Icy Dip Starts the Year Off With a Shiver

By Michael D. Shear
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, January 2, 2002; Page B01

The scene yesterday at Prince William County's Lake Montclair was plucked from one of those infamous shark attack movies: about 50 men, women and children in bathing suits scrambling hysterically to get out of the water, screaming and waving their arms.

There was no shark, however. All the people had jumped into the lake willingly as part of a traditional New Year's Day Polar Bear dip. And there was only one reason they were in a hurry to get out of the water:

It was very, very cold.

Katy Carey, 16, dived in once, then tried to go back to become what true Polar Bears call "a double-dipper." But as she stood shivering on the beach, wrapped in a towel and sipping a steaming cappuccino, she explained why it never happened.

"My body just went numb," she said.

Moments after diving into the icy water twice, Tricia Cady, 41, said her lungs "were worse than my heart. I couldn't breathe. It was more painful the second time."

So why -- why in the world -- would Carey, Cady and the others strip practically naked in 19-degree weather and plunge into the lake?

Carey said she did it on a lark after seeing an ad for the event in the local newspaper.

Cady, a nurse and first-timer, wasn't sure why she had taken the New Year's Day dip. "I don't know," she said. But it was "awesome. It was a lot of fun."

Vince Pernisco, 29, a Manassas man who is studying to become a math teacher, groped for words that might explain why he was standing in a bathing suit and a red beanie, dripping wet -- with the wind chill equivalent in the single digits.

"The thrill," he said. "The sheer coldness. We're ready to start the new year off right. I'll be here next year."

But perhaps the best explanation came from Bill Parker, 49, a former Coast Guard member who helped start the Prince William Polar Bears at Lake Montclair four years ago. He brought the tradition to the county from his wife's home in Connecticut.

Last week, he was sailing in Belize in 90-degree weather. Yesterday, he wasn't.

"We're awake and alive and it's New Year's and it's great," he yelled after emerging from the water.

The explanations, of course, were insufficient for the many spectators who watched, wrapped in heavy woolen coats and scarves, with their jaws hanging open.

"There's absolutely no question. [They're] absolutely nuts," said Wayne Jakobowski, whose wife, Joelle, splashed into the water for the second year in a row. Their teenage daughter, Taylor, when asked whether she planned to ever take the plunge, replied: "I'm not insane."

The event started just after noon, when Parker led the pack in a mile-long jog to Dolphin Beach, a small section of sand on the 108-acre man-made lake near Quantico. They gathered on one side of the lake's dam for a group photo, then ran at top speed, chanting "Po-lar Bears! Po-lar Bears!" until they got to the water's edge. On cue, they all ripped off their coats and hats.

"You're not a full Polar Bear unless you are fully submerged," Parker warned. Putting a toe in the water qualifies one as a "baby bear," he said, "but there's nothing in between."

They chanted and screamed some more. A few men dropped to the sand for some inspirational push-ups. A few jogged in place. And then they surged forward, splashing into the water. Some plunged their heads under the water.

Pernisco, a recent transplant from sunny Southern California, carried through on his plan to go "100 percent screaming and yelling and jumping in." Afterward, he declared it a success.

"It was good," he said. "Cold, but fun."

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