Take the Plunge
By Ananda Scott
It's minus fifteen degrees with the wind chill. Snow glitters in the early morning sunshine as we wind our way from Boise up highway 21 toward Lucky Peak. The Make-A-Wish Foundation of Idaho is holding their annual polar bear plunge, and it struck my husband Randy as the perfect way to kick off the New Year.It's spectacularly gorgeous. The kind of unbelievable scenery used in wall calendars; a perfect January image. Everything sparkles like icing-sugar. The mountains rise around us. We see deer. We cross a bridge and see the river far below us, sprawling up into the distance. Thick mist rises from the icy water. I explain to my 4-year-old that as cold as the water is, it's still so much warmer than the air that steam rises from it, just like from a hot cup of tea. I think this is true. We are almost there.
When it's close to the big moment – almost 11am – the girls and I head down to the shore. The baby is warmest of all, bundled and fully enclosed in her own little world. I check occasionally, just to be sure, but her nose is warm and toasty. The wind has died down and Tess and I are comfortable in all our layers. Randy, however, has stripped to red swim trunks and blue crocs, and his coffee has frozen solid in his cup. There seem to be hundreds of people dressed for swimming along the banks, while the rest of us stand around them, eager and excited. I climb up on a small bank of sand for a better view. Someone announces there are ten minutes to go, then it's five, and then finally the crowd counts down the last ten seconds. On "one" there is an explosion of moving bodies. I can see splashes rising above the mist and hear laughter, shrieks, and the sparkling sounds of water play. It's over in a heartbeat. As one plunger later said, the first thing you think when you hit the water is "get out, get out!" They're back in a hurry, drying off in the tent, wrapping in blankets, eating chili that is hot when served but quickly becomes ice-cold on top, laughing and sharing war-stories of numb feet and icicles in eyebrows.
We lost Randy in the crowd and I have little ones to consider, so we head back to the refuge of the car. Warming it up is the most helpful thing I can think to do anyway. Eventually he joins us and lounges in the passenger seat with the heat on full blast, finishing his icy chili. He is exhilarated. So am I. Tess is proud of her dad. It's a contagious atmosphere. I can't wait for next year.
I may even join him.
