For 24-year-old Felicity Hnilicka, the morning ritual in Lander, Wyoming, involves something most people actively avoid: plunging into the freezing, ice-crusted waters of the Popo Agie River.
While the act might look like a dare to the casual observer, Hnilicka sees it as a deliberate exercise in mental fortitude. She is currently looking for fellow residents to join her at the City Park bridge near McManus, aiming to maintain this icy habit through the entirety of the winter season.
Hnilicka, who grew up on a family farm where running barefoot through snow was a childhood game, has been experimenting with cold exposure for roughly three years. She credits the practice with improving her sleep, circulation, and stress management. Yet, the primary draw isn’t just the physical sensation. For her, the plunge is a tool for behavioral discipline.
The Physiological Reality of Cold Shock
The appeal of cold-water immersion often centers on the “rush” that follows the initial shock. This phenomenon is not merely psychological. Ward Dobbs, an assistant professor of kinesiology and health at the University of Wyoming, explains that the human body undergoes a complex, competing stress response when submerged in near-freezing, moving water.
The heart rate accelerates and breathing becomes rapid as the body enters a high-alert state, yet the cooling of the face can trigger a simultaneous reflex that attempts to slow the heart down.
Your body in that cold shock says speed everything up, but then cooling the face rapidly sends a signal to slow the heart down.
Dobbs notes that this “cardiovascular conflict” carries inherent risks, particularly for individuals with underlying heart conditions. While the body can adapt to cold stress over time—much like it acclimates to exercise in extreme heat—that adaptation does not equate to immunity.
The danger is compounded in a river setting compared to a controlled, stationary tub. Because the water in the Popo Agie is constantly flowing, it creates a convective effect that strips heat away from the body much faster than still water, potentially impairing muscle function and coordination before an individual even realizes they are becoming hypothermic.
Nature Versus the Tub
The distinction between a backyard cold-plunge setup and a natural river environment is significant for enthusiasts like Kimberly Coats. Residing on a ranch near the community of Savery, Coats and her husband previously utilized a hole chopped into the ice of the local creek for their cold exposure. Despite the discomfort, she describes the experience as an “intoxicating” sense of being incredibly alert.
Coats emphasizes that the setting is a crucial part of the draw. While she eventually stopped the practice due to medical advice, she maintains a strong affinity for Wyoming’s winter landscape. For many, the appeal lies in the intersection of nature and intensity, a stark contrast to the convenience of modern wellness technology.
However, the practical realities remain: both Hnilicka and Coats underscore the necessity of having a partner present. The risk of passing out or losing the ability to climb out of the water is a reality that, for many, outweighs the potential mental health benefits.
As the winter season deepens, Hnilicka remains committed to her goal. She approaches the Popo Agie with a calculated strategy: short sessions, a running car nearby, and a warm towel waiting. She acknowledges that the resistance she feels before each jump is exactly why she continues to do it. It is a practice of voluntary hardship that, in her view, makes the rest of the day feel manageable.
Whether this trend gains traction among other Lander residents remains to be seen. While the scientific community, including experts like Dobbs, acknowledges the potential for physical adaptation, they also provide a necessary check on the enthusiasm: too much stress can be just as detrimental as too little. For now, the river serves as a chilly classroom for those willing to brave the current.