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Floating World

Island Life

I think I may have used this title before, although this time around it is for something altogether different, on first look. Floating World, the earlier, was about my first experience at Burning Man, and a year in which the aforementioned title was the theme for the festivities there. Floating World, the latter, is intended this time as an all encompassing file name for the activities experienced throughout the weekend just passed. The former takes place annually on a dry lake bed in northwestern Nevada. The latter has occurred annually as well, but in an alpine lake (this year muchly overfilled) in a wilderness area 32 miles south of Bend, Oregon. The Burning Man Festival is in many ways about extremes of experience- dust, heat, party-hardiness. The Cascade Lakes Swim Series & Festival is about extremes, too, but those of cold water tolerance, endurance and fitness- sort of. Burning Man sends out a Survival Guide that outlines the basics of how one can make it through a week of dust devils, 107 degree temperatures at altitude and binge-driven memory loss. For participating in all the Swim Series events, including the 500, 1000, 1500, 3000 and 5000 meter swims over three days, the event organizers from Central Oregon Masters Aquatics (COMA) will present you with a blue glass mug that has a representation of Mt. Bachelor on it, under which resides the word SURVIVOR, seemingly flanked on either end by blue and silver flames.

I should mention that I did not participate directly in this hooplah, although I have done just the 5K swim in this same locale and venue six years ago. At that time I was in better shape, and the water was a balmy 71 degrees. This year, as Wendy was signing up for it, the report from Elk Lake was that they were at a new record low race day temperature of 62 degrees- I gracefully declined to enlist. I did however engage in one of the mainstays of both Burning Man and most any of the enduro-distance sporting functions- I volunteered to paddle my kayak around all the race courses as a safety person. In some ways this could be seen as an act of sporting altruism, in others it could be something of a bit of self-indulgence. In truth, I was offering an important service to the organizers and the participants. It is equally true that as I followed along with the rhythmic splash and pull of each swimmer, I also had one of the best seats in the house in my own private, floating grandstand for every race.

It is tempting as one floats along, to analyze and correct the myriad of strokes and techniques that passes one by out on the high seas. Wow- that gut has a great glide; no- you are bending your elbow way too much; more kick- slower turnover. But then you catch yourself, or get caught in the process. You are using multiple senses as you paddle along. You scan with your eyes, but sometimes what you hear somewhere else- a break in stroke rhythm of an exaggerated cough, gets you twisting around to find the source of the audio aberration. There was the time that I was watching a group when the man in the middle stopped with his head buried deep in the water and his back arched strangely upward. You pause and run an imaginary countdown to when this behavior should stop. In this case, he had lost his cap, and I think maybe his goggles, too, and was attempting to put everything back on mid stroke. And then there was the time I was following the last of the swimmers on the long race. I paused to look back because I knew that the first swimmers were coming up from the rear to lap the stragglers on this triple loop course. When I looked back forward again I saw one of the swimmers I had been following and a rather disturbing burst of bubbles coming from somewhere below. I imagined the worst and sped forward, not quite understanding where that much air was coming from. A glance through the clear, ice melt lake water revealed the form of a scuba diver who had entered the water unannounced. My heart rate ratcheted back to normal.

Wendy had a couple of her best swims, and a few that were throw aways- she did get her prized Survivor mug. As the race buoys were being collected and dragged to shore for deflation and storage I did think of Burning Man and the leave no trace ethic. By the time the awards ceremony on Sunday was underway there was no evidence that a race of any kind had taken place out there, although I had learned from one of the other kayakers that a sailboat race, the so-called Not-a Regatta was to be held later that afternoon. He was wearing a cap emblazoned with an Elk Lake Yacht Club imprint, although he assured me that no such organization existed. I thought about Burning Man and its inherent mythology. You could pretty much come up with any story you like about that event and chances are that at some time it might have some basis in truth. I thought about possible mythologies around this race which might develop around water temperature or wind-driven chop. Or perhaps there might be stories about Martin Held, the butterfly guy, who did the 3000k and 5000k races entirely with the butterfly stroke. Make up any tale of super human strength you like- he did it, and that seems to be quite enough for me.