Cold
This winter, I had something of an epiphany. A real lightbulb moment. It turns out that diving in Lake Superior during the winter months is not, as I had long assumed, an exercise in slow, hypothermic doom. Quite the opposite, in fact—it’s actually rather delightful. Beautiful, even. The trick, as with most things in life, is having the right equipment. But still, it’s all far easier than I had imagined.
You see, in the summer, the water does warm up… somewhat. By which I mean it grudgingly claws its way into the 50s or, if it’s feeling especially generous, the low 60s. Which, let’s be honest, is still bracingly cold and requires a drysuit for anything longer than a 45-minute dive. But here’s the problem: summer also means you have to suit up in thick, insulating undergarments while standing on dry land in the sun. By the time I trudge down to the lake, I am, without exception, sweating like a cheese left too long in the sun. Then I plunge into the supposedly refreshing 50-degree water, and because I’m already damp with sweat, I get cold much faster than if I had arrived in a state of dry and dignified comfort.
Tough to get a shot of this kid in anything but perfect trim.
Winter, however, is a different story. Outside, the air is an invigorating teens-to-20s affair. The water is colder too, typically in the mid-30s. And yet, when I step in, I feel… great. Toasty, even. No sweat, no pre-dive overheating, just a perfect little self-contained bubble of warmth. And that, my friends, makes all the difference. I can stay in the 35-degree water of midwinter for over an hour, utterly content, while summer divers look on in horror, wondering how on earth I’m not turning into an icicle.
Water temperature was 34°F this day.
Speaking of icicles, here’s my dive buddy Heather wrestling with her frozen regulator, which at this point is about as cooperative as a brick. One of the many joys of diving in subarctic conditions. Meanwhile, my fancy new closed-circuit rebreather hums along smugly, unbothered by such trivial matters—but that’s a tale for another time.
