Wonder Woman Takes Stage: The Iceberg Rescue Mission of Lake Michigan

By Dr. Sarah Allen

Here’s a story to take you away and cool you off during the hot, dog days of August. I wrote this when I lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin where I worked as a bilingual/ESL teacher for 15 years. I had actually submitted the story to Milwaukee Magazine and the next day, the editor called me and said, “This is a great story. You have a very unique way of writing, but I don’t know if you should be humorous about such a life-threatening incident. You may have to re-write this with a serious tone to illustrate and educate about the serious danger here.”

I told him I wasn't sure if I could do this as this is how I write most of my stories, finding humor in even the most tragic of situations. I explained I had lived in South America and had numerous scary and difficult experiences and while I watched them unfold, I often thought how I would turn the the story into humorous prose. Not only did this and bring entertainment to my reader, it had become a useful strategy to overcome fear. I grew to live adventure in part for the benefit of my readers..

Alas, the story was never published, as by the time it would have made it to publication, it would have been late spring. I had also sent the story to my grandmother Stella Judd in Faribault, Minnesota. This brought me straight up to the top of the grandkid list (she has 44 grand and great) and I became an instant a heroine for the next few years. She loved the story so much she marched right down to the Faribault Daily News and demanded they put it into press. The editor of that newspaper called me as well and apologized for not publishing it, but that it was not newsworthy as it happened in Milwaukee, 400 miles away. My grandma did not agree and was so furious she quit her subscription the paper after 40 consecutive years and never returned.

Without further ado, let me begin..

When I was a little girl, superheroes were real and cartoons were a portal to another world. King Kong aired and my brother Andy and I placed a bare mattress on the floor and laid in the palm of his hand, a transformed penthouse in the sky. As Captain Caveman took to the screen, we made caves with blankets and chairs, turned our flashlights on and beat on our chests with full force, screaming "Captain Caaaaavemaaann!” right along with Cavey.

But, Wonder Woman - that was an experience saved just for me. After the show ended, I would take flight, running right out the door, sprinting northeast into the farm field, far away from all human eyes, until I reached the magnetic forcefield in which I would spin. I would spin and spin and spin so hard my clothes would shed and body transform, instantly growing long black hair, a long, lean, muscular frame supported by powerful legs of steel, dressed in a red and blue suit with stars and a golden headdress, a woman more powerful than anyone in the world. Yes, I was Wonder Woman. Soaring high above the farm fields, a planet I called my own, I would swoop down into flames and destruction and save the world one more time, just like I did the week before. Yes, those were the days when puddles were oceans, and melting ice streams were raging rivers.

And though I’ve grown since then, my imagination has not died. I still like to believe I’m Wonder Woman and nature continues to serve as my playground. Some of my best times in Milwaukee are those spent alone in the wee hours of the morning while all the world is asleep and I run along the shore, just me and the sun peeking up over the horizon of the great Lake Michigan, that which I pretend to be the sea. This is when I play and invent.

Winter calls for adventure, especially when seas rage and ice forms a division of men along the pier, one half ice fishing and playing hockey, the other surfing wild waves of grey amidst chunks of ice. And I hold the middle, running from one end to the other, side-swiped by walloping waves that tower high above my head and crash down upon me drenching me with their icy claws. But, I persevere, hopping away a wet, happy frog hopping from one concrete pillar to the next all the way home. If God were ever to show His face, it would definitely be here on days like today.

With that said, let me tell you about a day unlike any other here on these not-so-distant shores. Milwaukee is flat, but not today sir, no, not today. Today it is a mountain range of ice and snow that which remains from February’s historic blizzard. And though there are yellow strips of tape that say ‘Caution Do Not Cross.’ That stops me none. It is mere plastic, flimsy and transparent, placed there to warn the dumb, clumsy, and weak.

