The tide was very high. We were peering out over a frozen bay of slushy ice. The frozen surface was a swirling still palette in shades of grey and dirty white.

Dave set up the tripod and set the camera rolling, and we hurriedly disrobed down to our swim suits. I balanced awkwardly and barefoot atop my wet boots, my toes quickly going numb, very unhappy with my latest decision to pull them from their cozy wool chambers.

Dave reminded me to watch my step, only moments later to lose his footing on the slick bank and land hard in the snow on his back.

Ouch. I had done that very thing not too long ago, even without the slick snow.

With our senses heightened, and our breath coming out in tiny clouds of steam, I took the lead and cautiously climbed down the frozen roots to the snowy beach, wrapping my arms tightly around the trunk of a tree to avoid falling.

Dave lowered himself slowly after me, as I stood waiting onshore, putting off the inevitable.

We stepped in together, through a thick layer of frozen slush, my feet and legs barely feeling the cold as they numbed up. My mind was quickly distracted by the scratchy feel of the ice on my skin, like tiny thorns rubbing in rings at the waterline. We stepped further in, breaking through the thick layer of slush, reaching down with our hands to push apart the frozen surface, creating hundreds of tiny islands and exposing the water below.

I reached down to splash my face, pulling up ice water from the bay, the water an ominous deep dark brown.

For a moment I felt afraid. I knew the ice was slushy and would easily give way, but looking out over the bay I questioned my desire to dive under. What if the ice didn’t give way for me to surface again? I kept my fear to myself.

“I need to get my heart rate down,” Dave said. Perhaps he was a bit nervous too.

I breathed deep again. We waited. Neither of us speaking, holding space between our thoughts to make room for what lay before us. Both of us needing this silence to prepare—this, the most important lesson I have learned to succeed in open water swimming. Silence.

Moments passed like weeks and in a blink Dave dove under. I watched him disappear beneath the ice, his body leaving a pool of islands in his wake.

I waited. Where did he go? I held my breath. After what felt like an eternity, he broke back up through the surface, several yards out.

I exhaled. Emboldened by his courage, and a dose of peer pressure and envy that he was at the other side of the initial plunge, I steadied myself. Now it was my turn.

I pulled down my goggles, readjusted my cap and raising my hands above my head, I dove.

All was dark. The ice scraped like a dry scrub brush along my skin, as I imagined tiny cuts forming.

There was nothing to do but feel it all. I swam under for a moment, then surfaced to look around, slowly breaking apart the slushy ice around me, feeling the water in a new way. No cuts had formed, just my imagination. My lower body hovered in the familiar soft liquid while my upper body and shoulders rubbed the frozen water.

Between heavy breaths I chanted, “Wow. Wow…….wow.” My breath working to right the wrong, fight off the cold.

“Look at that bird!” I gasped.

A songbird, no bigger than my fist hopped lightly over the frozen bay ice while we floated, our bodies holding heat deep within while we worked to slow our breath. One breath at a time, as tiny snowflakes kissed the sky, landing silently around us.

“This is definitely a challenge,” Dave smiled.

“Whoa. Ha! We did it! I think I’m good,”

“Alright,” Dave replied.

I swam to shore. Through breathless pants I asked, “Are you going to swim?”

Without hesitation, Dave said he was going to try swimming to the other side and back.

“Oh wow. Now I want to join you,” I replied.

My resolve to exit faded and I headed to deeper water as Dave broke free for the other side, swimming freestyle with a fierce speed, his arms breaking through the ice, leaving a trail of water in his path.

I stayed in the deep, my head above water, swimming in small circles, gazing about, feeling the slush give way under my hands while my shoulders took the brunt of the harsh scratching ice.

Somehow it was okay. And felt good. Dave reached the far side of the bay and let out a cough.

“You okay?” I called, my voice echoing over the bay.

“Yeah. I keep breathing ice,” he called back.

I felt content with my choice not to cross. This was enough for me, but I was happy for Dave, knowing he aspires to complete an ice mile someday. This was good practice.

After one more circle around, I headed to shore as Dave crossed back over, swimming swiftly and evenly. I have no doubt he has what it takes to complete an ice mile. And I hope I can be there to cheer him on. I’ll stand by with his sweet wife and kids, with the cocoa and blankets ready.

“Good job, Dave!” I called through frozen lips.

“That felt good,” he replied.

This morning I called my dad. I wished him a happy Valentine’s Day and told him I love him. He was waiting to get his second covid shot at the assisted living facility where he lives.

I proudly told him about my swim yesterday.

“My daughter is an ice breaker now.”

I said goodbye, hung up the phone and wept.