On my last full day in Vancouver, Dan took me to Lynn Canyon Park. When we were deciding on where to go, he offered a few options and said something like, “There’s this one place where we can do a hike that leads to this kind of secret natural swimming pool, with waterfalls around it. Not too many people go in the morning. It’s cool.”

I was just like, yeah, let’s go do that.

It turned into one of the funner mornings I’ve had in a while.

The hike down to the water was optimally mysterious. The trail was made up of well maintained wooden boardwalks that cut through old-growth forest. The way the boardwalk directly guided you through a fantasy landscape made it feel like a video game. It only took us 20 minutes to get to the water. You start above the river and descend onto its edge, which added to the dreamy energy of the walk.

The natural pool was perfectly human-scaled. You could throw a rock across it. We showed up around 9am. That almost no one else was there made me think that you could probably have it to yourself at 6 or 7am.

The water was freezing cold. About 50°F. Dan had no problem and immediately went in. It took me fifteen minutes to psych myself up, then another three to acclimate once I was fully submerged. After that, the drug-like effects of the cold water submersion––which sound woo, but turn out not to be––kicked in. That combined with the white noise from the waterfalls made for an actual spa-like somatic experience.

Crazy to think this is just a free amenity in Vancouver, and you can go whenever. The climates and vibes are totally different, but the proximity between nature and the city reminded me a lot of Miami. You can live a similarly amphibious lifestyle in both places. Get a coffee downtown, and ten minutes later be swimming in scenic water.

An hour into being at the water, two separate “crews” of teenagers showed up in a noticeably intentional way. I asked Dan if he knew what they were up to, and he did. They were there to do freestyle jumps off the short cliffs into the pool. Apparently, this is an informal sport (or art?) among those who do it in Vancouver and other places with similar water. The pool had four or five ledges you could just barely jump from.

Weirdly, none of them were wearing proper swim gear. One group had on ’90s-style baggy shorts. Another guy wore a long-sleeve shirt into the water. It looked almost anti-sport on purpose. Dan said this is a normal thing for them. The expression of style is as much a part of the activity as the athletic part.

It clicked for me, that this wasn’t just kids goofing off, but something more authentic. More like skateboarding than pure stunts, basically: they had their own organic rules, stylistic codes, rituals. I’m just down for young people who spin up their own thing like that.

And it resonated because I’ve been curious about swim gear lately. I swim, and all the gear still looks like utility-wear from the 1984 Olympics. No one has done a more aesthetic-forward take on swim gear the way they have for, say, running. Like, where’s the cool, updated knee-length Spandex suit, done in modern fabrics and thoughtful colors? Or swim caps with statement-graphics? Where, especially, are the goggles with actual personality? Everywhere else, eyewear is this fun medium for personal expression. But swim goggles haven’t changed shape in forty years?

So, who’s going to be the ex-pro skater or Italian volleyball player who ages into swimming and reinvents the gear? I felt seen by these younger guys, putting their own spin on it.

Likely multiplied by the endorphins from the cold water, I left feeling weirdly inspired, like I may have just witnessed something of early cultural significance, in the middle of the woods.

The pictures are a mix from my first day hike with Dan and Christophe, and last day in the water with Dan. We we were all connected through our mutual friend at UBC.

I’m headed to what seem like some interesting events coming up. Report back soon 🥹.