Hip to dip Chilly Atlantic the setting for Little Cranberry Island group’s monthly ritual

It’s gray and rainy on Little Cranberry Island as a small crowd gathers at Sand Beach, some huddling around the wood-fired hot tub set up on a nearby lawn, others dipping their toes in the ocean and grimacing at the cold. The hum of anticipation mingles with people’s breath in the air.

All eyes turn toward the road as Joy Sprague, one of the charter dippers, emerges from the trees wearing a red bathrobe, a batik sarong, a black bathing suit and a cowboy hat. Sprague, the island’s postmaster, unofficial mayor and all around good-time gal, walks toward the beach just as a first-timer takes off her shoes and winces at the cold sand. Sprague throws her head back, cackles and keeps walking toward the water.

“It was much colder when this was snow,” says Rebecca Beal, a veteran dipper.

Welcome to the Earth Day meeting of the Dip-of-the-Month Club, a highly unofficial group of islanders who come together once a month, usually at the spur of the moment, for the express purpose of jumping into the ocean. Their last sanctioned dip, on New Year’s Day, drew about 45 people to the beach, 15 of whom dipped. The April turnout is similar, with all the regular dippers, a few first-timers and a bunch of warmer – some would say saner – onlookers.

As dip time approaches, Barb Fernald is chatting on the beach, her bright-red toenails framed by a new-looking pair of Tevas. She announces that she brought an umbrella – to stay dry – which elicits a hearty laugh from the group standing around her. Beal, a teacher at the two-room Islesford School, walks by, wearing a green towel around her waist, a pair of sandals and a winter coat. Stefanie Alley, a lobsterwoman who is featured in the 2003 “Lobstering Women of Maine” calendar, arrives in a red bathrobe and pink feather boa.

“She’s Ms. April – the pinup,” Jesse Minor, a Bates College graduate who is living in Islesford as part of an Island Institute internship, says as Alley approaches the group.

Fernald, a columnist for the Mount Desert Islander who resembles Sally Field, has assumed the role of rule-maker and enforcer, and as dippers and spectators stood on the beach last Tuesday, she rattled off the official, if brief, set of requirements. The club may be informal, but there are some rules.

“The rule is you have to go into some kind of outdoor body of water above the 43rd parallel, and you have to achieve a horizontal position,” Fernald said.

There are also a few official product endorsements: The club’s official fragrance is My Ocean by Club Med, which they stock up on at Wal-Mart whenever someone goes off-island. Sea Monkeys are the official toy, though they can be a bit difficult to find. And if they need inspiration, they look to Lynne Cox, recently profiled in The New Yorker for becoming the first woman to swim to Antarctica.

“She’s our hero,” Alley said over a pre-dip bowl of lobster stew at the island’s general store.

It all began on a sweltering day last September, when there wasn’t a breath of a breeze to be found on the island, especially not in the tiny post office inside the general store. Sprague decided to go for a swim, so she rounded up Fernald and headed to the beach. It felt so refreshing that the two started joking about dipping every month.

In October, the two headed to the beach again, just as Alley was bringing her lobster boat to shore.

“I took off my boots, took off my hat and jumped right in,” said Alley, a graceful woman who started lobstering with her husband, Rick, in 1977. In the early 1990s, she bought her own boat, and has been hauling traps ever since.

The turnout wasn’t so hot in November, but the core crew kept dipping. When Sprague went to Florida in December, Alley double-dipped for her.

“We asked the rules committee, but they said Florida didn’t count,” Sprague said.

On New Year’s Day, the event drew a bunch of brave new dippers and spectators. Nearly 50 of Little Cranberry’s 80 year-round residents showed up, and overnight, the coterie of swimmers had an islandwide following.

Though Minor is a Florida native and a relative latecomer to the group, he now stays in the longest. During the Earth Day Dip, he swam laps in the 40-degree water for a few minutes, and when he came out, his skin turned the color of a cooked lobster. He just about matched the red survival suit worn by Barb Fernald’s husband, Bruce, the group’s official temperature-taker.

While the rest of the dippers shrieked and groaned as they lowered themselves in the water, Bruce Fernald floated like a big red Gumby, all toasty warm – until the suit sprang a leak, that is. Generally, insulation is not allowed, but since Bruce plays a vital role in the festivities, he’s exempt.

“Wet suits don’t count,” said Sprague, the dippers’ energetic ringleader. “One woman had a partial wet suit, but we said no. No cheaters.”

If you don’t count Bruce, and you shouldn’t since he’s an exception, there were no cheaters during the Earth Day dip. The water was a balmy 40 degrees – up from 38 degrees in March, and just a bit cooler than the air. Many people shivered, but few complained. And the hard-core dippers went back for more. Alley hauled the hot tub from her home to a grassy spot in front of the beach, which undoubtedly helped her set an island record of five dips.

It also helped the rest of the crowd thaw out, but some of them didn’t seem to need it.

“I feel really good – fabulous,” Sprague said, standing on the beach with a towel wrapped around her.

“Really energized,” Barb Fernald chimed in.

“I feel invigorated,” added Cynthia Lief, the owner of the Islesford Dock Restaurant.

Barb and Cynthia walked toward the hot tub, wearing robes and holding umbrellas – so they wouldn’t get wet. After they took their turns in the warm water, they headed toward their cars, and Sprague told anyone who wanted espresso to follow her. Then she hopped into her red Jeep, shifted it into first, and cranked up the heat.

“That dip was amazing,” she sighed, and drove back toward the general store, where strong, hot coffee, made hotter with a dash of cayenne pepper, was waiting. Her body needed a warm-up, after all, even if her spirits didn’t.