Alpha Ice Break

By Kimberley Chambers

Soon after arriving at Whistler for the conference, with a few hours to spare before meeting up with my Adobe XD colleagues, I was consumed with a single thought: I need to swim in a glacial lake.

Once unpacked and settled in my hotel room, I prepared myself for the mission at hand: I changed into my swimsuit, threw on sweatpants and a jacket, grabbed my GoPro camera, swim cap, goggles and earplugs. A hotel bath towel draped around my shoulders completed the look. Encountering a few odd looks as I sauntered down to the main lobby, littered with skiers returning from the slopes, I inquired with Concierge as to the best way to walk to these lakes.

Skeptical as to my real intent, the Concierge kindly offered to drive me to both locations. A short chauffeured drive later, the Concierge and I determined both lakes were not safe for swimming. Only partially thawed in the middle, there was no way I could enter or exit the water without risking injury. Deeply grateful for him indulging my madness, I thanked him profusely. To which he replied “oh you’re most welcome. Truthfully, I was really worried about you.”

Undeterred and determined to complete my mission, I discovered Alpha Lake during a short conference break later in the week on the recommendation of a local. There was a slim possibility that this lake would be thawed. Again I suited up, walked outside and hailed a taxi. In a strange chance of serendipity, my taxi driver was not only a ski patroller but also a medic. What was the universe telling me exactly?

As we searched for a safe entry point into the mostly frozen lake, I surveyed my surroundings. A short walk along a dock at the direction of a puzzled dog walker revealed a ladder that led into a small patch of thawed ice. I was so nervous and so excited that my hands trembled as I peeled off my clothes and put on my swim cap, goggles and earplugs. Camera in hand, my heart raced. This was my moment of truth. I set the timer on my watch. Stepping down gingerly on the rungs of the ladder, the bones in my feet ached intensely upon meeting the water. I slipped carefully into the water and was relieved not suffer a heart attack. Once fully submerged, I spent some time (by time, I mean mere minutes) exploring, but soon discovered the ice was too thick to break and I was confined to a 4 foot by 4 foot ice enclosure. A strange but glorious euphoria undulated through my now freezing body. At 5 minutes I had trouble moving my fingers. It was time to get out.

Hardly a swim, the duration of my dip was 5 minutes 39 seconds. The steel ladder next to the dock was no further than 3 feet away from me. And my ski-patrol-medic-taxi-driver-swim-observer was standing watch, with laughter of course.

The wonderful thing about this sport is that it doesn’t need to be a marathon swim to be a memorable experience. For me, it is about trying something you never imagined ever attempting. It is about experiencing the raw unfiltered joy of being some place beyond your comfort zone.