I march through and traverse onward, across the mighty mountain range of ice and snow, climbing its peaks while across in the distance, men sit on upturned pails fishing for their dinner in front of the city skyline of tall buildings shining pink in the dawn of morning. Behind me a big barge makes its way steadfastly into port. Oh, how I wish to be on that ship, if not this lifetime, then the next, a fearless adventurer, tough as hell, maybe even a crab fisherman. I make it back, slipping a little on the way, observed through the lens of what appears to be a Russian man wearing a long wool coat and fur hat, his glasses fogged from zooming in to takes pictures of these strange ice formations and me climbing around on them. Though I cast a smile and say hello, he does not reply, he just keeps on taking pictures.

Which reminds me, ice volcanoes! I must explore. I run south to Bradford Beach, off the course of my normal route and roam across the ice shelves that have formed along the shores, appearing as the floor of the moon with solid waves that have frozen in time. Wow. And there they are, the volcanoes, miniature cone-shaped mountains made of ice with a crater in the center. And behold, what appears before my eyes, but four young lads, also playing along the shelf. Ha, did they sleep out here among the stars, winter camping insides the refuge of the ice? Awwww, what fun that would be. I must climb closer and get a better look. Ha! Look at the four of them there along the shore. Hmmm, is that one floating on an iceberg in the sea? I sharply inhale the biting air. Why yes, yes indeed! I scramble to see. How grand to float upon an iceberg in the sea! How did they get out there? Can I do that, too?!

I approach slowly to watch, peeking behind a frozen wave of ice. A tall lanky man in his early twenties, very tall with light skin and a shock of reddish blonde hair stands alone. Might he be Dutch? He catches me spying and waves. I look behind to see who else might be behind me. There is no one. "Me?" I mouth the words and point to myself. He beckons again. A small flag of fear pops up in my mind. It’s 7 a.m. on a deserted beach with four young men.

*What is it they want? “Is everything all right?” I ask.

The tall lanky Dutchman stands numb. He’s not Dutch, he’s a young American college kid.

He shakes his head. “No we’re not. I’m sorry to bother you, but we need help.” I approach cautiously wondering if this is a trap and make a mental plan to run or fight. The beach is deserted and there are four of them and me, only one. Then I see, there is not just one man floating on an iceberg, there are three clinging for their lives. I burst with a generous laugh, “Oh my God!”

My first thought is that they jumped in the water for fun, but no, I see one of them in a long, black woolen trench coat, and a royal blue dress shirt underneath, submerged up to his chest and then I realize, “Oh my God! You guys are in trouble! What happened?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” says Big Red, “but we’ve been out here for awhile and we’ve had quite a lot to drink. We were taking pictures and the ice just broke away.” I look out at the three young men eyes frozen in fear. I consider their ages and add up the hours in my head. The smell the alcohol on Big Red’s breath is sweet and stale, the kind that’s been incubating for hours and has generated enough yeast to rise enough loaves of bread to fill a bakery. Without a doubt, these boys are blasted out of their minds and have been drinking since early last night.

My mind reacts immediately and I see the dips along the ice shelf where their fingers can grab hold and they can pull themselves out. “Here! Come here!” I command and point. “Take your body and pull yourself out.”

They look at me dumbly. Even the one on shore is not responding. I shout again, “Come on! You gotta move! Come over here and we’ll help you!” Finally, one of the guys swims over and grabs hold. He looks up at me with pleading eyes, bulging like a terrified rodent. “You gotta pull yourself up!” I yell. He clenches his teeth and winces as pushes himself up to his waist. Bid Red and I grab each arm and yank him out. Easy enough - he’s small and light. “Ohhhh!” he exhales forcefully and hugs his body and shivers.

“Come on! You’re next!” I shout to the second one. He swims over and takes hold, glancing at me afraid to make eye contact. Luckily he is small, too.

“Pull yourself!” I shout.

“I am!” he shouts back. He’s not moving and appears to be too weak. At this point I realize not only are these guys extremely drunk, they are slightly hypothermic.

“Harder!” I scream.

“I can’t!” he shouts back.

