Post by chuckrh on Feb 8, 2023 17:38:48 GMT 1
I sent one of my memories of him to his wife Kati that was read out.
One xmas time, a few years back, when you were in Fured we all made our way down to the lake for Steve's annual dip one morning. I think it may have been boxing day.
The temperature was something daft like -9ºc & we were all wrapped up in thick woollens, thermals, sheepskins etc as we tried to stave off the icy breeze coming across the lake.
Steve, on the other hand, casually stripped down to his swimming trunks & began to wade into the lake without batting an eyelid.
It was so cold that he had to physically break the layer of ice in his path that had formed on the shallower parts so that he could wade out to a suitable swimming depth while we all stood watching and feeling even colder at the sight of this crazy guy carrying out his xmas tradition.
After a few minutes, he emerged from the lake and actually had rivulets of blood running from cuts all over his legs from the ice. He wasn't bothered though. All par for the course for him. That was Steve being Steve. No sooner had he towelled off & got some clothes on, out came various bottles of whisky, brandy & palinka which were either poured into hot coffee or into the little plastic glasses that we'd taken with us.
I don't think my feet have ever been so cold before, but that seemed a bit of a lame complaint considering we'd just watched Steve negotiate the (quite literally) frozen waters of Lake Balaton.
I seem to recall a few of the locals even stopping to watch this legend making sure his xmas tradition was upheld & the looks of horror on their faces.
That is my enduring memory of Steve.
The temperature was something daft like -9ºc & we were all wrapped up in thick woollens, thermals, sheepskins etc as we tried to stave off the icy breeze coming across the lake.
Steve, on the other hand, casually stripped down to his swimming trunks & began to wade into the lake without batting an eyelid.
It was so cold that he had to physically break the layer of ice in his path that had formed on the shallower parts so that he could wade out to a suitable swimming depth while we all stood watching and feeling even colder at the sight of this crazy guy carrying out his xmas tradition.
After a few minutes, he emerged from the lake and actually had rivulets of blood running from cuts all over his legs from the ice. He wasn't bothered though. All par for the course for him. That was Steve being Steve. No sooner had he towelled off & got some clothes on, out came various bottles of whisky, brandy & palinka which were either poured into hot coffee or into the little plastic glasses that we'd taken with us.
I don't think my feet have ever been so cold before, but that seemed a bit of a lame complaint considering we'd just watched Steve negotiate the (quite literally) frozen waters of Lake Balaton.
I seem to recall a few of the locals even stopping to watch this legend making sure his xmas tradition was upheld & the looks of horror on their faces.
That is my enduring memory of Steve.
