Cold Calamities

To be completely honest, as I exited my family's van I was not in the best of moods. The car at the time was a recently purchased silver mini-van that had been packed to the brim with suitcases and duffel bags containing the seemingly never-ending amounts of 'necessities' of my family and I. Add three loud and loquacious brothers to the mix and there might be a little more understanding of why I was leaning towards a frustrated attitude.

The stop was just one of many on our trek across the 'Northern Shores' of the United States that had included visits to National Parks, like Voyageurs and Isle Royale, and incredible locations like Lambeau Field. The trip was one I will never forget, but for some reason one of the most memorable moments came from a location I never would have grouped under the same umbrella with the previously mentioned iconic tourist spots. Those places are correlated with positive memories that I will cherish for years to come, but while our family stop in Big Bay Park holds a special place in my memory, it is not for the same positive reasons.

As I reached for the side of the van's shelling to brace my exit from the car, the first thing I noticed was the beating July sun that hit my fair skin the moment I left the shade of our vehicle. This moment, as I look back, was a foreshadowing of what was to come. As my family and I reached the viewpoint, I was taken aback by the vastness of the lake. Once I left the shaded comforts of the forest I looked back to see a painting club, sculpting on their easels the beautiful landscape we were taking in together. Due to my lack of skill in the visual arts and as a tribute to them, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture instead. What made the spot unique, compared to what I had experienced at the previous parks, was that in being a state park, the rules were noticeably less strict. As a result, the rock formations had become a destination for lower-level rock climbers, who wanted the combination of a simple bouldering experience and a great view. While completing one of these maneuvers I found something special. From a picture perspective, the angle made it appear that the subject was holding on to the rock at a spot where there was nothing below them, but water. I called my brother Micah over and attempted to create the optical illusion that had popped into my mind.

After he was done posing, it was my turn. The spot where I was taking the photo was a little over a forty-five-degree slope into the water with the rock grip only being about eight feet away. My brother arrived at my location, we made the phone switch, and I made my way to where he had been previously. That is when disaster struck. 

One of the last things I remember was there was a tiny continuous stream of water in front of me. That small, and seemingly unimpactful, channel of water that glazed over the yellow-tinted rocks was just enough to send me off my feet. As I attempted to establish my balance and avoid a disastrous plunge my foot hit the rock, but didn’t stay. The next thing I remember I was submerged in the frigid waters of Lake Superior.

Before scaling the rocks at Big Bay State Park in Wisconsin, the signs and rangers at other national parks repeatedly bring up the lakes and their perceived appearance in reference to the ocean. They mention it because, despite how it may look, the Northern Lakes are very cold. They don’t necessarily reach temperatures of deadly proportions, but they aren’t designed for a nice ‘Sunday dip’ either. Specifically, Lake Superior averages a surface level temperature of around fifty-two degrees during July. For reference, Miami Beach sees an average of around eight-five during the summer months. 

The climb out of the water was not a treacherous task, once my feet finally found a solid foothold. For the first time all day, I pulled my head back to view the sun and was thankful for the heat that would warm up my frosty body. Besides a few abrasions and my small cold, I was not hurt. Actually, I take that back. I was hurt, just not on the outside. My hurt went deeper than the limited scope of my exterior body. The pain came from much deeper in, at the core. My pride had taken a shot that still hurts today. My siblings laughed at my inability to complete the ‘obstacle course’ of making it eight feet. I laughed it off with a smile as my mother photographed me after. The documented aftermath was the dagger that reminded me of this sad story. 

Still to this day, I am cautious with ideas, even the brilliant ones, to make sure not to climb onto too tall of a saddle. I realized that day, every extra little bit I climb adds to the fall as well. I also learned that sometimes you have to make mistakes to realize why people warn you about the pain. Every time I heard a ranger or guide speak about the frigid temperatures of the lakes on the rest of that trip, I listened with intentionality. That piece of realization is applicable in so many ways and forces me to listen to the people I respect and their warnings about life. Thankfully, everytime I fall I know I will always have Him to pull me out.