1 of 2
Don Albrecht, Bayfield
Point to La Pointe
Swimmers head out during the 2.1-mile Point to La Pointe swim, from Bayfield to Madeline Island.
2 of 2
Courtesy Rob Karwath
Point to La Pointe
The author post-race, after he regained his land legs.
"Move! You’re off course!” The voice came loud and serious. Hearing it with my head submerged in the water, it was disorienting and alarming. How could this be? I’d been swimming straight from the last inflatable buoy, just as I had from the buoy before. It felt right.
I took a few strokes with my head out of the water. Far from headed to La Pointe, our village destination on Wisconsin’s Madeline Island, I was swimming at a 90-degree angle directly into the North Channel, veering into Lake Superior. If I kept going, I soon would be in trouble.
So here I was, about 1 mile into the 2.1-mile Point to La Pointe Swim, from Bayfield to Madeline Island, that blossomed from 24 local community swimmers in 2006 to 469 from across the country in 2012.
Feeling a little tired and with my right calf cramped from kicking, but doing fine, I was surprised by the shout of the kayaker, part of the protective armada paddling beside us.
At the same time, I believe I heard another voice carried on the lapping waters. “Respect me,” it said. “I’m more powerful than you think.” I recognized the voice of Lake Superior.
My family is from Iowa, but I’ve been coming to the Big Lake since I was 3 months old – thanks, I joke, to my grandmother’s runny nose. My grandparents discovered Madeline Island in the 1940s, when they heard of a “Hay Fever Haven” by Lake Superior. That sounded pretty good to Grandma, suffering in the Iowa heat and pollen. Up they came, fell in love and bought a place on the island in the 1950s. In 2004, I moved my own family to the Lake’s Minnesota shore.
I’ve been “on” Lake Superior in the ferry on this stretch from Bayfield to our island cottage. I’ve also done competitive swims, but never in open water. Signing up for Point to La Pointe, I felt a mix of anticipation, anxiety and excitement. Would I freak out swimming in water 150 feet deep with big fish beneath me? Would I be strong enough to finish?
When the day arrived, it was cool and overcast with a bit of wind lightly roiling the Lake. Good weather, not perfect, but not the fog, lightning or 3-foot waves that would cancel the swim. The night before, storms had blown through and I had feared my dream would have to wait a year.
I run road races and like to get to them early, so I was first to arrive, slightly beating Race Director Scott Armstrong, just pulling in to set up.
“Why are you here so early?” he asked jovially. He recognized an anxious swimmer.
After an hour or so, the crowd built. Swimmers came from 17 states and Ontario; many from the Madison area use this as a training race for that city’s triathlon. Point to La Pointe’s popularity is no surprise; it’s been listed by Open Water Source among the top 50 open water swims in America.
Swimmers must wear a wetsuit, with a few exceptions. The suit is tight and constricts your arms, but it provides warmth and buoyancy. The Lake this day was cool, not cold, but I’m still not sure I’d want to do this swim without the wetsuit.
Our race began as competitive swims do, difficult and uncomfortable. With so many swimmers setting off in a tight group from the Washington Avenue beach, they inevitably swim into, and briefly on top of, each other. Think of a bucket of thrashing and flopping fish. As we fanned out, swimming got less hectic.
Every swimmer knows when you swim, you get water in your mouth. In Lake Superior, the water was pleasantly clean and cool. The wind stirred the Lake into a light chop. My arms were strong from months of training, and I hit a rhythm with my strokes and breathing – meet each wave and push forward, meet a wave, push forward.
I grew up on the Mississippi River and am familiar with its currents, but the one flowing through the channel that morning was like nothing I’d experienced. With the river you feel the flow; with Lake Superior, the flow simply takes you away. My vigorous, enjoyable swim suddenly became a contest with the Lake, and the Lake was in control.
The last half of my swim was a struggle. I heard the directing bark of the kayaker twice more. A bit of panic set in, but I couldn’t just stop, so I kept going. I decided to keep my yellow-boated friend in my sights and followed him until he sped forward to catch other off-track swimmers. One of my friends didn’t hear the shouts and got a course-correcting paddle swat on his bottom. In the end, I and all but one swimmer made it.
The swim ends at the home of the Grutzner family, who generously allow hundreds of swimmers and cheering onlookers onto their beach. The banners, crackle of an announcer’s voice over a P.A. and plenty of whoops and hollers reminded me of running road races. I even felt the same joy approaching this finish as I did at the end of my first Chicago Marathon: I’d made it! Dream accomplished! I wish my time had been better!
As I hit the beach, I immediately tried to get up. My legs wobbled frighteningly; I simply couldn’t stand.
“Swim it in! Swim it in!” people on the beach shouted.
I took more strokes until there wasn’t enough water. I struggled to my feet and trudged to shore, slightly slumped. Helpers gave me a hand. My condition, I found out later, stems from swimming aggressively for more than an hour, causing blood to pool in my abdomen, away from my legs. After I stood awhile, the blood flowed into my legs and that wobbly feeling left.
In the weeks after the swim, I enjoyed many dips in the bay by our cottage. The same Lake that had shown me its power welcomed me here, warmly lapping my legs as if it knew I’d learned something.
I thought I was “conquering” Lake Superior, but finishing my 2.1-mile portion of a 31,700-square-mile body of water hardly constituted a victory by me over the Lake. No, what I conquered was myself, going beyond my aches and fears and enduring to my goal.
Last year, I swam in Lake Superior past Labor Day until the morning I dove in with my wetsuit and felt a burning chill on my hands, face and feet. It was the Lake’s voice again, and my last swim of the year because I respect Lake Superior – now more than ever.
Rob Karwath, a former reporter, editor and business executive at the Chicago Tribune and former executive editor of the Duluth News Tribune, loves the friendly people and ready availability of urban and outdoors options in Duluth and by Lake Superior. Rob founded and is president and CEO of North Coast Communications, a strategic marketing and communications company in Duluth and with clients across the country. It gives him the opportunity to work where he loves at what he loves – a lucky fellow.