Dozens test their fortitude, icy Finger Lake to benefit Valley causes

PALMER — In pairs and alone they came, some running, some walking, some in T-shirts, some in tutus, all of them taking their turns jumping into water that had, until very recently, been hidden under multiple feet of ice.

Though it’s something of a recent phenomenon — the first was in 2004 — the Valley Polar Plunge seems to have found firm footing as an annual event that draws a crowd.

Jean Lindberg, president of Mat-Su Sertoma, said that last year’s dip brought in about $16,000 and drew a field of 73 plungers. As she handed out gifts to sponsors and just generally coordinated the boisterously chaotic scene, she said the event had already surpassed that. More than 100 people had signed up to jump and the donations were just under that year’s goal of $20,000.

“I don’t have a doubt we’ll get there,” Lindberg said.

And that’s before anyone even stepped up to jump through the hole in the ice.

Sitting on a bar stool, Pat Brown, who is legally blind, a member of Sertoma and a local advocate for the blind, said he was playing the role of “Ice Hole Referee.”

“Don’t say that three times fast,” Brown said.

Good advice. But what exactly does an Ice Hole Referee do?

“Systematically push people into the water,” Brown said with a chuckle. But seriously, “I’m out there to help make sure things don’t get congested.”

He said that with 100 jumpers, he’ll have his work cut out for him. They were going to try and get people to double up as much as possible. He said he figured there’d be two hours of jumping before everyone had a turn.

And, looking at the thermometer drawn on poster board next to him recording donations as they came in, he thought the $20,000 goal might be a little low. He wouldn’t be surprised if $30,000 came in, he said.

By the time the event drew to a close, they were nearly there.

“The response has been unbelievable,” Brown said.

Sertoma had instituted a grant-application process to distribute the plunge’s proceeds, Lindberg said. They will be split between Sertoma, the Turn a Leaf thrift store and Food Pantry of Wasilla.

Prior to the event the ice had been cut out and removed in big blocks, but the cold air had refrozen less than an inch of it since then.

“We need the first three jumpers to jump real hard,” Brown said with a laugh.

Downstairs, Chuck Kaplan sat in his Big Bad Wolf costume. He’d been capering earlier at the side of the hole, testing the temperature of the water with his foot and loudly proclaiming it too cold.

“He’s definitely no Alaska wolf!” event announcer John Klapperich taunted good-naturedly from the balcony.

Kaplan said he and his wife support Sertoma.

“I just came as the Big Bad Wolf to play with the kids and put on a show,” Kaplan said.

A veteran of last year’s plunge and quite a few before, he said his advice to rookies was twofold.

“Take a deep breath before you jump in and get out as soon as you can,” Kaplan said.

Jumpers came from all walks of Valley life. There were foreign exchange students in tutus. Bank employees dressed as baristas. Roller derby girls in their uniforms — sans skates, if you were wondering.

There were radio hosts and search-and-rescue volunteers. The youngest jumper was a seventh-grade girl dressed as a penguin.

Coree Bean, 13, said she and her mother, Julie Hodson, made the costume especially for the plunge. They made the trip from their home in Willow to test the icy waters.

“It’s going to be fun,” she said before her dip. “It’s colder there (in Willow).”

Asked if there was a possibility Bean and Hodson would jump in together as a bonding experience, Hodson was quick with her, “No! I think it’s great and it’s all for a good cause, but we’re already bonded.”

Those who may have needed a little extra prompting got it from Klapperich.

“Go for the cold!” he urged the participants. “That’s not a silver medal or a bronze, that’s a cold medal!”

When the bank tellers stepped up he commended their Alaskan fortitude.

“I don’t see any Florida banks jumping.”

After climbing out of the water, jumpers made their way back into the Elk Lodge’s lower level, many sprinting, shivering and dancing, some with a macho calm, but all noticeably more pink-skinned than normal.

Off in a corner, Zach Albert stood toweling himself off.

He said he’s been in Alaska for all of a few short months. He, his girlfriend and father had dressed up in sombreros with belt sashes and thick, fake moustaches. They called themselves the Three Amigos.

“It actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” he said. Still, “I’m glad I’m out now.”

Jumping into a frozen lake isn’t the sort of thing a lot of people do where he comes from in Illinois.

“This is the first time I ever thought about doing something like this,” he said.”

Contact Andrew Wellner at andrew.wellner@frontiersman.com or 352-2270.