Lake Superior
Last year, I was standing on the edge of Lake Superior in Munising, Michigan. It was mid-June, but the breeze off the water still bit through my clothes. Kelsey and I bought a camping fan, and we definitely did not need it. Shorts were also unused for the most part. I didn’t go all the way in, honestly, not even knee-deep. I rock hounded and just let the lake touch my calves. That was enough. It was cold, but not unbearable. Bracing. That’s the word I’d use. It also wasn’t hot out at all so, why would I get in water that cold. I remember thinking, “Okay. That’s not as bad as I expected.” I absolutely do not wish to swim in it, though! I stood there for a few minutes, toes curling into sand and broken rock. Continued breathing it in, feeling the lake tug gently at my ankles and feet. Then I walked back out of the lake. Easy like Sunday morning.
Sliding Rock
This year was different. I found myself in Western North Carolina, in the center of a July heat wave. My sister introduced me to Sliding Rock. Look below to see a picture. It’s the natural rock waterside. It comes with tourists in a line so long we were across the creek. The sounds of nervous laughter in front of us mixed with splashing, and shrieking. It was hot, my car thermostat was reading triple digits. The sun made the stone slick and warm. I waited my turn and tried to psych myself up. Then I sat down on the rock, pushed off, and honestly barely got momentum. I, no sooner hit the pool at the bottom, though, and I froze. That cold that doesn’t just shock your skin, it locks you up. I couldn’t breathe. My chest physically felt stuck. It didn’t matter that it was July or that I’d just been sweating and cursing the sun. That water hit harder than anything else I have felt.
I was so confused. Sliding Rock? That’s just a little creek in the woods. Lake Superior is, well, Superior. It’s gosh darn massive and glacial and famous for being cold. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much worse Sliding Rock felt. I didn’t even go under the water in Munising. Not really. Just my lower legs. But at Sliding Rock, I was fully submerged, head and all. I am sure that is what makes a difference. Still, I got curious. I looked it up.
Lake Superior in mid-June? Anywhere from 40 to 50 degrees Fahrenheit (ca. 10 °C), sometimes colder. Sliding Rock in mid-July? Consistently around 50 to 55 degrees. So technically, the lake is colder. But it didn’t feel that way.
I keep coming back to that. I feel like sometimes we trick ourselves. The numbers don’t matter as much as the moment. I expected Lake Superior to be cold, so I braced myself. I only dipped partway in. With Sliding Rock, the heat had lulled me into false confidence. I didn’t just dip, I slid. That cold slapped me across the face. It stole my oxygen. It stuck to my skin even after I climbed out, dripping. Though stunned, I was still smiling like an idiot. As I listened to my adult sister beg to go again and again like we were children, and again.
It reminded me how nature doesn’t always work in neat measurements. Sometimes it’s about the moment. It’s about contrast. It’s also about what you think you’re ready for. Others, it is what humbles you anyway.
Anyway, if you’ve done both, I’m curious to know what felt colder to you?
Also, so you know, we arrived at sliding rock a little over an hour before close. Jade, my sister, putting on some front like she was going to hate it. Jenna, our other sister, and Jade were here years prior. Not gonna lie, the experience was almost nostalgic. The 9-year age difference really prevented me from truly being a kid with my sisters. If it wasn’t for that feeling, I wouldn’t have slid again. There’s something about your grown sibling demanding to go down the slide again. It’s like a child at a park where you can’t deny another slid. Sliding rock greedily stole my breath each dip.
