Halloween and Old Hunstanton : High tide: 12:30

JJ

I supose since it is Halloween  I should have gone for a night swim, but seriously it's cold now though the idea is very appealing. No wind today so no surfers and a flat calm. Perfect for serious swimming instead of splashing around. Also no wading today !!! I know all I seem to talk about is the tide but it makes such a difference to how long I spend in the water. If I've had to walk out throught the shallows it gives me less time actual swimming as I get cold that much faster.

 When everyone else on the beach is there to walk the dog I do feel like I am making some sort of protest especially when I start undressing. 

 

What is Contentment?

JJ

I know it seems like a big question and and I'm sure it's entirely specific to every individual but just like the Jehovers Witness who interupted my breakfast this morning I have an answer.

Take one perfectly sunny vaguely warm october day, add a high tide!!!!! (skip over the 200yrds wading out through water until it was over my knees). Continue swimming for 15 lovely minutes, remove self from sea as soon as sensation starts to be lost in hands and feet. Add and extremely FIT surfer to tell you how brave you are and finish off with lovely hot soup in the afternoon sun.

Continuing with the clothing discussions  are there any thoughts on gloves? I don't think I have very sensitive hands but the tingling sensation doesn't go away in the water. Hats and gloves are one thing I'm not sure I can sign off on one of these though.

No I didn't need rescuing but the RNLI are awesome.

JJ

Old Hunstanton  low tide, 16:00 sea temp : 12oC

I very nearly lost my nerve today. I was so tempted to get back in the car when I saw how far the tide was out. It is so deceptive the sea doesn’t look that far away but when you look at the size of the people on the shore they are just tiny black dots. I dropped my stuff on less than dry sand and I was soon making my way out through the shallows. It is colder today though I still have no trouble getting in. A little bit breathless when fully submersed but I keep moving against the current. It is a lot calmer today even with the strong wind so I can actually swim with out getting a face full of water. The kite surfing school is out again, and the sound of voices carries clearly over the water, I hear a lot of woohooing!! As someone manages to stand up and lift off and then the occasional no, no, no, NO ***** thwump!

 I manage about ten minutes and feel a lot more in control than on Sunday. For the first time coming out my skin has that burning sensation which I have till now only associated with river swimming and I am a lovely shade of pink. I suppose the one good thing about swimming at low tide is that getting cold once your out isn’t a problem as there is always a long brisk walk back to the dunes. I stop off for some hot tea at the beach café positively glowing with smugness. I thing I will wait till Saturday when I can swim off the morning high tide as it is always a fraction warmer and easier logistically (less wading).

The Swimmer Suited and Booted.

MG

Much excitement amongst the team on this rainy, windy non-swimmable morning, as after much searching, KH has discovered the swimming hat of her dreams, a very dashing turban. SW is however immediately hankering after this one...

While I'm sorely tempted by the idea of recreating Kiera Knightley (Atonement) in a vintage style hat with chin strap.

All we need now is a website selling fleecy all-in-one babygros and we'll be the height of fashion.

Monday October 24th

Monday October 24<sup>th,

KH</sup> 

Another frosty night....

MG, SW and I, with dogs, meet at Cogden – my suggestion as it’s my favourite stretch of the Chesil beach, wilder and more open and, especially now at half-term, emptier than anywhere else. The sky is brilliantly blue, the sun warm, the wind barely a whisper, and the bouncy waves of the last few days have died down to leave just a  lacy edge of foam on the shore line. In other words conditions are PERFECT, almost identical to those of about three weeks ago when MG and I swam here, except for the fact that the water temperature has dropped after some very cold nights.

I leave my swimsuit in the car and have to race back up the hill and down again by which time I am positively hot. SW and MG are waiting, warming themselves in the sun. We discuss how many calories are burned up by cold water swimming – a lot surely but perhaps not equal to the five slices of toast/fry ups/double hot chocolate you feel is your due. We delay no longer and are straight in. Percy wades into the foam and then retreats and takes up his lifeguard duties.  It’s cold but not colder, or so it seems to me. But I keep my head out of the water, unlike MG and SW. I think we will soon need hats and fantasise about a flowery turban.  When we arrived the beach was entirely empty – though you could see crowds at Burton – but as we swim a few walkers and dogs appear on the shingle, bundled up in coats. They stare at us – respect? Incredulity? I no longer warm up in the water, at least not completely and I have odd areas of numbness and an ache in my shoulders and upper arms – but it’s possible to stay in, for ten minutes or so. And today the sun gently warms my face as I swim towards it.  Having stayed in too long last week – subsequently taking to my bed with two hot water bottles – I’ve learned my lesson and get out before my body temperature drops too far, a little sooner than I really want to get out.  We dress quickly and SW hands out little mugs of sweet, milky camp coffee – the perfect post-swim tipple. 

MG is looking forward to donning fleecy track suit bottoms post-swim. I wonder about giant fleecy baby-gros. Tomorrow the weather is due to change – rain and wind on the way – so this might be the last of these beautiful October days. Not our last swim we hope.    

