The Guardian has a series of photos from “Polar Plunges” around the world… some of the images show people having fun. Fun by jumping into cold water…
Not being a lover of the cold, I’ve only had the occasion to photograph a chilly plunge once. I passed. The times I’ve worked for newspapers, we’ve never bothered to find anyone on Indiana’s mainland crazy enough to want to jump into frigid waters and earn the title of “Polar Bear”. Fortunately, I didn’t work for a publication that bordered Lake Michigan.
The one time I did have the opportunity was outside of my news experience. A friend, Michael, and I had travelled to Cape Cod, Mass in April (we did this three times over several years) for the New England Institute of Professional Photography spring workshop.
For a week in early April, portrait and wedding photographers took over one of the seaside resorts on the cape. Spring time weather there was usually either mild, with highs in the mid 50s, or more winter like, with brisk wind, and highs in the 40s. The first year I went, accompanying Michael on his fifth or sixth visit to the school, we had a mix of the two.
Although technically spring, the water temp in the Atlantic waters that time of year wasn’t much above the “Hypothermia will get you!” stage. Michael shrugged it off and declined to take the plunge that year (and all of the following years), but entertained those of us not brave enough to take the plunge with tales of years past, swimming out several yards into the frigid surf, with a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. The goal in previous years for Michael and like minded polar bears was to completely submerge, but keep the cigars lit. This year, cigars were not apparent among the swimmers doffing their coats or robes on the beach.
Slightly less brave souls stood on the beach and shouted encouragement to the polar bears wading into the surf. The rest of us, cowards at heart in the face of enduring even more frigid temps immediately after a round of northern climate winters, stood warm and content in the dining room of the resort, watching the chilly action through the room’s panoramic wall of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the beach.
The measure of one’s mental prowess seemed to be how wet one was willing to get. The bravest went for full immersion in the waves, usually with an excited dive into a small whitecap, or a nose-holding dunk to wet their heads. The meeker among the crazies only made it far enough to wet their legs.
The in-betweeners usually managed to wade out far enough for the frigid waves to take firm hold of their nether regions – the parts covered by the swim trunks or bikini bottoms. The shock of the cold waves seemed to send a signal to their brains at that point that discretion was the better part of valor. After their spines stiffened from the shock of the chill on body parts better left un-chilled, they splashed a bit to look like they were brave enough to get wet. Then they turned and slogged quickly back to shore where a slightly-less-brave (e.g. saner) friend was holding their towel and warm coat.
After a moment or two, the shivering kicks in, and those of us watching wonder if the swimmers are shivering as much as we are? Even the thought of jumping into such cold water sends chilling down my back.
I’ll leave the photography of, as well as the swimming in frigid water to those brave enough, or foolish enough to enjoy it. Instead, I’ll keep looking for a teaching opportunity somewhere. Perhaps in a warmer climate… The Gulf Coast sounds fun, and warmer.