Something In The Water

We went up to catch sight of some winter madness in the form of the 7th annual Westfield Penguin Plunge.

We had witnessed the 5th version of this event a couple years ago at the Westfield rotary, and were memorably aghast and delighted enough to head up and give it another look this year.

This time it was held at it's more typical location of Hampton Ponds off route 202. There was a good crowd on hand when we arrived. Along with a radio station truck, a local news crew, tons of spectators and 78 or so completely insane individuals bent on their own extreme discomfort, there were also fire and safety personnel on hand both in and out of the near freezing water.

Really near freezing. 32.8 degrees.

Square-feet-thick blocks of ice were cut out to make room for a brisk January dip...

...or spin.

This is the kind of event you might catch briefly on tv as a nightly-news filler clip from some faraway wooded burg in some particularly loony sector of the nation.

But no. These are our own valley neighbors fearlessly leaping into 32.8 degree water, for the sake of charity.

People you know...

...people you respect...

...people you might blandly chat with at the office coffee pot on Monday morning.

All of them taken this day with a temporary delirium, a uniting madness and need to do something remarkable for a good cause. A need to take the plunge.

This year's charity proceeds went to the Amelia Park Children's Museum, as worthy a hypothermic risk as any, and netted some $10,000. That ain't peanuts.

But noble as they may be, the stunned look on some participant's faces told a goose-pimply story of regret and a shock back to reality.

Yet oddly, others seemed to suffer no such compunctions.

Some found bravery with mutual support, running in by group of friends, family or team.

One gave new meaning to the phrase "taking the plunge".

Possibly the frigid world of politics are some preparation for this kind of action.

And in that regard Representative Humason showed his merit, as he does every year.

It was another good time and winter spectacle. We recognized several faces from the last plunge we saw back in 09', revealing a determination to the cause that spans years of good charity...

...and ice cold karma.

Sky High

Northwest Passage

About two weeks ago while at work I took a wrong turn and got lost. But following an unfamiliar winding road long enough eventually dumped out onto route 10, in around the Southhampton/ Westfield line. At the time I was just glad to get back to a familiar road, but little did I know how lucky that little meander would prove a couple weeks later.

We got up early on Saturday and headed out on the Pike from Ludlow for a ride to the air show in Westfield. Not having been to an air show in a couple years, The kid in me had been straining at the reigns for this day to come. Whizzing past the Springfield 291 exit happily enough, then coming over a hill and approaching Chicopee, we suddenly came upon a sea of red brake lights.

This was crazy. The traffic for the air show was completely backed up at least from the West Springfield exit, about 5 miles away. And then, probably another 5 miles to the Westfield Exit.

So much for the most direct approach. We stopped and started and crawled and finally made it to the exit in Chicopee which, surprisingly, not many others were taking. The new mission was to find another way in to Barnes. Maybe route 202 through Holyoke, past HCC and Ashley reservoir. We criss-crossed the criss-cross streets of Holyoke and crossed under 91, but were soon awash again in a sea of red light. Ugh. The day was looking like a complete bust, and glum discussion of other options for the morning sprang up. Nothing would substitute satisfactorily, though.

That's when that back road trek of the previous fortnight came to mind. It was worth a try. We climbed up Rte 141 heading to Mt. Tom, and took that same left turn. Mile after mile wound by, and our hopes began to rise as traffic in front of us remained light to non existent. We came closer to route 10 and still nothing. Could it be? Had we found the Northwest Passage? We pulled out onto Rte 10 south, and still nothing. One more mile or so to the intersection of 202, and we knew we were in the clear. Even if there was a traffic jam the last mile to the air base (and there was, a little) we could deal with that.

Turning left into the base, we looked with pity on the poor souls virtually parked on route 10 north, their sallow expression telling the story of hours and hours of staring at bumpers.

We paid the 10 dollar parking donation, were directed to our space far out in a grassy field, and piled out of the car just as an F-16 ROARED overhead.



We had arrived.

The F-16 was half way through it's set, and for the second half slowed down a bit too be joined by that other venerable super-fighter, of a long past generation: the P51 Mustang.



Getting through the gate, security was tight. Really tight. everyone had their bags searched and pockets emptied.



Eyes were everywhere.



But so it must be, in this day and age. We got in without much more ado, as the F-16 and P-51 finished their show and stunt planes now ruled the sky.



Next up, the A-10. A pair of these former full time Barnes residents 'bombed' the field betwixt runways, to an approving crowd.



As show after show took to the skies, we wandered about, checking out the other aircraft lined up on the tarmac. Vietnam-era helicopters and titanic cargo craft.







Old and new is always the big theme at these air shows, with both providing their own interest and fascination.











Our hearing was starting to come back again, just as an F-18 Hornet wound up and catapulted into the sky.



The Navy's number one fighter put on a show as impressive and as deafening as the F-16 earlier. As for myself, I managed to get the shots I was hankering for since getting here:

The hard accelerating afterburner lightup...



...the air-pulverizing nose-up maneuver...



...and the coup de grace, a mixture of both.



This gave me tremendous, though odd, satisfaction. It was like bagging prey. Or more precisely, locking on target. I Am Become Photohunter.

Like the F-16 earlier, the Hornet was soon joined by it's mid 20th century counterpart, the Navy's F-4U Corsair, and they both did a commemorative round together.



Good show, old man. Thrilling stuff.



Things quieted down for a spell after that. Though there was always something going on above, be it engined or not.





Gliders, floaters and turbo-props. They seemed to be alternating the technology with each show.



It was way past noon now and the place was full up.



Having done a lot of walking, as is par on an broad air base, we were getting pretty hungry and decided to break for lunch. We had brought sandwiches but coolers weren't allowed inside, so we had to get back outside the gate to eat. We passed under (mostly) watchful eyes once again.



The long trek back out to the car was rewarded with a cooler full of tasty sandwiches, while WWII vintage aircraft buzz by in the distance.



The air was on the cool side, compared to the past couple months, the sandwiches hit the spot, the old planes' relatively quiet piston engines puttered overhead, and it was all pretty relaxing.



So relaxing in fact, that we decided we had seen plenty this morning and should maybe forgo waiting the couple more hours for the headlining Thunderbirds. Westfield was also having a fair this weekend, and maybe we could go check that out.



But not 15 minutes out of the gate, we (I) began to feel pangs of early-leaver's remorse. We did a drive-by of the fair but just weren't into it today. Lets head back and see the T-Birds. Now to go back might mean another $10 donation...we wanted to see the Birds, but not that much.

Plan B here was to find a good roadside clearing near the base as many a traffic jammed, frustrated populace was doing on every road surrounding the base.

We circled around and found a fine lookout at a golf course on the East side of the base. Many people were already there and we picked our spot and waited. It took a while, but at last we heard the distant panther roar of F-16 jet engines winding up.

A flash of reflected sunlight here, beyond the tree line, a streak of white smoke there, and suddenly...

Boom.



It turned out to be a prime spot for the show, with several planes buzzing low right above us, the thunder terrifying and delighting the bloggerette at the same time. Too cool.

These guys, and all the pilots, earned their pay today.



The Thunderbirds capped it. Time to head back.