by Rachael Vorster
When last did you fritter away a sunny day at your local lake or beach? Think picnics, inflatable rings, naps, surfing, your fave beverage, and suntan lotion. Now, imagine the icy bite of glacier runoff as it takes you from the edge of an adrenaline rush through pain to the delight that comes from dunking your head into crystal clear, semi-frozen water.
Enter the “polar plunge.” There is no better place to enjoy this bracing experience than in one of America’s preserved pockets of nature. Of the 63 United States National Parks, around 45 offer swimming in some way, shape, or form. Those that don’t are either deserts, geothermal locales or volcanos.
Many of the dunks that fall under the definition of “polar plunge,” are simply cold-water swims, and these cold-water swims are somewhat contentious. Concerns have been raised about the dangers to the human body from cold temperatures and the risk of drowning, and the potential environmental harm thanks to careless swimmers who pollute waterways or damage local ecosystems. But contrasting arguments include physiological benefits to those bold enough to brave the waters, and mental health benefits because they offer a new way for people to experience the outdoors and their national parks.
The writer contemplates a November dip in a lake in Glacier National Park.
Yosemite National Park
The first time I dared the freezing waters of a national park is faint in my memory, but I have a few impressions. It was Yosemite, the closest national park to our home. There was snow on the ground, on the trees, and on the rocks. The air was freezing. I went in because of the promise of cash. During a family vacation, my parents dared my two older brothers and me to jump into a languid pool of the Merced River run-off. The prize was $5. Each. Too good to be true, it was also ample motivation to face the freezing waters. We only dallied long enough to satisfy the dare, and nothing in those frigid waters inspired me to take a second dip. The story is still told to this day at family gatherings. It was an experience I did not want to repeat until a decade later.
Dangers
Unfortunately, not all such stories turn out so well. Drowning accounts for 25% of deaths in U.S. national parks. In Yosemite, a lot of accidents and fatalities are due to the apparent calm, shallowness, or warmth of its waterways. In reality, places like Yosemite Lake and the Merced River are dangerous all year, except for a couple of months in the late summer.
In March of 2022, two men lost their lives while swimming in Yosemite Lake. One was pulled out of the water by bystanders and only succumbed later in hospital, and the second had to be recovered by the Water Rescue and Recovery Team. Water deaths occur rapidly, and the more remote the area of the park that you are swimming in, and the fewer bystanders there are, the longer it takes for first-responders to arrive. In the case of the Yosemite Lake drowning, it took the Water Rescue and Recovery Team an hour to arrive.
There are also dangers associated with the cold-water aspect of swimming. Plunging the body into cold water triggers a sudden, rapid increase in breathing, heart rate and blood pressure known as the cold shock response. This sudden intake of breath with the potential to not exhale, along with a lethargic feeling in your limbs can lead to drowning. Then there is the increased strain on the heart which can cause a heart attack, and, of course, hypothermia. So, you need to know the risks and if necessary, have a medical check-up before you take that dip.
With all the dangers associated with cold-water swims, why then take the plunge? The same question can be translated to many outdoor adventure activities hiking, climbing, mountain biking, rafting — the list goes on. I have found that if I take the necessary precautions and plan ahead, there have only been positive benefits.
Cherishing those few chilly moments after emerging from a plunge in Olympic National Park.
Mt. Rainier National Park
When I decided to visit Mt. Rainier National Park for the first time two years ago, an idea wormed its way into my head. Since my Kings Canyon dip, I had swum in other national parks, including The Narrows in Zion and Crescent Lake in Olympic National Park, but always in the height of summer when the water was a refreshing break from the heat. We were visiting Mt. Rainer in early July, but due to a recent snowstorm, the weather would be cold. At the same I wondered what it would feel like to take the plunge of my own accord without that $5 bait.
I convinced a friend to join me, and then, with my mother in tow to act as lifeguard, we set out for Snow Lake. When we arrived at the lake, we immediately started to prepare — half in excitement, and half so as not to lose our courage. Stripping off our outer layers, we perched on the rocks at the edge of the lake. To our right we could see the great channel of the cirque, covered in snow and gravel. Ahead were the clear, placid waters we had come for.
I didn’t even give myself the “dip your toe in” chance and plunged head first through the ripples. It seemed like an age that I was under, but it was all of half a second. When I broke the surface again, I couldn’t help but shriek and spin, not from the cold, but from the feeling that I was alive, I was here, and I totally just did that.
We were as quick to exit, but when my friend started drying off and warming up, I couldn’t help but dive in again. The adrenaline coursing through my veins, the pump of my heart in my ears, the numbness and weightlessness of being in the water served as a shot of dopamine to my brain, and I was addicted.
At this point I had heard of the benefits of cold-water swims or polar plunges, but had never felt the desire to do the same. Snow Lake made me realize the difference. There was nothing like the feeling of swimming in a lake so pure and wild, watching confused onlookers laugh, and challenging myself to stay in as long as I could.
