Michigan winter: No better time to jump in lakes? Why cold plunges are so hot

• Winter swims and plunges are all the rage from Detroit to Hancock, from organized events to grassroots groups
• Researchers say that cold plunging is associated with surges in dopamine and endorphins
• While plungers say they get a lot out of the practice, research into benefits is limited at best

HOLLAND — The long icy pathway opened like a red carpet, beckoning about a dozen people last week to the shores of Lake Michigan at Holland State Park.

They avoided the park’s iconic lighthouse, making their way instead to a snowy cove. A clump of snow, the size of a bean bag chair, bobbed in the lake’s emerald green water.

Without hesitation, some got down to business, shedding coats and boots,  stripping to bathing suits and rushing headlong into the frigid water. 

One, Fred Flipse, swam to a small island of snow and sat on its ledge before jumping back in. 

“How is it?” someone yelled from shore.

“Fantastic,” Flipse responded.

So it goes these days in lakes and rivers throughout Michigan. While the state has deep ties to sauna culture and cold plunges thanks to Finnish immigrants, winter dips increasingly are becoming a way of life for all kinds of hardy souls drawn to camaraderie and perceived (but inconclusive) health benefits.

Practically every winter weekend, plungers are venturing into ice-cold water. Earlier this month there was a plunge at Lions Bear Lake Camp in Lapeer County. Later this month, they’re in Lake City, Caseville, Midland and more.

Mirroring a national trend, Facebook groups and message strings from Detroit and Grand Rapids to Beulah and Marquette have formed to organize regular plunges and swims from the Grand River to Crystal Lake.

Related: Thinking about a cold plunge in Michigan? We have some tips

“The COVID pandemic stimulated this,” said François Haman, a researcher and professor at the University of Ottawa who has studied how the human body responds to extreme environments, like cold, for more than two decades. 

“People were looking for something to make them feel good and to get together outside.”

But while baking sourdough bread and Zoom weddings have gone the way of handmade pandemic masks, cold plunges are picking up steam, boosters say. 

Saunas are available near lakes in Michigan and some residents are shelling out hundreds of dollars for portable cold plunge tubs to fill with ice.

It may sound like punishment, but participants say the plunges are addictive, fueling rushes of dopamine and endorphin and improving both physical and mental health.

“This could turn into an addiction because you do get that buzz and it does feel good,” said Haman, who does a weekly plunge himself.  

It may feel great — and give plungers a sense of achievement and chance to commune in nature — but there is little scientific evidence plunges reduce inflammation, improve immune systems or any other benefits often cited by cold-water swimmers, Haman said.

That’s OK by Flipse, a 32-year-old from Holland. He is co-organizer of the group that recently jumped into Lake Michigan. He was first intrigued as a teenager when one of his buddies showed him a YouTube video of Wim Hof, a Dutch man who uses a breathing technique he developed to endure the extreme cold. 

But it wasn’t until 2022 that Flipse got into plunging. Now he and his partner run the North Coast Plungers, a Facebook group of around 20 people, to facilitate community dips at Ottawa Beach in Holland about once a week. The group is usually a mix of familiar faces and first timers. 

“One of the fun things for us about it is the community-building aspect, the friends that we've met,” said Flipse, who tends bar and works on a farm.

“It takes the edge off. Makes (winter) a lot more enjoyable, as a matter of fact, it’s something that we look forward to.”

Eric Hansen, 53, of Grand Rapids and his friends prefer swimming. They started on Leap Day last year because they thought it would be funny to have the photo memory pop up on their phone every four years. 

Then, they just kept doing it. Their go-to spot is Bostwick Lake near Rockford. When it freezes over, the group does laps in the Grand River wearing wet suits and highly visible buoys attached to their hips.

“It's almost a fountain of youth for all of us, I think, because we all seem like a bunch of giddy kids after we get out,” Hansen said. 

“We all seem to crave it week to week now. Where most people shy from cold water, we’re actually embracing it.”

The hobby sometimes gets its share of funny looks.

“As we were coming in today, we had a boat come in, they were out fishing, and these guys had the deer in the headlight look when they saw us swimmers coming ashore,” Hansen said. “They were taken aback but at the same rate, they were laughing and giggling with us.”

About 150 miles away in Frankfort, 53-year-old Laura Reznich declined her best friend’s invitations before finally giving in last winter. 

Now, she’s obsessed.

“As hard as it is, you want to do it again,” she said. “‘We can do hard things’ — that’s our mantra.”

Over in Traverse City, passersby sometimes phoned police in 2020 when MI Sauna opened and customers jumped into the Grand Traverse Bay, said owner Daniel Sarya. Others “thought I was crazy,” he added.

Now, it’s fairly common for 100 people a weekend to sweat in the business’ wood-fired sauna from Finland, then jump in a nearby creek or Lake Michigan. The cost: $35 for an 85-minute session. 

"You stay in until you feel that the frozen lake looks like the best idea to jump into,” Sarya said. 

Sarya, who has Finnish ancestry, said he’s trying to promote the Finnish sauna culture, which was added in 2020 to UNESCO’s Representative List of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. 

Elsewhere in Michigan, Saunaty offers a mobile sauna along Lake Michigan in Muskegon and its staff help users into an ice hole. Takka Saunas has two locations, one in Eagle Harbor on the shores of Lake Superior and another in Hancock next to Portage Lake.

After spending time in the hot sauna and then jumping in the water, people often feel like they can do anything, Sarya said.

“You have a natural high when you get out of there,” he said.

Even so, it’s not for everyone. Back at Holland State Park, Paula Stubleski and her husband saw people walking with towels in the parking lot and the couple started making their way over to the cove to watch. 

“I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves, but I wouldn’t be doing it,” she said. “I’m not taking any layers off.”