Hibernation

Barton Springs Early Morning Swim Report 2/22/24

Nearly didn’t swim this morning. Up too late last night, preoccupied, too much to do altogether. My alarm buzzed me awake at the usual time, and I turned over for another cupful of sleep. My swimming has been hit or miss lately—mostly through no fault of my own—and the pool is about to close for its annual two-week break and cleaning, and then it’s spring break and I will be elsewhere. A cupful was enough. I got out of bed.

All last week I traveled. I was in Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania for Valentine’s Day, and I took myself out to a romantic dinner. I can hear the ticking of the calendar. On Friday morning I got up and went to the pool and peered down my habitual ramp—the peering habitual, too—to make sure it was clear of animal life.

It was not.

In the darkness, I could only see the unfamiliar silhouette of the being at water’s edge. Skinny raccoon, or coyote? Fluffy tail, and I thought I could discern some light below its undercarriage. The creature turned and offered me the glow of its eyes. We regarded each other quite a while. Then I said to myself, in the voice of a reasonable and gentle lawyer, “I think: let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I love movies; it grieves me to report that the recent piece of cinema I think of most in my day-to-day life is Cocaine Bear.

The next day I swam, though later in the day, and then I was traveling again, and yesterday morning I drove to the pool to see that the bathhouse was walled off with chainlink fence and thought it was closed already for its annual cleaning. After some research: tomorrow is the last morning, but I will be traveling again tomorrow.

My usual parking lot was closed and will be for a year or more. I walked behind some women to the gate. “Do you want to pass?” they asked—somehow I was fleeter of foot that they were—and I said I was following because it was my first time from this lot.

“I’ve walked here alone and I’ve felt safe,” one said to me.

“I’m scared of raccoons,” I said.

She told me she’d once met some raccoons in the locker rooms.

I was glad for my extra piece of sleep and my big pool of cold water. Today in Austin it’ll likely be near 90 degrees. I will try to remember my habitual, beloved chill.