After that dive I found an article published in The International Journal of Circumpolar Health that collated information from multiple Cold-water Immersion (CWI) studies to create a more complete picture of the health benefits. The topic is still very much open to debate, and while some of the claimed benefits include a boost to the immune system, treatment of depression, chronic autoimmune inflammation, stress, and increasing post-exercise recovery times, none of these have been conclusively proven.
Despite the lack of evidence, CWI immersion is still a popular trend on social media — go figure — and many of the individuals who participate, claim to have experienced multiple benefits from regular immersion. Until more research is completed it’s impossible to know for sure.
Crater Lake from the rim at dusk.
Crater Lake National Park
I remain hooked. Last year, when my family decided to visit Crater Lake once again, I began planning. I live only a few hours from Oregon’s only national park and even though I have visited it a few times, I had never swum in its waters.
The deepest lake in the United States is a vibrant blue. The color comes from the lack of pollution and foreign material. Even in summer the surface temperature averages a chilly 57 degrees — cold enough to induce the cold water immersion response.
In order “to protect the clarity of the lake and decrease the possibility of introducing invasive species” the National Park Service provides visitors with a list of banned materials including: “scuba and snorkeling gear; wet suits, masks, goggles, fins; inner tubes or any towable devices; kayaks, canoes, and any motorized or non-motorized boats; inflatable rafts, flotation devices; and personal life jackets or vests.” Invasive species are “capable of changing the composition of the ecosystem,” and can overwhelm native flora and fauna. Crater Lake has only one access point to the water, which protects the fragile slopes and ecosystems that line the lake.
Without these regulations the very things that make Crater Lake so special would be destroyed. As with many of the national parks, visitors must be mindful of the impact they will have on the ecosystems and research what is allowed. No matter how beautiful a spot seems, if it’s off-limits, it’s for a reason. As mindful and sustainable adventurers it is our responsibility to be aware of and respect the rules. I actually love researching a park and it’s unique protections as I prep myself for every plunge.
The hike down to the lake’s edge is over a mile long, and drops about 700 feet through a series of switchbacks. I did it alone, my towel slung over my shoulders and my bathing suit under my clothes. Once at the bottom I scrambled over sharp rocks and boulders until I reached the water’s edge. There were other swimmers and hikers around, enough that I felt safe going in alone, but while the waters had appeared still and calm from above, the surface was rough and choppy.
I practically tumbled my way in and was so distracted by not slipping or getting tossed around, the cold barely registered. As soon as I dunked underneath, I felt the bite, and that shot of dopamine. My wet wind-whipped hair added to the shivery sensation, but as I shifted my focus up and away from the water, the cold seemed to disappear.
As I bobbed in the waves, I stared up at the horizon that towered like a ring of icing sugar around me, forming the crust of the caldera. Seeing Crater Lake from that new angle was thrilling. How many people do, I wondered. I was then more enamored with Crater Lake than ever before, and set myself this goal: No longer would it be enough to simply visit every national park in the United States. Now I had to swim in every national park in the nation.
Once this resolution was made, a whole world of possibilities opened up to me. Which national parks had I already visited, but not swum in? What challenges would this present in parks like Glacier or Denali, which are cold and snow-blown most of the year? In desert parks like Arches or Death Valley were there ever times when I would be able to swim? Now, whenever I visit a national park, my planning is extended to include these cold water immersion activities.
Research
When I do my regular research for visiting a park, which includes its hiking trails, campsites, and scenic viewpoints, I also look for lakes, rivers, and streams. The National Park Service has a website for every park, and the information lets me know if areas will be open and safe for swimming.
Precautions
Since I have become familiar with the dangers presented by cold-water swims, I try not to do them alone, and I remember to bring the few essentials noted below to keep me safe. I also remember that no matter how many times I take the plunge, there is always a risk involved. But, like much of life, if I don’t take that risk, I know I will be missing out on an experience unlike any other, one that transforms the way I interact with the outdoors, and provides a new path for experiencing national parks. So, take a deep breath, steady your nerves, and jump.
- Besides a swimsuit and towel, pack a warm change of clothes, water, and an energy-giving snack.
- Be aware that hypothermia can set in after you exit the water, especially on a breezy day. If the combined water and air temperatures is 77 F or below, the risk is the greatest. A sure sign of hypothermia is a sense of disorientation and/or dizziness. Be sure to dry off and bundle up quickly one you’re done.
- When you arrive at your destination, which often requires a hike, assess the surroundings: Consider how deep the water is, how fast is it flowing? Is there a place for an easy exit, or would you have to climb out? Is the water accessible from the trail, or will you need to bushwhack to get there? Are there fragile plants on the shore that you need to avoid? Answers to each of these questions ensures a safe experience, protecting both yourself and the landscape.
