Estonian IceSwim Festival 2021

The Ice Swimmer

The week before the IceSwim Festival, the organizers set up swimming lanes in the Admiralty Basin and invited us all to come try it out.

A recent book on winter swimming explains that there are two types of winter swimmers: people who get into cold water (where “cold” is anything under 15°C/59°F) and ice swimmers. Ice swimmers swim in water below five degrees Celsius (41°F), and they stay in the water for at least 60 seconds or, the author wrote, long enough to swim 25 meters.

I asked someone; the water at the marina that day was 2°C or 35.5°F. I don’t usually ask for conversions into Fahrenheit but somehow that half a degree seemed important.

I treated myself to the newly released Paul Berg changing robe, really an extremely clever cold-weather overcoat, specifically designed for winter swimming and Estonian weather, with a million pockets and a quick-drying inside. Mine was a bright neon-fuchsia, so that there was no chance of anyone mistaking me for a walrus or losing me.

Admirality Basin is in the main Port of Tallinn, named after the Admiralty Board workshops established there in 1714 for the Imperial Russian Navy.

It was snowing. A few early swimmers were brave enough to break up the slushy salt-water surface by swimming through it. Once the way was clear, I climbed in and made my first attempt to swim to the other side.

It was cold. The ladder on the far side seemed a long way away. I wasn't at all sure what I was supposed to do if the ladder was too far. Was there some version of drowning not waving that I should have found out about before setting off?

I made it to the other side and gratefully pulled myself up the ladder. My fingers and toes were numb. My neon-pink overcoat glowed from the other side of my basin where I had abandoned it with my shoes. Swimming back was not an option. I trekked barefoot through to the snow to get to my things.

It took a while to thaw out enough to consider that this was an auspicious occasion.

I had swum a length which meant that I could swim it again for the main event. I was an Ice Swimmer.

Breaking The Ice

The weather went bitter, as forecast, and a piercing wind blew over the frozen shores. I arrived at Pirita Harbor for my winter swimming event to be handed a pole with thick steel hooks at the end to break through the thinner layer of ice at an ice hole that someone had made the day before.

There was no question of swimming anywhere. One by one we climbed in and watched the clock tick down the time and then climbed out again. The others all aimed for sixty seconds. I counted to ten and had enough.

Jaanika gave me a dubious look. "Do you think you will be able to swim across the harbor pool?"

"Probably." I shrugged. I wasn't getting back in that hole, not even to prove to her that she was right to claim me as a member of her team.

"It is much easier now," said another swimmer who had started last winter at the same time as me. "It took some time to convince my body that I wasn't trying to kill it."

This was the real learning curve, I realised. Last winter, I had to fight off waves of panic every time I got into the water. The winter swimming book says that this is typical: part of the acclimatisation is simply to avoid flailing and accept the shock of the cold. A friend in the Special Forces told me they trained in cold water immersion for this reason, to unlearn the panic for a fast recovery. Once you manage this, I was told, the body remembers. It was true that having fought through the panic last year, I had not experienced a resurgence this year. Each time, I had been able to get in the water and talk myself through what I wanted to do, even if often what I wanted to do was to get the hell out.

I left the harbor as the sun rose and was rewarded by a rosy view of Tallinn.

Cold Water Therapy

On the day of the relay race, the weather was still cuttingly cold. In December, the sun rises at quarter past nine and dusk falls shortly after three. As the skies grew dark, I made my way to the Admiralty Basin for the "night" event starting at 5. The preparations were chaotic as hundreds of people arrived to take part. I took my outer clothes off, worried that I'd be asked to do something in a hurry as the race was due to start in ten minutes, and stood by a wannabe bonfire in my bathing suit, pink robe and boots.

An hour later, I was still standing there, listening to introductions and welcome messages from half of Tallinn's city council and wondering if it was possible for someone's shins to freeze off.

