Crazy.

Jumping into Lake McDonald at Glacier National Park in the winter might seem so. Far from it. Perfectly normal. Just depends on your point of view.

It was too beautiful not to jump in. Snow-capped mountains. Crystal clear, calm waters. Blue sky, setting sun. What more could you want?

Some say a little sanity would be nice.

Standing there in shorts and shoes, a few folks wondering what I was doing around 5 p.m. on a Saturday in early February, my wife ready with iPhone5 and camera, all I needed was a little courage.

How cold was this water, anyway?

I splashed a bit on my face. Hmmm. Didn't feel any different than Lake Coeur d'Alene for the Polar Bear Plunge on Jan. 1. Perhaps 35 degrees or so. Lake McDonald, 10 miles wide, 470 feet deep, doesn't warm up much in the summer, either, perhaps 50 degrees.

Still, the longer I stood on land, staring out, the weaker my resolve. I began swinging my arms the way Olympian Michael Phelps does before each race, giving myself a pep talk, mumbling, while my wife, Marianne, told me to hurry up.

I'm not entirely sure why I declared I would dive into Lake McDonald in the middle of winter when we headed to that part of Montana for the winter carnival in Whitefish. Mostly, I guess, so I could say I did it. What the heck. We're here. Might as well. Just seemed like the right thing to do.

Perhaps it's never been done.

Perhaps no one has ever leaped into a Glacier park lake in February.

I mean, how many people would want to?

Oh, let's just do this.

I charged, bounding in with a rush, splashing through the water. At waist deep, I dove completely under, popped up and raced for a towel on shore.

Not as cold as I thought. Much like this year's Polar Bear Plunge in Coeur d'Alene, it seemed almost too easy. Maybe I should go again.

"Did you get pictures?" I asked my wife.

She showed me a few she snapped on her iPhone.

My wife has become the official photographer of my madness: Standing under the waterfalls, diving into mud, running in snowstorms and 50-mile races, covered in paint or car grease or jogging on a Kauai beach, leaping over waves.

This shot, though, the mountains, the ripples in the water, reflections on the lake, a silhouetted figure, might be her best yet.

"Oh, that's good. You got it," I said, giddy like a little kid with a basket of Easter candy. "I like that. Perfect. You captured that moment. Got to post that one."

Later, in Whitefish, sitting in a place called Cooper's, we got to chatting with the bartender, who asked about our day.

"We went to Glacier, where he jumped into Lake McDonald," my wife said casually.

"How many others did it," asked the bartender.

"No one. Just him," my wife said.

The bartender smiled, laughed and shook her head.

"That's crazy."

I sipped my beer and chuckled.

OK. It's crazy. I'm crazy. I can't deny it.

My wife has the pictures to prove it - not that she needs them.

Bill Buley is city editor of the Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, ext. 2016, or [email protected]