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ENLARGE
Shawn Pendleton of Roseburg takes his first plunge into the icy waters of a pond in Oakland. A group of friends and family started the plunge 14 years ago and adds new members each year.
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ENLARGE
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Suzie Everett gets a hand from Skip Hatch to take off her soaked outfit as part of the 14th annual polar bear plunge that started with friends and relatives at a home in Oakland.
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OAKLAND — Some people start out the New Year with a resolution, others with a relaxing day off. But none of that suited Will Vogel who rang in the first day of 2010 the same way he has for the last 14 years — surrounded by friends, family and one bone-chillingly cold pond.
“I didn't start polar bear clubs,” Vogel said. “But no one was doing it around here, and I thought ‘What the heck?'”
The idea, which Vogel called “an act of stupidity that keeps on going,” spread through cousins, co-workers, brothers and friends and who began to gather at Vogel's home in Oakland each year to walk a plank onto a platform and take a dive into the cold, cloudy water now dubbed the “sacred polar bear pond.”
About half of the 50 to 60 people who show up jump in one at a time after an order is determined by numbers drawn out of a hat.
“It is an invigorating way to start the New Year,” Brien Hatch, a relative of Vogel's visiting from Orville, Calif., said. “It is fun to get friends and family together and do something crazy together.”
First-time polar bear participant Shawn Pendleton of Roseburg said he was persuaded into joining the jumpers by a friend who was looking for payback for all the things he has done for him throughout the year.
“And the hangover (is a reason),” Pendleton said before the dip. “My judgment is not correct right now. (I expect) the water to be a searing, cleansing, white pain.”
Rob Gandy recruited Pendleton and his brother for this year's polar bear jump.
“For all the bad you do all year,” Gandy joked, “You have to be baptized.”
His brother, Sam Gandy, traveled from Newport to join the polar bear club, and admitted he could have found plenty of ponds closer to home, but it wouldn't be the same without friends.
Participants show up in various stages of dress, some opting for traditional swim wear, while others wear masks, kilts, metallic shorts and burlap sacks. After the dip, it all gets traded in for a T-shirt celebrating their participation in “fourteen years of stupid.”
Every year, Vogel said, someone who hasn't signed up gets inspired by the environment, music and fireworks, and jumps in after the parade of planned participants has completed taking the plunge. This year, the jumper didn't even know how to swim.
“I just wanted to get the T-shirt,” Jose Calvario, a friend of Vogel's, said after his spontaneous jump into the 10 feet of water.
“It takes a certain amount of guts to jump into the cold water,” Vogel said. “But when you don't know how to swim that takes even more.”
For Susan Roland, a co-worker of Vogel's, it took three years to work up the courage to take the icy dip
“Quite frankly I thought the idea was absurd,” Roland said.
Then 2009 brought a year of personal tragedy for Roland, losing a friend to cancer and having several more struggle with diseases. She said it dawned on her that she should be grateful to be alive, and make the plunge in honor of those who have touched her life.
“It took my breath away and was a little scary … like grief. It is a good analogy for me,” Roland said.
No matter what the reason for a person to make the polar bear jump, Vogel is committed to opening his pond every year for another initiation into the polar bear club.
“If you can do this on the first day of the year who knows what you can do for the rest of the year,” Vogel said. “I am always going to be doing this, as long as I am breathing.”
• You can reach reporter Heather Morse at 957-4208 or by e-mail at hmorse@nrtoday.com.
“I didn't start polar bear clubs,” Vogel said. “But no one was doing it around here, and I thought ‘What the heck?'”
The idea, which Vogel called “an act of stupidity that keeps on going,” spread through cousins, co-workers, brothers and friends and who began to gather at Vogel's home in Oakland each year to walk a plank onto a platform and take a dive into the cold, cloudy water now dubbed the “sacred polar bear pond.”
About half of the 50 to 60 people who show up jump in one at a time after an order is determined by numbers drawn out of a hat.
“It is an invigorating way to start the New Year,” Brien Hatch, a relative of Vogel's visiting from Orville, Calif., said. “It is fun to get friends and family together and do something crazy together.”
First-time polar bear participant Shawn Pendleton of Roseburg said he was persuaded into joining the jumpers by a friend who was looking for payback for all the things he has done for him throughout the year.
“And the hangover (is a reason),” Pendleton said before the dip. “My judgment is not correct right now. (I expect) the water to be a searing, cleansing, white pain.”
Rob Gandy recruited Pendleton and his brother for this year's polar bear jump.
“For all the bad you do all year,” Gandy joked, “You have to be baptized.”
His brother, Sam Gandy, traveled from Newport to join the polar bear club, and admitted he could have found plenty of ponds closer to home, but it wouldn't be the same without friends.
Participants show up in various stages of dress, some opting for traditional swim wear, while others wear masks, kilts, metallic shorts and burlap sacks. After the dip, it all gets traded in for a T-shirt celebrating their participation in “fourteen years of stupid.”
Every year, Vogel said, someone who hasn't signed up gets inspired by the environment, music and fireworks, and jumps in after the parade of planned participants has completed taking the plunge. This year, the jumper didn't even know how to swim.
“I just wanted to get the T-shirt,” Jose Calvario, a friend of Vogel's, said after his spontaneous jump into the 10 feet of water.
“It takes a certain amount of guts to jump into the cold water,” Vogel said. “But when you don't know how to swim that takes even more.”
For Susan Roland, a co-worker of Vogel's, it took three years to work up the courage to take the icy dip
“Quite frankly I thought the idea was absurd,” Roland said.
Then 2009 brought a year of personal tragedy for Roland, losing a friend to cancer and having several more struggle with diseases. She said it dawned on her that she should be grateful to be alive, and make the plunge in honor of those who have touched her life.
“It took my breath away and was a little scary … like grief. It is a good analogy for me,” Roland said.
No matter what the reason for a person to make the polar bear jump, Vogel is committed to opening his pond every year for another initiation into the polar bear club.
“If you can do this on the first day of the year who knows what you can do for the rest of the year,” Vogel said. “I am always going to be doing this, as long as I am breathing.”
• You can reach reporter Heather Morse at 957-4208 or by e-mail at hmorse@nrtoday.com.
