Swimming holes
The dog days of summer
This past weekend we were set to explore some remote alpine lakes in Nevada, but a friend got sick and those plans got shelved. Instead Molly and Kate and I spent some time at the cabin and a day at a river.
As summer is winding down I’ve been taking stock of this year’s rivers and lakes. More and more with each passing (and seemingly hotter) year my measure of a summer well-spent is logged in swimming hole hours.
Here’s a graph:
We’re in California. It’s hot in much of the state. Occasionally on fire. The Bay Area—our area—has a lot going for it, but rivers are few and the majority of lakes in the area are unswimmable reservoirs.
It’s not that there are zero options, but opportunities feel rare enough that any dip-able divot is exciting. I pull off the road frequently when passing water on a trip and spend a lot of time looking over maps for overlooked swimportunities.
Molly and I did a road trip in 2020 for our 10-year anniversary, looping out to Colorado and around The West. Sixteen days and as many or more baths in rivers and lakes, some roadside happenstance, some destinations. We were as proud of the soaks as we were anything else on the trip.
Last month my friend Chris had some time off work (and parenting duties) and proposed a hang. I offered a 600-mile swimming hole tour. What better way to spend a few days in July?
Increasingly (especially when factoring in hot springs in the colder months) water has become the destination. I start feeling the itch early in the season, eager to not squander precious months.
Of course, early-season snow runoff can be rough. But I’ve learned that once I have the thought of “I should get in” I probably should. Otherwise, it’ll gnaw at me. I’m always refreshed—even exhilarated—on the backside of a cold dip and while I’ve never regretted a swim, I’ve held a lot of feelings about the ones I’ve considered and skipped.
Early this summer Molly, Emily, Maxson, and I hiked up to an alpine lake that turned out to be partially frozen over. Had to get in though. Maxson slid in first and did us the favor of reframing it. “It’s nice! You know… if cold is nice. It’s… very very nice.” We’ve re-used that quite a bit this season.
When I sat down to write this I thought it would mostly be to share a bunch of glorious swimming hole pictures—there’s been some real beauties over the years. But, turns out between the excitement and the lack of clothing, I don’t document them as well as I expected. And the prized spots I do have photos of…most of those I don’t really want to give up the locations on. Go figure.
So here’s Shae, doggy-paddling a hole in Humboldt that we’ve spent many a summer in. I promise the view up top is excellent.