“YES...YOU...CAN!” I scream. “Now Pull!” He gives one big heave and moves a few inches and we pull him out by the arms the rest of the way and he takes off running. “Keep moving you guys!” I command, as they dance circles around the ice formations.

And then of course, there’s the big guy, panic spread across his face, clutching the iceberg, resolved to fate that this is his end, thinking, ‘I’m too big. I’m too tired. They’re not going to pull me out. This is it. I’m going to die in this God damn lake!’

“Come on, Adam!” Big Red shouts.

“I can’t,” he mutters in shame.

Big Red sends me back, afraid the big guy will pull me in with him. His buddies come to his rescue. They shout in unison telling him to get him to swim over and pull himself up. He obeys, but they start pulling him up too soon so he can’t use his arms.

“Come on, pull yourself up!” Big Red yells.

“Come on dude, you gotta help yourself.” The other one adds.

“I can’t man, you got my arms!” he yells back in frustration.

“Let him go a little so he can push himself up!” I say.

They release and he tries to pull himself up. “I can’t!” he shouts in hopeless distress. His arms are shaking and he looks like he is about to cry. I note the whole ice shelf cracked with fissures ready to give way. “Hurry up you guys! We gotta get off here or we’re all gonna go!”

“Come on, man! Let’s go!” yells Big Red.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls himself up again, gaining an inch, enough for his buddies to grab hold and heave him up over his waist, scraping his pants off in the process. He lies teetering on the ice shelf in his boxer shorts soaked the bone, his legs bright pink like an injured harbor seal. They drag him by his arms and get him up completely onto the frozen ice shelf then help him get his pants on. Their cell phones are water-logged and so are their wallets.

Big Red looks at me, “Wow, thank you so much! I’m so sorry to bother you like this. I don’t know what we would’ve done.

“Yeah, thanks,” said the big guy. “If it weren’t for you, we would’ve been written up in the paper on Monday morning.”

“Wow, man! Thank you! You saved us. I felt like I was on the Titanic. I thought we were going to die!” says the second one out.

“No it wasn’t like the Titanic!” argued Big Red.

“Yes, it was!” says the little one.

We start walking back toward Lafayette Hill. “Yeah, thank you so much,” the first kid out says to me quietly, away from the others “Honestly, I thought that was it for me. That was the scariest thing I’ve ever been through in my life.” He sounded so sincere and seemed so shaken up, I believed him. They all acted very shaken.

What’s your name?” Big Red asks.

“I’m Sarah.”

Then they introduce themselves to me, Kyle, Mingo, Adam, and another Kyle.

They were so nice to me, I felt like we should all go out for a morning beer, but I held off and considered their safety. “How long’ve you been in the water?” I ask.

“Maybe five minutes.” Big Red said.

It may have seemed like five minutes, but I was watching them for at least five before I got there and it took us at least ten minutes to pull them all out. “Are you guys feeling ok?” I ask.

“Yeah, we’re ok,” says little Mingo.

As we cross across the hills of ice and I see that they are not fully ok. They are too weak to climb alone. Red and I have pull them up with our hands over the hills.

As we get to the main road, I offer to walk them home, but they assure me they are fine and just live up at the top of the hill. I instruct Big Red to get medical care if they need it. I feel a special bond and am tempted to ask them to go and celebrate with a beer. But, I run on, filled with adrenaline and steam, believing I am Wonder Woman for just one more day.

The End…

A few hours later, I drove down to the shores and observed the tremendous ice shelf in which we were standing and watched it break apart in front of my eyes, thirty-square-foot icebergs floating in the lake. Truly unbelievable. I also learned that yellow caution tape along the ice-mountain pier was put there for a reason. On Valentine’s Day, a 23-year-old man and his fiancé were walking on the ice taking pictures when a chunk of ice broke way and the man fell into the water and was pulled under the cutouts of ice. Though he was rescued and revived after 20 minutes, he later died at Froedert Hospital.

Here is a great video exemplifying the ice volcano phenomenon of Lake Michigan.