The Cold Hard Facts

It’s been a quiet week here at Carten Manor. Upon the passing of June 21st my favorite time of year has arrived (with the possible exceptions of Spring, Fall and Winter) and with it will come many happy hours spent lounging on the beach. Kathy and I have been members of Sandy Beach Swim Club, up on Lake Quassapaug, for so many years that we still remember the signs the read, “Beware of the Plesiosaurs.”

Over the years we have seen many changes at the beach, most of which are for the better. Certainly today’s brief bikinis are a big improvement over those full length woolen bathing suits from the past. Though there are some things we do miss. The high slide on a raft was a lot of fun for old and young alike and the diving board on the far raft gave the boys a chance to show off for their favorite girl. Unfortunately those and a few other attractions, such as the horseshoe pits, have fallen prey to today’s more litigious society.

Back in the day, if you fell off a slide and got hurt you were reprimanded for being so clumsy and taken to the doctor to be patched up. You learned a lesson and would, theoretically at least, be more careful in the future. Today you are rushed to a lawyer so that your injuries can be properly documented and the only thing you learn is that any stupid act on your part can be converted into a pile of money. After all, you were a “victim.”

But all that aside, Sandy Beach is still a wonderful spot to wile away a warm summer’s afternoon. The tall old trees cast their dense shade across cool green lawns bordered by lush gardens. The beach is always maintained to the highest level and offers plenty of opportunities for the building of forts and sand castles. As always, the lake is crystal clear and there is usually a soft breeze off the water to keep things cool. The shore drops off at a gentle slope so that even the youngest of children are safe and an ever watchful life guard is always on duty.

All this would be perfectly idyllic if it weren’t for one thing: having to enter the water for the first time each day. I have always admired those hearty souls (usually teenage boys) who just run to the lake, ignoring the chill of the water, and dive headlong in. This is usually done for one of two reasons. First, there is some girl basking on the beach that needs to be impressed or second, there are other teenage boys around who need to be shown that you are not chicken. Of late though, I’m beginning to think there may be a third reason, and that being to show up those of us who prefer a slower and less showy approach to swimming.

For as far back as I can remember, I’ve always been an advocate of the more gradual entry into the water. My approach requires a bit of forethought and planning, but suits me just fine. The first thing I do is to carefully scan the shore for an area where there are the fewest young children. I carefully plot the patterns of play to so that I can predict areas where splashing is likely to occur. I refer to the part of the lake from the edge of the beach to about three yards out as the “danger zone” since that is where you are most likely to be splashed by some precocious toddler as he or she runs after a favorite toy.

Once I determine the safest spot I trot toward the water as if I’m going to jump right in. This is to fool all that are watching and give them the impression I’m far more adventurous than I really am. My next move requires a bit of acting ability. I make a great show of stopping at the water’s edge on the pretense that I don’t want to splash that older woman who is wading nearby. Again, the selection of just the right spot to enter the water is critical. Having established myself as a daring and yet considerate individual the rest is easy.

First I enter the water up to my ankles, allowing the full shock of the icy water to dissipate before continuing any further. Once my feet have become numb enough to be somewhat comfortable, I slowly precede up to my knees. Again I wait for the shock to pass before continuing. My next move requires the most courage and takes quite a bit of character on my part. With every fiber of my being screaming, “turn back you fool” I force myself to move forward until the fridged waters reach my sensitive nether regions. There I stop just long enough to consider my sanity. Easing out a bit further the water reaches the top of my bathing suit. Here I stay until it finally occurs to me that at this point it is far easier to just dive in and get it over with than to stand there shivering.

This entire process has taken quite a bit of time, but at last I am now in the water and swimming freely, like an otter or a seal. Well, perhaps more like an elderly otter or a seal with a head injury. I love the freedom of movement that swimming offers. I can dive to the bottom, swim full speed to the raft, or just float lazily on the surface while gazing up at the fluffy white clouds drifting overhead. At times like this I often think back at how silly I was not to have just jumped in and bypassed all the agony of my protracted entry into the water. I always vow that the next time I’m going to run and dive right in. As I said, I’ve been getting wet this way for as many years as I can remember, but maybe, just maybe, the next time I really will just dive in.

Eventually it is time to get out and head for that warm towel on the beach. I trot up to Kathy who always asks, “How’s the water.” I always reply, “Just great! It’s amazing how warm it is for this time of year.” She just smiles and returns to reading her book.

So that’s the news from Carten Manor, where all the women are strong, the men good looking and all the cats above average.