Swimming, Briefly, At The Top Of The World

Okay, so we didn’t set a record for further north, but it occurred to me whilst writing this that we may have set the record for the furthest North Polar Plunge.  We were back to Svalbard, but we were still pretty far north.

(You gotta admit, “whilst” is an under-used word.  My brother Rod and I are the only two people I know who regularly use it, and, well, that might be why “whilst” is under-used.  Use it today, it will put a spring in your step!)

I had done the plunge in Antarctica, and the conditions seemed similar – 30 degree water.  So I wasn’t sure I would do it – I had a cold, my ribs still hurt from cracking or spraining them over two weeks ago, yada, yada, yada, excuse.  Carol was definitely not plunging because of her more recent injury.

But then I thought about you, my faithful readers.  If I didn’t plunge, I couldn’t well write about it, and then you would miss out.  (Editor’s Note: Glen, not very many, if any readers, are saying to themselves – “I really want to picture my favorite blogger with his shirt off.”) 

On the Orion, we jumped off the low back deck.  The Explorer did not have one, so instead we had to go through the mud room, down to a makeshift platform held in place by two zodiac boats.  There was warmth in the mudroom, and our Assistant Expedition Leader, the famed mistress of the mudroom (as she bills herself), Alexandra got the line moving.  Around 45 people plunged.

The most, uh, colorful, was Keith, who removed his swim trunks before jumping in.  No one else could top that (or wanted to, for that matter).  

Unlike last time, I was toward the back of the line, and you couldn’t see what was happening until it was your turn.  I felt as disoriented as Ralphie visiting Santa Claus in “A Christmas Story.”  I go outside, and there is a lot of frantic gesturing.  Just when I figure out where to go – jumping off the front side of the zodiac, Lucho gives me a 1-2-3 count.  I noted that I wasn’t even to one yet, then got up on the zodiac wall and plunged.

It’s weird.  The water did not seem as cold as two years ago (it was).  Maybe it wasn’t as bad because I knew what to expect.  I beat a hasty retreat to the climb-out platform, where two crew helped haul me out.  Then, before you know it, I was back in the warmth of my bathrobe in the mudroom.  

I never felt the toe and finger tingling of blood rushing out to protect my vital organs.  Did my blood no longer care about me?  I would think the science would be the same. My only theory is that, in Antarctica, we hung out on the back deck after, watching others plunge and talking excitedly.  Maybe the immediate retreat to the warmth of the mudroom protected me.  Either way, the shower felt good.