Coupeville Sports

The “special seasoning” in Penn Cove’s world-famous mussels since 2011.

Three days.

I was gone from Penn Cove’s frigid, salty embrace for three days, visiting the nephews in Maple Valley. And when I returned to that most fickle of watery mistresses, yowza, she was still cold.

So there’s that.

Late Sunday afternoon, around 4:15 PM, as I chattered through an empty, quiet stretch of water — a place where even the seals chose not to venture, I carved out Day 162 in the water.

Which means, for what it’s worth, that this Friday (Day 167) I will tie my record set in 2011, and the next day, I will officially set a new mark for my on-again, off-again three-year odyssey of being the “secret seasoning” in Penn Cove’s world-famous mussels.

Yes, that’s right. I bathe in your mussels. Drink me in!

With decent weather, I should hit 200 days before Halloween. Than the only question is how far can I go this year?

Traveling down the Hill O’ Death in front of my house is the trickiest part of the whole endeavor. The rest is just being mentally stronger than the water.

Once the rain comes and the hill gets dangerous, that’s what has stopped me in the first two years (167 and 133 days).

But this year, I have a new target. Something that may make me more creative, and seek out new entrances to the water if need be.

We have an unofficial agreement at my job that the entire kitchen and wait staff (or most of them, at least) are going to do a polar bear plunge Jan. 1.

That’s 100 days from now, and, if I can keep going, I will be prepared — physically and mentally — to deliver a beat-down to my fellow employees.

I may not be a beast yet — though I have dropped 40 pounds this summer — but 100 days from now, I will be the freakin’ Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Lay your bets now.

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“It rains in Washington?!?!? I am shocked. Shocked, I say!!”

“Hey, I’m gettin’ wet over here!!”

The sky piddles on Penn Cove.

Now it gets interesting.

Day 147 in Penn Cove and the thunder rolls, the rain falls and, when I get back to the top of the Hill O’ Death, cars slow down, people give me strange looks as I stand there dripping a waterfall on the side of the road, then suddenly hit the gas and speed away.

I probably didn’t even need to get in the water. I was already soaked before I reached the beach.

Not that this will stop me.

I’ve swum when the chop was so ferocious out there it was like being trapped in a runaway roller coaster. Days when it was so cold it was like taking an icicle up the crotch. Days when I’m pretty sure the seals piddled in the water before I got in.

And hey, Sunday is Day 150, which means free ice cream for me at Kapaw’s. I’ll be danged if a lil’ thunder and rain is going to steal my creamy deliciousness away from me.

So piddle away, seals. See if I care!

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My hipster glasses will keep me warm. But wait … you don’t wear them in the water. Oh, sweet lord … I’ve made a huge mistake!!

The rain just softens my water shoes and makes ’em comfy.

The beat goes on and on, even in the rain.

A few rain drops aren’t enough to keep me from sliding down the Hill o’ Death and plunging into Penn Cove. This is Washington — I was born covered in rust.

And anyway, today was a milestone. A mini one, at least.

Day 140 for 2013. That’s 20 full weeks. Five months of twice-a-day dips in the frigid, slightly stinky waters of the cove.

That puts me seven days ahead of 2012’s total and just 27 days away from tying my record from 2011.

And still the question lingers.

Why? Why in the name of all that is holy do you descend into the briny waters in just a swim suit and a pair of diving gloves?

Brain damage.

I’m assuming I was dropped on my head many, many, many times when I was young.

Or paint chips. I might have eaten paint chips…

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Taste me, tourists.

Every time you eat mussels, you taste a little bit of me.

I am the special seasoning in Penn Cove’s culinary “treat,” and let’s just say it’s a lucky thing I’m not prone to frequently whizzing in the water.

The seals … I’m not so sure about those ornery lil’ bastards. They do seem to be giggling a lot out there.

There are many nights when I want to go into the restaurants in town, look at patrons slurpin’ up the slimy suckers and sadly shake my head and quietly intone, “You know … those were harvested from my bath water. So, there’s that.”

Today, day 129 of twice-a-day swimming in the briny, sometimes stinky waters of Penn Cove (as I head relentlessly, screaming like a little girl, for my 2011 record of 167 days) went just like most days.

It was cold. It was salty. It slapped me in the face.

A giant demon pelican-lookin’ bird dive-bombed me and sailed two feet above my scalp as it whistled by, coming to rest on the beach. A rocky, Godforsaken hunk of land covered in barnacles and cracked mussel shells where the bird promptly gave itself 23 cuts while hopping awkwardly around.

I laughed, then hit an underwater rock that had somehow moved its location in the last 24 hours. The laughter turned into some uncomfortable swearing, mixed with a bit of me sucking down way too much salt water.

The bird stared at me. I stared back at the bird. We both stared into the abyss, and the abyss that is Penn Cove stared back at us.

Somewhere over my shoulder, a seal took a whizz and another chef prepared to sell the scum of the ocean to unsuspecting tourists from North Dakota.

And the universe rolled on.

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My brain has frozen.

As year three in Penn Cove unfolds (today is Day 121, twice a day) and I chase my record from 2011, when I got up and personal with the salty vixen 167 days, my ability to think rationally has faded.

If it was ever there.

Every day, before I go in, I take pen to skin and mark the moment, knowing it will wash away. Some days I’m more inspired than others. But, as the number grows bigger, my brain cells go in reverse.

Nice.

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