Thursday 7 January 2021
So, wild swimming. Turns out one of the many results of this lockdown business is people slinging themselves into cold water at every opportunity, in an effort to sloth the world’s current madness from their being, perhaps.
Anyhoo, it’s quite the thing.
I’m not averse to a bit of wild swimming myself to be fair but perhaps a bit of a fair weather wild swimmer would be a more apt description at this point.
I’ve dunked myself in the river Itchen in Winchester in the warmer climes of July, slathered about in London’s Hampstead Heath Ponds, and frolicked in a billabong in Australia. Two out of the three of those involved snakes.
Snakes and paddlers
I’m not afraid of snakes – in fact I went out of my way to find the slithery little suckers when I lived in Australia – but I’ve got to say, seeing a snake’s head swimming metres in front of me in the river Itchen, just a few miles from Winchester Cathedral, was unexpected to say the least.
“Snake, snake,” I yell to my sister and teenage nieces, while paddling frantically against the current towards it. That’s it, towards it. That’ll be a genetic reaction courtesy of my reptile-loving dad.
Feeling like an elite athlete in an improvised lockdown training session battling against the river’s surprisingly strong current, I was nevertheless too late. The snake disappeared into a tangle of reeds situated mid river and I wasn’t about to go all Steve Backshall on it and dive in and pull it out triumphantly.
Instead, I let it be – a lesson of respect to all animals learned from an Aborigine-educated guide in Australia’s Northern Territories, and the second of my snakes-involved-in-wild-swimming incidents.
In the swim of things
Pat, the guide, took a group of us to a billabong in Kakadu National Park, a World Heritage-listed site, three hours east of Darwin. Man alive, I had the most memorable time with fellow traveller Kerry.
Dusting off an upturned kayak on the bank of the billabong, we proceeded to paddle to the middle of the Circus tent-sized pool, stopping to absorb the utter peace of the outback surrounds. Jurassic-looking Jabiru birds pecked about, insects chirruped, and two English lasses bobbed about in the timeless space.
Until The Frog appeared.
Obviously everything in Australia is poisonous, including said frog, although to be fair, I think you had to lick the thing for it to have any affect on us hoomans, but we weren’t taking any chances.
The scaly one had leapt out from under the seat on which we were lounging, prompting Kerry and I to do our own bit of leaping… over the side into the water, while The Frog sat princely mid-ships.
Laughing our heads off petered out as we realised we had to get back in to get back to terra firma.
Creeping our fingertips over the kayak’s rim, we raised ourselves high enough out of the water to peak into the boat. All clear. The Frog appeared to have hopped it so we muscled our way back in, slithering into the bottom of the boat, eyes darting about.
No sooner had we breathlessly got back onto our seats, The Frog reappeared, hopping ferociously towards us with fangs glinting in the sun… probably – we were too busy disappearing over the side to find out.
On finally returning to land, Pat, who grew up with Aborigine siblings (let’s leave that infuriating hot potato for this post, shall we?), said he loved the sound of our laughter echoing around the billabong.
Pat also mentioned he’d removed a snake out of harms way while we’d been messing around. Not just any snake – a taipan – one of the most venomous in the world and top of my list of snakes to see while residing in Oz.
Seeing the disappointment on my face, he said, “I didn’t tell anybody because some of you would have gone running for the hills, and some of you”, looking pointedly at me, “would have been jabbing it with a stick”.
Cold shoulder
One of the things I love about a wild swim is coming nose to nose with various critters. When I lived in London, I was a bit partial to the ponds at Hampstead Heath, the famed natural pools used for recreation since the 1920s, providing a lifeblood of wild swimming for those in the city.
Three area make up the Hampstead Heath Bathing Ponds – the men’s pond, women’s pond and mixed. I tended to stick to the Ladies Pond as it was nearer to where I lived, bigger than the mixed, and has a table tennis table.
Swimming eyeball to eyeball with ducks and coots, watching leggy herons in their nests, and floating on your back to watch silent, distant aeroplanes leave whispy trails across the sky, is epic.
However, even in the summer it’s not warm as testified by my then 12-year-old niece Milly who I took with me one June afternoon. I did warn her about the not-warm aspect of swimming here but even I was surprised at the particular coolness on this day.
I kept schtum though as I smoothly slid in, pulling all sorts of my-word-this-is-quite-chilly faces, which Milly couldn’t see as she was still waiting to get in behind me. A pause after I heard her plop into the water, followed by a mighty, “Jooooooo, I’m going to kill you”. We got less blue after we’d climbed out after half an hour or so and played a bit of table tennis in the sun.
Overhearing a conversation between two ladies swimming next to me on another occasion made me smile. “How do you like it?”, said one, clearly a regular. “I think I’m more an infinity pool kind of girl,” replied the other.
Ice maiden
So I love wild swimming, but I’m yet to go hardcore and venture into the icy January water. My dream is to be like Abby Cornforth here, who I came across on the Outdoor Swimming Society Facebook group.
The caption on her picture reads, ‘Conquered my first iced tarn yesterday’, and I’ve no idea what that means but it sounds, and looks, properly hardcore. I asked Abby if I could share this photo of her looking mighty Winter Amazonian.
I’ve just moved to the Essex coast from London and was keen to discover a local swimming spot when, voila, the Guardian popped up with an article on that very thing. Extolling the virtues of wild swimming the post features a local wild swimming group, which I promptly liked on Facebook.
‘Sadly’ Covid-19 has put a stop on my winter swimming for the time being – government rules during this third lockdown say we can still exercise but I don’t want to get hypothermia due to my inexperience in cold water and put any extra pressure on our already full hospitals. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. So I’ve sensibly declined to partake at the moment. And anyway, the name of the group gives me pause for thought. Bluetits and Bluebells…
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Also, I totally recommend this book, Find A Way by Diana Nyad.
The American long-distance swimmer achieved much but it was a dream to be the first woman to swim from Cuba to the Florida Keys without a shark cage that had her hooked.
Throughout her life she tried four times, then again, for the final time, aged 64. When you read about the jellyfish stings, the shark fins, and the delirium that takes over during the 50-hour swim, you wonder that she tried a second time, let alone a fifth.
Love, love, love
Finally, promise, don’t you just love these wild swimming note cards? I love promoting craftworkers on independent seller site Etsy so thought you’d like these too. Loads of wild swimming creatives on the site so have a look if you need a gift for a fellow wild swimmer… or yourself!
