There’s a formerly remote mountainside lake on the Olympic Peninsula that remains the perennial favorite for funny-car fueled ski boats, human powered kayaks, and the mysterious gravity-defying 21st Century phenomenon known as stand-up-kayaks.

No. Stand up paddleboards.

The air temperature exceeds 72 degrees Fahrenheit approximately six or so times a year at said crystalline lake. Sunday is one of those days.

The masks, quite naturally, disappear when one finds oneself on the dock about to jump in. Or when one rips by at 55 miles-per-hour on a wakeboard, scaring up those pesky, water-resistant birds who have the gall to hang out in v-shaped swim groups as they cruise the previously glass-like, motionless water top.

A gentleman who’s likeness reeks of familiarity and coincidentally Arnold Schwarzenegger or perhaps Lou Ferrigno proudly marches down the wooden dock towards the jump-into-the-freezing-water part of the 100-year-old structure where throngs of children, adventurous parents, overprotective parents, global tourists, and wealthy 30-somethings with their whole life in front of them gather, somehow in anticipation of the act the shirtless visage would perform.

It’s hard to determine what this person eats to have such an incredible amount of muscle and -1% body fat. It’s certainly not lots of chips.

Surprisingly, no partner stands by his side as he repeatedly perfectly backflips into the ancient lake with the absolute minimum splash. Over and over. No need to swim back to the dock entrance and duplicate the initial entrance – he just crab crawls up the 8-foot pilings with his hands and feet, then uses his tree trunk arms to execute a perfect pull up to achieve the dock edge, continuously, glistening with lake water, possibly sweat, and lots of hope and aspiration.

Certainly someone awaits this symbol of Summer Holiday Weekends.

The drive home involves a brief reconsideration of habits, tendencies and motivations. But not for long.