Finally, we were sent to a tent for the relay sequence: I was number 38. I walked down to the dock so I could watch the sequence and hopefully work out what was expected of me. As I took my phone out for photographs, a man shouted urgently at me. "Kuus? Kuus!" And then in English for my benefit, "Six!" I shrugged. I knew what six was, I just had no idea why he was shouting at me and it was too cold to try to say 38 in Estonian. Besides, he wasn't listening. I took a photo.

The man said that something that sounded suspiciously like an Estonian version of Screw it and waved me forward. "Go! Swim! Lane number four!"

I dropped my phone and my glasses into my pocket and dumped the overcoat right there on the snow so that I would pass it on my way back. Apparently it was showtime. But OK. It was very cold and the water temperature had dropped another degree or two but OK. I had done this before. It would be fine.

The dock and ladders were iced over and there was no way to see any lane numbers. I saw a woman swimming to the far end where another woman was getting in and I took position on my side of the makeshift pool. Watching the man in the lane next to me, I realized with horror that I was expected to get into the water and wait for the woman to reach me.

I waited for the last possible moment and then quickly climbed in as she approached. She touched the wall, which counted as virtually passing the baton, and it was my turn. I swam. It was cold. The ladder on the far side seemed a long way away.

I was about three-quarters of the way across the basin when the panic struck.

My brain shut down. I was overwhelmed. The only thing close to a coherent thought I had was, What the hell am I doing here? I don't think I stopped swimming. In my panic attacks from the previous winter, I simply found myself on the floating dock without any recollection of how the water felt or even how I got out. This time, that wasn't an option. There was no coherent thought: I didn't know why I was in freezing water; all I knew was that I needed not to be in freezing water.

The sessions working through the panic last year paid off. I remember looking forward and putting on my best internal mommy voice for a very clear thought: "I just need to make it to that ladder right there and then this will all be over."

And both my calm me and my panicked me swam forward a few more strokes and grabbed the ladder and I was OK.

Except that there wasn't anyone there.

By now, I was aware of my surroundings and functional, other than my fingers and toes were going numb. I was quite clear that the plan was for me to swim across the basin where a woman would be waiting and my job was to throw her off the ladder and into the water so that I claim the ladder for myself and get out.

There was no one waiting.

I climbed out anyway, of course; race or no race, I was not going to stay in the water for a second longer than I needed to. There I saw Jaanika, who was number 35 as far as I knew, running to the corner of the basin. I called out to her and she threw off her robe and tossed it to the ground, revealing a fantastic blue superman bathing suit. She thanked me and climbed into the basin: the women's relay was back in action.

I made my way to my overcoat and boots, not caring that my feet were still dripping with water. My hands ached with cold. I had no idea where I'd shoved my phone or my glasses and was not convinced I could pick them up if I found them. I stumbled towards the sauna where a voice called out my name. "We saved you a spot!"

The hot tub was full of people, although I wasn't sure if they had been swimming or just gone straight for the tub. They shifted together to make room for one more. I dropped my coat (and phone and glasses) into a heap on the trailer and clambered in.

The hot water on my frozen hands and feet stung fiercely for just a moment and then I leaned back and informed my new best friends that I would be staying right in this spot for the rest of the evening.

Eventually I had to leave, if only to try out the sauna, and then from the sauna to the changing room to home. I spent a lot more time defrosting than I had in the water and I don't regret a minute of it.

Slow Swimming

The weather warmed up dramatically for the big day, hovering a few degrees above freezing. I never thought a time would come where I wold describe almost freezing temperatures as "warm" but then, there was a lot about this weekend that I would never have predicted, including the very idea that I would swim in a championship.

I was hopeful that it would be easier. “Will the water be warmer too?”

“It takes longer for water temperature to change,” I was told. “It’s about one degree Celsius.” I didn’t bother to work it out in Fahrenheit.

This day was much better organized, other than my last-minute panic when I discovered that I had to wear a real swimmer's cap and not my fluffy pink thing. The races were on time and I understood where I was to be and when. I got into the water without hesitation and looked around. Everyone else was holding onto the ladder with one hand and the other arm outstretched towards the water. I hurriedly arranged myself into the same position and a whistle sounded and they were off! A moment later, I was too.

