Esch to Empire swim, all shall be well

By Anne-Marie Oomen
Sun contributor

Seven strong swimmers. Five kayakers, one in a borrowed orange plastic open water kayak paddled by my husband, David Early. Me, resident geek and novice on my stand-up paddle board (not a paddleboat, a paddle board), my ATX dubbed “Yellow Belle.” Our brave leaders are Kati Rooney and spouse, Jim Hennessey. We are the proverbial motley crew — except we have a purpose.

This is the sixth annual Esch to Empire swim. Yes, the swimmers will swim from the Otter Creek beach to Empire beach, a beautiful stretch of shoreline. Kati tells me how the swim began: “In 2006 Jim and I and our mutual friend Sandy Dukat (accomplished world champion disabled swimmer and Paralympic skier) decided that we wanted to swim a longer distance in Lake Michigan than we had been swimming. Jim and I have spent summers in Leelanau County since 1995 and suggested the distance between Empire and Esch Road. We asked some of our friends from the county to paddle with us on our swim. July 16, 2006 was the first of what has now grown to six consecutive years of swimming the four-mile distance as a group with paddler accompaniment.”

This year the swimmers are, besides Kati and Jim, David Reinisch, Eric Kiefer, Kathy Heikkila, Dan Miller and Amy Powell. The support kayakers are Reni Dengl, Mary Eschbach, Kerry Alspaugh, David Early, Robin Johnson and me on the stand-up board. Our contribution to the day: to track, stay abreast, nudge the swimmers back when they go out too far, shout encouragement over the wind, and generally keep an eye out for boats — that’s the biggest task since the boats have trouble seeing the swimmers. But really, we all just want to live the pleasure of our lovely lake.

Kati says, “The purpose of the swim is to enjoy the beautiful waters of Lake Michigan and the awesome shoreline between Esch and Empire. Each year we pick which direction we swim based on the wind. We like to have it at our backs. This is not a competitive event — it’s an opportunity to safely swim a longer distance with the support of kayakers. There is no starting signal or finishing line — just the mutual love of swimming open water.” They’ve done this swim five times before, though never quite this late in the season.

Friday, August 26 dawns a lovely Michigan day. There’s a sweet south wind puffing some chance clouds, which means light wave action, but nothing cresting. That open water is clear and brilliant blue. For an hour we shuttle cars to the right lots, drop off equipment and picnic makings, and then we’re all gathered on that gorgeously long beach just north of the Otter Creek outlet. I can’t help noticing the swimmers, lean and strong, lots of great upper body strength, stretching and shaking out like pros.

Kati notes: “Several of us now swim together most of the summer and have increased our mileage and our distance goals. Five of us swam across the Straits of Mackinac this summer with kayak and powerboat support. The Empire/Esch swim is no longer the intense challenge it once was (I never thought I could swim more than one and a half miles) but every year it’s a different kind of swim — different memories of landmarks, water temps, wave conditions, muscle soreness, fatigue.”

As I watch them don goggles, swim caps, I respect their experience; and I understand. For the open water. On the beach, Kati tells me as they swim, they often spread out, head into deep water. She grins, “It’s like flying when you’re out there.” She is excited, happily impatient to start, but we chat a bit longer as the kayakers skirt themselves in. Then at some unspoken signal, we are wading over the pebbly shore into Lake Michigan’s quick breeze. Kati seats herself, removes her prosthetic leg, stashes it in a kayak, and once in the waves, moves like a water gazelle. And as I push my board among these competent athletes, I wonder what I am doing here. Because to be honest, I am probably one of the most non-athletic persons on the planet. I have been SUP (stand-up paddle) boarding for only a year, and am strictly a leisure border, also being pretty much non-competitive on most levels. I am a fan of silent singular sports, so SUP boarding fits, being the quietest of all. Though it can be a good core workout, the meditative “walking on water” is the spiritual attraction for me. But Kati has assured me that swimmers like boarders with them because they stand out on the water, being higher than the kayaks, and thus easier for boaters to see as warning. I think that’s about right — better they hit me first. Also because the stand-up pace kept by flatwater paddlers like myself tends to be laid back, it’s easier for us to stay with the swimmers — which is sometimes boring for kayakers. But as I’m launching, I’m thinking that my lifesaving certificate is literally 40 plus years untested … and then we’re on the waves.

And it is pure fun. That sweet south wind is just about as friendly as it can be, and the waves are manageable, just enough swell for a little rush now and then, but easy to navigate. I use my paddle mostly to steer among the swimmers, rarely for speed as the wind is pushing me. Without effort I stay with them as the seven head on a northwest diagonal out just beyond the sandbars. My husband, in the bright orange plastic kayak, heads to the front, figuring his vivid color will be easiest for boats to spot, and stays with the two front swimmers for the duration. The rest of us fall into place, eventually lining up with one or two swimmers. For a long time, I’m following swimmer David, calling back and forth with Kerry on her kayak as we keep counting, making sure that everyone is with us. At first, the swimmers seem to flock, but as the swim progresses, they scatter, some close to the bars, some preferring the deeper, cooler waters. Kati has told me that she starts swimming in Chicago the first part of May when the water is in the low to mid 50’s. “By mid July I am used to the waters of Lake Michigan and know that I can tolerate temperatures as low as the mid 60’s for the two or so hours it will take me to finish the swim.”

