From the archives: The Winter Sauna by Becca Brin Manlove, 1999-2000 Ely Winter Times
We scurried quickly over the path of ice, clad in nothing but soggy wool socks and the steam roiling from our skin. “Hurry, Dayna! My socks are sticking!”
“Well, mine are stuck!” Laughing hysterically, she bent over and grasped the top of one sock with both hands, and peeled the sole of her sock off the ice as she lifted her foot. The night was cold and dry – temperature about -20℉. Anything damp stuck to the ice (similar to a tongue freezing to a swingset). I danced off the path into the ankle deep snow where my socks collected ice balls while Dayna freed her other foot, and then the first one again, before she gained the snowbank step, then the snow-covered deck. I joined her and we turned to face the lake, our laughter rising as joyful cloudbursts from the mouth.
Then we quieted. Warm, golden lantern light flowed softly from the windows of the sauna beside us. Forty feet from shore, another kerosene lantern glowed. Its backdrop, a four-inch slab of ice standing on end, seemed to both absorb and return the light. The water of the bathtub-sized hole in front of the lantern was a silky black. The two-by-four laid across one end of he hole gleamed with a high gloss coat of ice-varnish where we had splashed and dropped on it as we leapt out of the hole. The snow within the circle of lantern light danced with flashing ice crystals. But what quieted me was what was beyond the reach of lanterns.
We faced the frozen expanse of the north arm of Burntside Lake. The white of the snow stretching into the darkness was somehow both bright and dim. And where the gleaming white faltered, the darkness rose up into the deepest black. Only stars defined the jagged silhouette of Teacher’s Island. And under an immense canopy of a multitude of stars, I stood as tiny and short-lived as a snow crystal. Enveloped by the incredible stillness of extreme cold, I was warmed only by the super-heated blood pumping through my body. The loudest sound was the clacking of my frozen locks of hair over my ears.
I shivered hard. “I’m going in!”But just then there was a loud thump as someone slammed the heavy wooden door with her hip or shoulder, trying to loosen it. Another thump, and the door flew back as two more steaming bodies tumbled out of the sauna.
“Wait, I have to see this!” Dayna said. We watched our friends Heidi and Sheila dash down the path to the hole in the ice. Their socks were still dry and so weren’t sticking yet. Then, they hovered at the edge of the hole.
For me, that was the worst moment of the winter sauna. Sometimes when I stood there, I felt terror. I know the whole was only three and a half feet deep. In daylight when we removed the snow and plywood covering, I could see to the bottom, never anything frightening. But when I was going to jump in, the depth seemed overwhelming — the bottom unknown and full of danger. I would picture myself diving into that breath-grabbing cold and swimming under the ice until I was trapped. To swim away from the hole was totally unreasonable, of course, but so was jumping into the lake in the middle of winter.
Heidi had taken winter saunas before. She knew she didn’t want her mind to catch up to her. In one fluid motion she jumped in, ducked her head, and shot up out of the water onto her knees on the board. She was in and out so quickly we didn’t have time to yell encouragement. But Sheila hesitated. “Come on, Sheila – Do it!” Dayna yelled.
“We haven’t lost anyone yet this year!” I coaxed.
“Hurry, hurry, HURRY!” Heidi was feeling the immediate shock of cold. It was hard to wait at the edge for someone to go in.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Sheila screamed and jumped. The hole was chest deep. She held her arms above the water and gasped, “Out, out, out!” This was a classic case of panic in the hole.
“Put your hands on the board. Good. Now kick and I’ll help you out.” Heidi spoke in a calm, confident tone. She grasped Sheila under her arm and gave her a boost.
They began the sticking sock dance down the path while Dayna and I scurried to the back door of the sauna. We took a few hurried strides through the dressing room and pulled open the sauna door. The lantern hung in a small window between the two rooms, lighting both. The light momentarily blinded me as I came through the doorway, but I knew the space well. I stepped across to the bottom bench staying well away from the front of the large wood-burning stove. Dayna pulled the door shut behind us. We scrambled for our favorite perch – the top bench in the corner farthest away from the doors. We sat in silence and stared at the red glow of the firelight cast through the damper spaces of the stove. The ice in our hair softened and evaporated. The heat relaxed my cold tightened skin and muscles.
When Sheila and Heidi joined us we mimicked Sheila’s frozen stance. A plaintive “Out-out-out!” from Dayna sent us all into fits of laughter.
Our teasing reminded me that soon I would get too hot and I’d be out on the edge of the whole with The Decision again. Fear rose in my stomach.
I shook my head and tried to stay in the moment. For now, I was in the warmth of the sauna with three good friends. There were two buckets of good clear lake water, warmed to a refreshing cold by the sauna, on the middle bench. I dipped my washrag into one and dampened the hot boards so that I could lie down. I lay on my back and watched the firelight dance on the ceiling. The smell of sweat was softened by the sweet smoke of the current fire mingling with the smoke of 60 years of sauna fires permeating in the log walls. My body knew this ancient form of cleansing and flowed into it. My mind drifted, spiraling down through layers until it settled gently on a smooth sandy bottom.
Eventually I would grasp the thick chunk of branch that served as the sauna door handle and shove against the door to face The Decision. Whether I jumped in or not, the joyfull spill of stars still hung above us. All I had to do was step outside.
