Polar bears converge in a tropical mountain paradise

Those who know me best would tell you that aside from being on a bicycle, there’s no place I’m more at home than face down in the water. As such, one of the things I’d looked most forward to for our recent trip to Hawaii was snorkeling in the ocean. Unfortunately, our stay was plagued by dangerously high sea winds and churning surf. We were literally not allowed to go in the ocean. My snorkeling dream ran dry.

The thought of returning from Hawaii having not even wet my feet was something I would never be able to live with. So in pursuit of our Hawaiian “baptism,” Kristin and I instead turned toward the mountains, hiking a twisting footpath to a century-old stone dam. There a deep pool of sparkling mountain water beckoned the brave and adventurous.

The long march through the thick air had us ready to plunge in fully clothed, but the thought of slogging back while soaking wet convinced us otherwise. So there, a full two hours into the unpeopled wilderness, we commenced to change into our swimsuits and, of course, at that very moment we heard voices approaching.

A quartet of hikers emerged from hedge just in time to crush our solitude. They were two long-married couples from Canada.

“Oh, wow, are you allowed to swim here?” one of their number said.

“Well, there’s no one to stop us,” I laughed. “And there’s a rope swing hanging over the water, so I’m certain we’re not the first ones to try it.”

The crew explained that they had arrived in Hawaii on the same day as us and had been similarly thwarted in their desire to hit the waves.

“Hey, we’ve got no special claim here,” I said. “Come on in.”

With that, our new pals fully embraced the tropical spirit, and in an instant, the women folk shed into swimsuits and the men stripped to their shorts. Within minutes the rope swing was drawn into full duty as the pool became a fountain of youth as 40-, 50- and even 60-somethings flung themselves in twisting leaps to the waters below.

Instantly kin, we all bobbed in the clear, cool water up to our necks trading stories.

“Quite a break from the weather in Ohio, eh?” one of them asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I checked on the temperature back at home just today, and it’s barely into the 40s.”

“Ah, the 40s,” laughed one of the guys. “It was 40 in Alberta when we jetted out … minus 40.”

“Wait, minus 40?” I exclaimed.

“Well, yeah, but that’s Celsius, eh. Your scale is a lot different.”

“Yes, it is a lot different,” his wife corrected. “Except at minus 40, that’s where the two scales converge. Your 40 below is our 40 below.”

“That’s insane!” I exclaimed. “And how often does it get that cold?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” she said. “Just every couple of weeks, and it doesn’t stay that way for long: three, four, five days tops. Then it warms toward zero for a minute.”

“Which is still, pardon my math, something like 20 below on our scale?” I gasped.

“Oh yeah, it’s pretty much a tropical paradise,” she said to the laughter of all.

Kristin and I wondered aloud how anyone could return to such conditions after a week in the sun.

“How can you ever go back?” Kristin said.

“Maybe we won’t,” they laughed, “now that we’ve found a place to swim.”

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.