I stood on the dock in -2ºC (28ºF) and looked at the water.
Well, water is an overstatement. Barely above slush, really.
I love the cottage. It was built by, my wife, Shannon’s grandparents in the 1950s… by hand.
It’s not one of those suburban homes that are plunked down in the woods by a lake. Every piece of wood is intentional and required. The rock face had been blasted out by dynamite to make a level foundation.
This cottage is my kind of camping.
Fridge full of beer, stove, running water and a mosquito-proof sunroom.
There was a piece of paper kept on the fridge that stated who had been first in the lake each year.
No one had been in the lake as early in the spring as I was attempting to be that morning.
Now, to be clear, I’m no hero. I’m no macho man.
I just really need adulation.
This ego ain’t gonna feed itself.
The water looked frigid. Every now and then you could see the sunlight shimmering on the top layer of paper thin ice.
I thought about dipping a toe in but then recoiled.
No, too cold to do that, I thought to myself ignoring that my goal was to be completely immersed anyway.
The water was definitely going to be cold.
There was a good chance my testicles would retreat so rapidly that one would fly out of my mouth while the other hid behind my stomach.
But the reward…
The glory of being the earliest in the lake would be something, wouldn’t it?
“Sure he’s got stupid looking hair, but he was earliest in the lake,” Shannon’s relatives would say as they finally accepted me into their fold.
But it’s going to be so col…
I jumped in.
It was fucking freezing.
I kept my mouth tightly sealed to prevent any testicle mutiny.
I submerged again and then climbed back on to the deck where my cold but dry towel was waiting.
Sometimes, staying on the dock is too easy.
It’s not that staying on the dock is particularly comfortable. It’s not. It’s cold and windy and generally unpleasant… but what’s worse is the feeling that you’re still on the goddamn dock and not in the water where you should be.
Make sure the water is safe.
Make sure you’ve got an exit strategy.
Get off the dock.
Jump in.
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I did the same thing - but in Northern Saskatchewan in June of 1979! We had flown in by bush plane for geological field work and landed on the ice in Early June. By mid-June, the ice was far enough out to submerge and feel somewhat clean! It was bloody cold, but well worth it! No names on the piece of paper on the fridge! But to feel clean - nothing like it!!
Loved it!!!!