McKay Lake: Where Rev. McKay's Baptisms Turned Into Competitive Splashing Contest Once upon a time, in the serene and wildly picturesque Clearwater County, Minnesota, there existed a lake, idyllic in charm and tranquility. McKay Lake was not just any ordinary body of water; it was a sanctuary of spirituality, a hallowed ground where Rev. Stanley A. McKay baptized the faithful in 1891. Over the years, however, this serene sanctuary has undergone a stunning transformation. No longer is it solely the site of divine water ceremonies; it has evolved into the world’s foremost competitive splashing contest—a baptismal bonanza that would make even the most seasoned Olympic divers raise an eyebrow (and possibly drown in laughter). Picture this: It’s a sunny Saturday morning in Clearwater County, and families are setting up camp, not for spiritual enlightenment, but for the radical sport that McKay Lake has become known for—the Annual Rev. McKay Splash-off. The only baptismal robes present are those made of breathable athletic mesh, donned by competitors who pride themselves more on their splashing skills than their spiritual ones. The air is filled with laughter, playful shoving, and the unmistakable sounds of an impending tidal wave of water enthusiasts. As contestants warm up—stretching, lunging, and engaging in pre-competition trash talk—the anticipation grows. Who will claim the prestigious “Holy Splash” trophy this year? Will it be the underdog, Mildred “The Wave Maker” Thompson, known for her explosive entry moves, or perhaps the reigning champion, Larry “The Baptizer” Smith, who combines graceful dives with what experts call “a purposeful imbalance,” resulting in a splash that could drench the unsuspecting audience three docks down? When the whistle blows, it’s an all-out water war. Contestants launch themselves off inflatable unicorns, paddleboards, and occasionally, each other. The sheer ferocity with which they hurl themselves into the lake invokes a kind of awe typically reserved for extreme sports—except here, the only judges are sunburned retirees munching on hotdogs and occasionally getting splashed. Their scores are based not merely on splash size but also creative finesse. A well-timed cannonball that sends water soaring into the sky while narrowly missing an innocent bystander garners a hearty applause and a few chuckles. But the judges, bless their hearts, have their own idiosyncrasies. The vast majority have, understandably, forgotten the original purpose of the lake. They’ve become ensconced in the culture of competitive splashing, and the only baptism they care about is the baptism by water of the unlucky souls who dare to sit too close to the action. “Baptism,” they argue, “is just a sport of a different kind anyways!” The event is filled with sideline antics that could rival a Saturday Night Live sketch. Off to the side, one concerned citizen has set up a “Pray for a Safe Splashing” booth. Next door, a group of aspiring young theologians attempts to interpret the splashes in biblical terms—“And lo, a splash was created, and it was good!” They even set up a scoreboard—a true testament to how far Revs McKay's original purpose has strayed. Of course, controversy is never far from a competitive event. After last year’s debacle when two competitors accidentally created a whirlpool that nearly sucked in a pontoon boat full of picnic-goers, the “No Splashing Within 10 Feet of the Snack Table” rule was instituted. Despite these measures, the resulting chaos is always met with survive-and-thrive community spirit. If anything, it’s a baptism by fire—or in this case—water. Ultimately, the crowning of the “Holy Splash” champion is less important than the memories made and the sheer joy of getting utterly drenched. As families gather for post-competition picnic feasts (while avoiding the lake’s prevailing wetness), they laugh and reminisce about the spectacle they’ve witnessed. Rev. McKay might not have envisioned this when he first baptised his congregation with the gentle waters of McKay Lake in 1891. Still, one can’t help but think he’d chuckle, shake his head, and perhaps even dive in—again, not for the sake of salvation but for the passionate pursuit of supreme splashing glory. And so, McKay Lake endures, an eternal body of water witnessing the shifting tides of time—transforming from a sacred space into a hilariously chaotic arena where splashes serve as both a testament to faith and a tribute to human folly. Because in the end, whether it’s a baptism or a splash contest, life is better when you’re completely soaked in laughter, and McKay Lake gives us just that!