Barton
Springs
An Ethnographic Study on
Winter Coldspring Swimming
As I drive up to the parking lot of Barton Springs—Austin’s beloved natural-bottom, spring-fed pool —the first thing I notice is how unusually void of cars the spaces are that morning. During the busy summer season, drivers often arrive eager to swim, only to circle the lot impatiently in the hot temperatures, waiting for someone to back out of a parking space.
But this morning is different. It’s not the busy season; it’s not summer. It’s 45 degrees outside and the sun has only just risen above the Eastern horizon. The grass is dewy and the light still soft. The parking lot is so sparse because, who is crazy enough to jump into cold, spring-fed water on a chilly, windy, winter day in Texas?
I am here on the first of multiple visits for a research project observing the cold weather swimmers at Barton Springs, though I of course feel obligated to bring a suit and towel, ready to understand the experience of the swim firsthand. Though I am no stranger in devotion to a spring-fed pool myself, I have historically been a “fair weather fan,” swimming predominantly through warmer months only. My interest is in understanding a bit more about those all weather swimmers—the ones who wake up and make their daily pilgrimage to the springs by sunrise, rain or shine, hot or cold, tired or not; nothing will stop them from their morning dip.
The Springs
1.
The history of deep attachment to the water goes back for as long as anyone can tell. Long before the manmade pool was built out of Barton Springs, the cold water flowed freely into Barton Creek. In earlier days it was a spiritual gathering place for indigenous peoples and wild horses. Following European settlement, the water was used to power a flour mill (which eventually burnt down) and as a popular outdoor recreation spot for picnicking and bathing. By 1917 the area was designated a city park. After years of locals piling rocks and moss to build walls around the spring water in order to allow for higher water levels swim in, eventually actual dams were built to create two ends of the pool. Over the following decades, Barton Springs became inseparable from any description of life here in Austin.
Today the pool is, in many ways, like many pools. It has a diving board, multiple stairs to enter and exit the water, a bath house for changing and showering. But in addition, Barton Springs has a natural bottom with growing plantlife and darting fish. It is home to the endangered and unique Barton Springs Salamander and ducks are known to wade in and out of the area. One long side is banked with a tall grassy hill, the other a shorter, elevated grass patch. Each side has their own followers.
The water emerging from the springs is said to be a constant 68 degrees (F).
In the summertime, when temperatures can reach over 100 with ease, the water feels shockingly cold. But in colder winter weather, when Austin drops into the 30s or 40s, the water is actually warmer than the air around it.
Steam billows off the soft waves, like a simmering pot. An unsuspecting visitor would not be foolish for assuming the whole pool was a hot spring.
This consistent 68 degrees is something that differentiates the cold weather Barton Springs swimmers from, say, ice water swimmers in the Scandinavian countries. To get in it is still a shock, but under different terms—though we will return to this later.
The Rules
2.
Before 8am, Barton Springs is free to enter for anyone who cares to drop in. In warm weather, the gate to walk in is always opening and closing, even in the early morning. Out-of-towners or infrequent visitors look around, confused on how to enter and where to pay, not knowing that there is no charge until later. But on a cold day when only the most dedicated show up, everyone walks in with an authority to them, a full understanding of the process. They’ve done this before and will do it again.
Most morning dippers seem to have a routine that they follow. Many go to the same spot every day to leave their belongings on the concrete wall and disrobe into their swimwear. Some put down a yoga mat and begin sun salutations before getting in. A few bring insulated mugs full of hot coffee or tea, even though no liquids aside from water are allowed behind the gates. But at this hour, and with this few people, there doesn’t seem to be much interest in enforcing rules. Everyone is confident in their behavior.
The general atmosphere is one of quietude and respect. Most voices are just above a whisper, and no one sets up too close to anyone else. On a warmer day, one might see larger groups and hear more jovial laughter or louder conversations.
But walking into the Springs on a cold morning immediately initiates you into something of a secret club where the rules of engagement are unspoken but understood. Primarily, Do Not Disturb The Peace.
The Submergence
3.
In any culture, there is something shared—a place, a belief system, a history, a way of life. For the Cold Morning Swimmers at Barton Springs, there is a shared experience that binds everyone together: the choice to get in the water, despite the weather. The submergence.
Many swimmers arrive before sunrise (the pool officially opens at 5am). They appear almost no differently from someone on the street: down jacket, a beanie, warm pants, boots. A noticeable trait, however, is the typical beach towel thrown over someone’s shoulders: a wardrobe oxymoron.
The walk from the parking lot leads you through the entrance and then down concrete stairs. The quiet, the glowing sunrise light, the steam from the water all create a hazy, ethereal aura to the place. It feels spiritual, meaningful at that time.
By the water, swimmers put down their belongings and begin their process of entry. Interestingly, this process simultaneously reflects each guest’s individual personality as well as what creates the collective. The end result of submerging in the water brings the community together—it is, after all, what we are all there for—but the manner of entry speaks to the uniqueness of us all. A personal ritual inside a group ritual.
There are variations on the get-right-to-it-entry: walk down to the pool briskly, disrobe without hesitation, step to the edge of the pool, and dive in immediately. No fuss.
There are also advocates for the one-step-at-a-time-entry: everything moves more slowly. Once down to their suits, these swimmers walk to the stairway and step down onto the first step only. After a deep breath, the second. Then perhaps down two more with methodical movements. No quick plunge here.
Many times I see the any-minute-now-entry: once the cozy, warm clothes are off, these individuals shake their hands, look around for reassurance, and stand in front of the pool. Minutes later, they are still standing there, trying to psyche themselves up, only delaying the inevitable because there’s no turning back at this point.
You might hear sounds like “ooh ooh ooh!” upon submersion, or “ahh” as someone comes up for air after jumping right in. (Both the wild, panicked “ahh” and the meditative release kind of “ahh.”) But many also just move in silence, accustomed to the change in bodily sensation. After the body calms down from the shocking temperature change from the ambient air to the temperature of the water, most swimmers sport a giddy, youthful smile before beginning their pool laps or starting a conversation with their swimming companion.
The Benefits
4.
That giddy smile speaks to the reason that the cold weather swimmers return. Just as runners talk about a “runner’s high,” the swimmers mention the addictive nature of the daily swim—a feeling that even the cold weather can’t keep from them. In fact, the cold weather enhances it: the thrill of entry feels like higher stakes when the exterior temperatures are low, enhancing the internal sense of accomplishment and the child-like feeling of doing something wild.
This sentiment is ultimately what might connect the cold morning swimmers of Barton Springs to the wild, open water swimmers of England or the ice water plungers of Scandinavia: a shared excitement at the electric sensation of a body shock; a simultaneous feeling of intense calm and invigorating joy after the swim.
It is unsurprising that this kind of feeling has created devotees to “water healing”—a general belief that various temperatures of water can be used as a type of physical therapy or emotional therapy. Hippocrates was an advocate for cold water dips back around 400 BC, as was Thomas Jefferson many years later. Hot springs have their own supporters. And medical journals have numerous studies on the health benefits of cold weather swimming, ice plunging, and hot water soaking alike, though many studies are contested.
The morning swim has become a ritual for many in Austin, and one that is particularly special in the winter months. My own experience jumping in on that first cold morning that I arrived at Barton Springs was euphoric. That particular potion of overcoming the fear of entry mixed with the excitement of doing something a little bit crazy, well, it stirred something in me that made me crave the same feeling the next morning.
