Sketchbook: A Brief Immersion
Edgewater Beach — Mukilteo, WA | August 7, 2026
A few years ago I started noticing the cold water swimmers at the beach I visit on weekends. Several women gathered together in their swimming hats and gloves, dipping themselves in and out of salt water all throughout the year.
I was fascinated and envious over the practice. I love the way I feel in salt water, how just moments of immersion provide benefits that linger. But the reality of our cold water in the Pacific Northwest puts a damper on the whole idea for me. I even felt too cold last time I tried swimming in the summer on a hot day in Malibu, where the water is at least 10 degrees warmer than Edgewater Beach in Mukilteo, Washington.
But yesterday, I did it.
Western Washington has experienced some hot for us temperatures over the past week, so at least the weather out of the water felt warm enough for me to venture in for a few moments. I gradually wandered into the sea, allowing myself to get used to the cold temperature (around 55 degrees Fahrenheit) below my knees. Eventually I made it in up to my hips and stood there for a while, watching a ferry cross in the distance and enjoying the movement of the undulating waves. I drifted in waist deep, hips covered, salt in the air — knowing that what comes next is what I dreaded and craved the most.
Complete immersion.
I was either going completely under or getting out soon. Those were the two choices I gave myself. I felt totally fine where I was. Sure it was cold, but it was also beautiful and felt amazing too in contrast with the warm air. But the thing I hate most when entering water is getting my shoulders wet. Not putting my head under, I don’t even really think about that — it’s the SHOULDERS. I have no idea why.
I bounced around a little bit. Dipping myself further in until I knew I had to make a choice.
Do I finally entirely immerse myself completely into this water that I’ve been visiting for years? Could I actually live with myself if I got this far and DIDN’T do it?
I think that last part mattered more to me than I thought it would have.
There was no way I was allowing myself to leave without surrendering.
I surfaced with a salty smile and a sense of pride, and felt the experience for the rest of the day. I emerged from the water and joined my husband and our dog, relaxing on giant pieces of driftwood, the salt clinging to my hair as it dried.
Notes From The Studio
If you’re drawn to artwork shaped by atmosphere, memory, and the emotional experience of place, I share personal and studio reflections along with early previews of available work through Notes From the Studio.