I watch the swimmers, watch how their bodies fall into the regular pattern of the crawl. The crawl is an amazing act of endurance to me — and though I learned the rudiments of the stroke in my youth, I have always preferred breast and sidestrokes. Still, the crawl is beautiful to watch, and I find myself mesmerized with the strength and steadiness of it. The small elegant splash of their arms triggers an odd association in my mind, and I laugh to myself when I realize the splash looks like an image from an old world painting I love, the small splash of Icarus in one of Brueghel’s most famous paintings, the Fall of Icarus. Better not tell the swimmers that! But then I realize this is different. Here the image is remade, not as a fall, but over and over as an act of survival, Icarus as I have always wanted to imagine him, swimming steadily beyond the broken wings to one of the great islands where he makes a new life. I laugh; I can be such a geek.

As we paddle with the swimmers, I have enough confidence to look away from them to the majestic shoreline, south bluffs of sand and clay dotted with juniper and wild shrubs. I sing a small boarding song I have invented, based on a medieval prayer by Anne of Norwich, “All shall be well, all shall be well …” It is that kind of day, that I can think these meandering poet thoughts. Geeking again.

As we pass the point, that slow curve of high dune that has thrown down a boulder field as halfway mark, I watch for the shoal effect, where the waves might kick up a bit, and become rough for swimmers. But the swimmers are beyond that. Having rounded the point, they have fanned out like bright stars. Now David’s orange kayak is far away, and the frontrunners will easily finish in two hours. Kerry and I switch places and she follows swimmer David who doesn’t yet realize that he is drifting toward South Manitou Island. I follow Amy, who is swimming steadily, her pink cap sharp against these darker waves. After we pass beyond the boulder field, the wind pops up a bit more. Amy stops, treads water for a minute. I ask if she is OK, and she asks how much further. I tell her we are over half way. She settles back to her crawl.

After the point more waves slosh the surface of my board. I notice the water feels cool, and guess that with the south wind, some cooler water has collected beyond the point. The air is still warm. But then I see a kayaker heading to shore, following one of the other swimmers. I think what good sense, go in when you are cold, get warm. I focus on Amy who is still swimming steadily, but more slowly. I find a way to circle her in order to stay with her, coming round to head into the wind, paddling hard to get behind her, coming round again. It’s a little challenge I give myself so that I stay close to her. Then she pops up again. I holler over the wind, asking if she is ok. She says she is really tired. I tell her that she should come to the board, that she can hang on and rest. Then she says, “I think I’m too cold.” And all the tiny quiet wings of warning flutter inside me. “I’m coming right over,” I say. I maneuver clumsily alongside her, go to my knees to touch her shoulder, hoping to help her balance onto the board. Her skin is like ice. I mean, not just goose-bumpy cold, but like ice. Yes, this woman needs to get out of the water.

Kerry sees us, returns with the kayak. Amy climbs on Yellow Belle, and we hightail it to shore. In my anxiety, it seems like we paddle a long time, crosswise the force of the waves, but it’s probably only a few minutes. All the while, I wish I were stronger, faster, in better shape as I try to paddle over the top of Amy’s head without hitting her. (That would be just the headline: geek wipes out swimmer with paddle while trying to help.) But we all get to the beach and Kerry helps her to shore. She’s a little too cold to leave, so we walk her down the beach, and somewhere in that mile, Robin comes running with hot coffee.

I understand from conversations with Kati that mild hypothermia is one of the challenges of open water swimming, that the temperature can change suddenly, and even a really strong swimmer, with lots of experience (as Amy has), may face this challenge. They know what to do. Amy is bundled and given hot teas, and sits in a heated car until her body temperature stabilizes. She feels sad that she didn’t finish, and a little embarrassed about the fuss, but before the hour is over, she happily serves us mimosas. Kerry and I are thrilled she is ok, and happy to high five it with all of them. They are all delighted with the swim, high from the powerful exercise. Kati’s prosthetic leg is back in place and she is managing the sand with her usual grace. All are eating the fresh healthy food so necessary after a long swim. The sixth annual has been a success.

I wonder what is next for this lively group — besides next year’s swim(s). Kati shares a dream. “We have recently decided that we would really like to share open water swimming with the young swimmers in the Traverse City/Leelanau area. We are constantly amazed by the beauty of the big lake and some of the smaller lakes and we’d love to share that with young people who train in a pool but haven’t experienced the feeling of open water swimming. We are planning to connect with some of the swim coaches in the area to see if there might be any interest in us helping to develop some kind of Open Water Swim Club in the region for young swimmers.

After the lively post-swim picnic, I walk back to Yellow Belle and launch into the waves which are now a bit higher, faster, thinking I will definitely refresh my lifesaving skills next summer, just so I can maintain the right to be among these brave swimmers. But then, as I settle into the sense of flying that the board gives in those bigger swells, the wind speaks again, and there is the humble song, “All shall be well …” The sun is high and warm and pushes me over the swells. Here, the open water of Lake Michigan. I know what Kati means. Here are my wings, only slightly clipped, but still in place. I let the wind take me.

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