The Tower Swim

The Tower Swim

A look at the infamous DIVING TOWER in Shell Lake, Wisconsin

When I say the words, Shell Lake, Wisconsin, you may think of an idyllic Northwoods lake town. Perhaps your mind’s eye sees pontoon boats and pine laden shores; maybe you imagine kids on jet skis, or fishermen trolling in old boats. If you pictured any of that, you’d be correct.

However, if you say Shell Lake, Wisconsin to a select few, those with gumption, tenacity, and the good fortune to go through adolescence last century, you’d see a different picture painted behind their eyes. It may have a hint of those sprawling, rural scenes, but there is a contentious foe dominating the foreground, one more brutal than muskellunge or snapping turtles. The Shell Lake Tower was a cruel, yet benevolent ruler of the town beach. More oracle than monument, we sought our truth at the Tower, the truth of: can you survive the swim?

Constructed by the municipal government of Shell Lake sometime in the 1950’s, the Diving Tower was anchored at the town beach through the late 1990’s. The Tower itself was a bright yellow, 6-ton metal raft, with two diving boards, one on either end. Getting its name from the high dive, a gloriously welded set of stairs that ascended near infinity and led to a springboard, the Tower echoes loudly in many people’s memories. Fabricated from diamond plated sheet metal, it was an industrial grade slip n slide, with diving boards and stairways jutting everywhere. Harsh angles at every turn were eager to gash your plumped skin. Unknown fish, some record size, lie in the depths beneath you. Every inch you walk on the Tower is a tight rope between thrill and disaster. That’s if you could make it there in the first place. You see, the Tower was moored well past the buoys of the town beach, to ensure a safe depth for diving.

Attaining entry to the Tower posed many obstacles one must overcome, but it was open to all. First, just getting to the town beach was a trial of its own. In a time before Ubers and cell phones, hailing a ride into town often caused ill will betwixt siblings, a price worth paying for most. Assuming you could beg, steal, or borrow your way into town, you’d then need to cross the ruddy, 2-acre parking lot. Packed to the gills with broken glass, grumping parents, and errant children, you’ll have to dodge not only smoldering cigarette butts but also leers from sunburned winos.

Once through the gauntlet du’ Cadillac, you’ll have a perfect view of the yellow menace. Hovering atop the water in the distance, the Tower taunts you with hypnotic sways. Hot sands, fueled with lava it seems, stand between you and the cool, fresh water. A zigzagging 80-yard dash of dodging seagulls and your feet will be rejoicing in the largest spring fed lake in Wisconsin. Shell Lake, the unofficial 6th great lake. Then it’s only a half-mile muskie filled swim between you and the 8th wonder of the world, the Shell Lake Diving Tower.

Newbies often wade in shallow water to build their nerves; big talk has quieted now that they are in the Tower’s domain. Daunting, the swim looming before them makes greenhorns uncertain of their will to get them across the water. They begin to splash each other in hopes of amplifying their courage. Many will come to the shore, only passing the sand to cool in the water; few will make it to the Tower. Those that do must prove themselves to themselves. This is no beauty pageant. No medal for being the first one there. The prize is not being nibbled on by northern pike or becoming muskie bait. The prize is to have the Tower for you and your friends. Ah, to rule the Tower, for even part of an hour, is a prize beyond the riches of kings.

At first, the grade’s decline is gradual, lulling you into a false sense of security. Before you know it, the water is nearly over your head, and just as you reach the buoys, the ground disappears. Here is where the real swim begins, at this point you have no idea when you’ll touch land again. As you pass the buoys the drop off causes the water to grow dark. A swipe of the foot too low and you’ll touch the twining grasses, or was that a prickly bass? Your heartbeat quickens and you begin your swim too fast. The tell-tale sign of a newbie; sprint, fail, must be oared back to shore by the waiting lifeguards.

Ah, the lifeguards; lauded, envied, yet misunderstood. A beautiful array of freckles, brawn, and determination, these tawny teens possessed gentry level accommodations wherever they traveled. People only saw their smiles wide as sunsets; they paid no attention to the grueling pangs required of the early lifeguard shift. That of splashing through the 50-degree mornings as they rowed to the Tower for the task of brooming it clean of bird poo. Mounds of seagull crap were as acrid as they were slippery and for a time lifeguards were the maritime equivalent of a chore boy mucking stalls. Then, they are asked to not have fun at the beach, and instead, spend their days fishing out doughy preteens from the depths. When they are not exhausting themselves, helping those foolish enough to underestimate the Tower Swim, they bob near the Tower in their sun-bleached rowboat. Other lifeguard personnel are perched high in staired chairs on the dock or the beach, either way they invite hours of harsh sun, and risk cancer that comes with it. Despite all this, lifeguards hold the most coveted job in our teenaged world.

If you can avoid calling on the lifeguards for help, you’ll be treated to a marvelous swim. Halfway is where the biggest question lies; finish the job, or give up? Your legs are aching, breath is scant, your arms are jelly; then you realize if you make it to the Tower, you’ll have to swim all the way back… It’s now or never, so, you dig in, and doggy paddle your butt off until you collide with the rigid metal of the diving raft. Towering above you, glistening in the sun, the Tower fills your view. Splashes from the current lords of raft assault you, but you are too tired to care.

Delirious from overexertion, and breathless from the swim, you use the last bits of strength in your hands to grip the half-submerged stairway. Panting, you pile yourself onto the bobbing platform of the Tower. To save face you stand and desperately try to catch your breath. Head pounding, your sight is hazy, but you can see a few familiar faces and the stunning yellow metal 12x15 base. Screams from unseen colleagues disturb the peace, and a giggle of alarm inside reminds you the sky is yours.

There is often a loner on the Tower, or a pair of rascals teasing each other, but when you take a whole passel to the diving raft is when the real fun happens. As you come back to the world, thanks to a bit of rest, the pain in your lungs subsides and there is room for other sensations, that of the dives. The applause and approval, the flinging your body off the precipice, knowing you’ll be fine.

Climbing the stairs to the high dive was exhilaration all its own. Swaying you gently, the Tower reminds you that every step requires balance. Then the jumping starts, the clapping and the laughing. Every shout is for joy, every gasp for amazement. Even the youngest swimmers build courage to take the leap. Chants and songs, dares and dives, when the Tower is yours there is nothing beyond you. The view from the high dive swells you with pride, for you know select few will ever get this view, and you (and your pals) are the ones sharing now.

Every monarch’s reign comes to an end; the Tower is no different. Sometimes you are called away by schedules, or the ride that brought you to the beach. Sometimes the kingdom is overwhelmed by other spritely invaders, bigger, ruder, looking for their own prize from the Tower. No matter, you’ve got the treasure you wanted, those clips of laughter, the feeling of unease under your feet as you risk swift, unsteady steps. You slip into the water before the invaders can see your face, you’ve gotten what you came for. Visions sated, the goal complete.

As you paddle away, propelling yourself with the force of an Olympic swimmer (thanks to the push off from the Tower’s sturdy base), you realize how light you feel. The swim back takes no time at all, it’s downhill after all. Looking back, you are gladdened by the understanding that the Tower keeps no kings, nor does it bow to queens. It could be weeks before you try the Tower swim again. You’ll pass by it on your way to church or practice, you’ll see it from the seat of your sister’s car. Then one day the end of summer will be signaled when they bring in the massive diving raft and store it for the winter. After that, all we have are the visions of the summer silhouettes and the hope for next year’s Tower Swim.