CHARLESTON - Out with the old, in with the blue.

Chartreuse and shivering, more than 50 enthusiastic swimmers emerged from the gray waters of Sunset Bay State Park, about two minutes after rushing the water with an ear-splitting war cry - quickly drowned out by shrieks of surprise as 55-degree water struck bare limbs.

Despite the quick, and cold, experience, most of the swimmers wandered back to shore with big grins. Calling out to friends and family who had come to watch - wisely staying on the beach in dry clothes - the “polar bears” chattered and laughed as dry towels were accepted and wrapped around shoulders riddled with goose bumps.

The crowd of swimmers at the annual event was almost twice the normal size this year, filled with newcomers to the tradition. But a few were old hands at the New Year's plunge; local residents Arnie Roblan and Les Engle have been participating in the tradition for about five years.

“When you hit that cold water it helps remind you you're still alive for another year,” Roblan said with a grin.

“It only hurts for a little while,” agreed Engle, with a wink and a chuckle.

Local tradition

Thick clouds of steam rose from the parking lot, as swimmers hurried to souse themselves in the hot water spray from a water-tank truck, scalding off the chilly salt water.

Before long swimmers were pulling on dry clothes again, wrapping pale hands around hot mugs of coffee and posing for pictures.

Similar to many coastal areas, Charleston plays host to the local polar bear plunge, a 23-year-old tradition. Originally invented by the Olympic Club of San Francisco in 1894, the frigid annual swim soon caught on, with clubs popping up from New York to British Columbia, Canada.

Dr. Kent Sharman, a family physician from North Bend, started the winter dip into the ocean when he moved to the Bay Area more than 20 years ago. The grandson of an Olympic Club member, Sharman brought the custom with him from California.

Although not always a popular event, the New Year's plunge was widely attended Monday - not only by would-be swimmers, but a big audience of less hearty, or less fool-hardy, folks.

“We had a record crowd today,” Sharman said. “We've done this in the past where the breakers were up on the sidewalk; or ice crystals hanging from the trees.”

The plunge isn't only about thrill-seeking - although the icy race into the water is assuredly refreshing - the tradition is more about embracing the forth-coming year with excitement and gratitude, Roblan said.

“It's a celebration of good health at the beginning of a new year,” he said.

‘Something new'

First-timer Brent Pierce of Coos Bay managed to swim out the farthest from shore, spending about 15 minutes in the chilly water before he returned to the beach.

Pierce said he wasn't nervous about the plunge, as he's a regular swimmer and used to live in Alaska.

“It was invigorating!” Pierce said with a laugh, drops of water trembling along the edge of his beard.

Amanda Moore of North Bend said she chose to participate this year to do “something new” for the new year. Moore said she hoped to ring in a better year than last, and wanted to do something more positive and exciting than stay home.

“It wasn't as cold as you think it is,” she said with a smile. “It was actually warmer than I thought it would be.”

Both Pierce and Moore said they'd probably return next year, to brave the waters again, but some swimmers were glad to have their first, and only, New Year's dip over with.

A patient of Sharman's, Marie Snow of Coos Bay, said she agreed to take the plunge if Sharman could help her get well. On the mend, Snow said she kept up her end of the bargain, although she would have preferred to keep her 61-year-old bones on the shore.

“It was cold!” she said, huddling beneath a dry towel, scowling out at the waves. “I'm an idiot for going out there!”

Regardless of the cold, Snow broke into a laugh, and shook her head with a smile.

Soon the water truck was empty, the swimmers dressed and the crowd dispersed. Chilled or warm and dry, everyone had plans, meeting for breakfast at the High Tide Café or going home to watch the Rose Bowl from the comfort of their own couches - and were eager to get there.

Soon the beach was empty of would-be polar bears, leaving the sand to be pounded under the curled fist of the Pacific - until next year.