I was quickly outpaced by the other swimmers; there were nine women in my category and I was clearly going to come in ninth. I briefly considered trying to swim faster before concluding that no, actually, faster was not an option. Continuing to swim was about all I could promise. I could see everyone else out of the water by the time I approached the ladder. As I began to climb out, a very concerned-looking woman in a high vis vest shook her head at me and pointed at the wall, speaking urgently. After a very cold moment of confusion, I dropped back into the water and slapped the wall. She smiled and clicked her stopwatch. My race time was logged.

I struggled into my shoes and was thankful for my Paul Berg overcoat which enveloped me with warmth. The rules and regulations were confusing. It was easy to lose sight of the fact that this was an official championship event. For a moment, I felt bad at even taking part, as if my feeble length might make a mockery of the competition.

But before I had a chance to drown myself in embarrassed dejection, I was swept up in a crowd of laughing Estonians ready for another round in the sauna. I had done it, they reminded me, no matter that my time was not just the slowest for the race but actually the slowest for the entire event.

"That's not what it is about," explained one of the swimmers. "Sure, for some people, it is. But for the rest of us, the timing doesn't matter as much as the doing." The next time someone tries to tell me that Estonians are cold or unfriendly, I'm going to tell them to jump in the damn water. I cannot express how helpful and kind everyone involved in the event was while I bumbled from place to place.

The third day of the festival was for awards and activities, including a jousting battle on SUP boards which seemed to involve being knocked into the water multiple times and still being willing to continue. It takes an odd kind of madness to be an Estonian.

Meanwhile, I was struggling to summon up the energy for a third day of excitement although I wanted to swim one more lap while the basin was set up, just to cement the deal. Jaanika, who started me on this whole winter swimming nonsense in the first place, came to the dock with me to cheer me on. "I remember when you could barely get in the water," she said. "Are you going to do fifty meters?"

"Don't be silly," I said. I couldn't imagine getting within reach of the ladder and not using it to get out of the water. A cold rain began to fall, melting the clumps of snow scattered around the marina. It wouldn't even be a fun photo opportunity. But I couldn't walk down here in my high-vis overcoat in front of anyone and then not get in the water. I handed the overcoat to Jaanika to hold, thinking maybe she would walk to the other side and meet me there.

A small gasp escaped me as I lowered myself into the water and then I was swimming. There was no doubt in my mind this time and no need to go faster. Just a quick swim across the basin which was over before I knew it. I could have swum a bit further, I thought as I grabbed the ladder. I looked back to where Jaanika was standing with my overcoat and shoes. If she had come to me with them, I would have climbed out. But as she was all the way over there...

"OK, I guess I will try," I said out loud to no one. I let go of the ladder and began to swim again. About halfway across, I understood belatedly what a ludicrous strategy this was. I thought that I could swim a few more strokes but now, here I was in the middle of the makeshift pool. I could hear Yoda's voice. "Do. Or do not. There is no try." I had to continue.

I was tired. Each stroke was slower than the last. My breath began coming out in gasps. Jaanika knelt down at the dock edge; just as I wondered if she was throwing me a life ring I saw that she had her phone out and was taking a video.

"I knew you could do it," she called. I hadn't actually done it yet but one more stroke and then one more and then I had the ladder. I could do it. I could even have probably done it if it was a bit further, maybe another meter or even two. But I certainly had come close to the end of my physical ability and this for the first time; up until that moment, every barrier had been mental.

After three swims in three days, I'd had enough. Surely it was now time to hibernate until July.

I warmed up in the sauna and then I went home and I slept and I slept and I slept for a very long time, until the whole weekend felt almost like a dream.

A special thank you for the wonderful photographs:

• Raigo Pajula

• Aldis Toome

• Merle Talvik

• Anna Leinsalu

• Jaanika Jane