Sunday 24th October, 11.30am

SW

As with many of our swims, it all started with a scream and then some pathetic whimpering. For once though, it was not one of us swimmers - we were all still fully dressed and toasty. It was The Mascot who, being a touch melodramatic, had nudged her damaged paw and decided to let the whole beach know about it. She was swiftly escorted back to the car to recover on the back seat.

A glorious sunny autumn day, blue sky, clear air and a calm-ish sea. Four swimmers took the plunge into waters turbid from the previous 48 hours rain. We had already gone eastwards along the beach to try and escape a small slick of encroaching scum - muddy run-off and best-not-to-ask stuff that comes down the rivers after heavy rain. Striking further out the sea cleared enough to enjoy the beautiful cool water. A few stabbing sensations observed all round which means it must be getting cooler. One of the things I love about cold water is feeling pains in bits of your body that you did not even know existed. It is also amazingly energising - whatever stresses or moods we arrive with at the beach, after a few minutes in the water all is forgotten and we are all incredibly glad we made it.

MG disappeared off towards the horizon while SW, SN and KH came back to the shallows. Since some of our members had to take to bed after the previous days swim we decided on a slightly shorter dip today. Drying off, the sun was out and I was barely shaking at all. MG made it back in one piece which we were all very glad about as although its a comfort to swim in a group, at the end of a swim we would all be hopeless in a life-saving situation having already spent all our store of heat.

Forecast remains good for tomorrow, October is turning into a swim-fest.

(Later on, looking down at the sea, and contemplating a second swim, but you have to draw the line somewhere....)

How not to swim in the north sea: Old Hunstanton:Sea far far away: 11:45

JJ

 

I am shamefaced at the fact that it has been 14 days since my last swim a frustrating head cold and work having got in the way. The last time it was on one of those sticky hot days which lulls you into the false sense that summer hasn’t ended and all those copper coloured trees and the morning frost are an illusion. 14 days later it is most definitely autumn, which I love by the way despite it limiting my sea time. But I know that my body needs to be regularly in the sea to keep acclimatized cold showers just aren’t enough. My camera seems determined to only show blissful blue skys even though on the long trudge out to the shore line, we are drenched by a passing squall. The tide even at this distance is still going out and I am somewhat regretting not getting here at some ungodly hour this morning to swim off the high tide. Even though my companion refuses point blank to even contemplate swimming I am far from alone today the kite surfers are out in force and are flying from crest to crest on the extremely choppy sea. I strip off my wet clothes and run in and wade out through the surf which is boiling around me an eye out for the surfers who are zipping along to my left. It is colder I can tell straight away but still not the sharp shock. As soon as I am fully under it stops raining and the sun comes out directly overhead I kick back into the waves facing the shore and It could be the middle of summer except for the growing prickly feeling in my hands and arms, I watch the tiny people walking along the beach, the swell is strong and I don’t let myself get out of my depth as I can feel the pull out to sea. The all over body pins and needles effect starts to get a little much so I pull myself out even the crashing surf not pushing me in but weirdly holding me in place, I am glad that I haven’t left it to long as I can see how quickly the cold is tiring me today. Scarlet and hot I take my towel and we walk back to the dryer sand to change. Putting on damp clothes is hardly ideal and I forgo the warming tea at the beach café to get back to the car, and some furry boots to warm my numb toes.  When to wear a hat is a question I am debating as well, I loathe the rubber ones but if it means it’s more bearable then I guess I will suffer it, though today some kind of flashing beacon would have been useful as I spent most of the time worrying I was about to be knocked out by a surfboard.

Friday 22nd October, 1.30pm

MG

SW breaks the news to me as we meet that KH had to retire to bed with a hot water bottle after our swim yesterday, and when he stopped to do some shopping on the way home, his hands were shaking so much that he couldn’t input his pin. Suddenly my two baths don’t seem so bad. But I think we’ve all learnt that staying in too long at this temperature is UNWISE.

I’ve got the Mascot and the Mascottini, which is the worst of both worlds. I’m trying to persuade myself that it’s because the Mascot isn’t fully recovered, and to back up this story, I’m forcing her to stay on the lead. Actually, I just couldn’t bear to leave the Mascottini at home. So she’s frolicking ahead and dashing back to boast to the Mascot “this is where Percy nearly trampled the bluebottle” “this is where I thought MG had drowned” while the Mascot plods glumly along, resentment and betrayal all over her whiskery face.

It’s been a sunny morning but is beginning to cloud up by the time SW, the Long Suffering SH and I are united at West Bay at 1.30. There’s also a brisk wind and large-ish, though unscary, waves. But SW’s policy of changing and doing is a good one, and before we can feel too horror struck, we are taking the plunge, with only a few squeaks of protest. The knives of cold stab and subside; it’s bliss. Clear, wavy, sun flickering in and out, that settling feeling of calm and tranquillity which must be something to do with the cold; as physical feeling fades, so too does emotional – all that’s left is, as SW temptingly puts it, a sensation of being bathed in wart-destroying liquid nitrogen, and a mind empty of all but joy and peace.

I don’t feel cold at all, even after 20 minutes (which we agree is probably about as long as we should allow ourselves to stay in) and really have to force ourselves out, turning back several times to do some prancing. SW has an edge of chill, but thinks it is warmer underwater; I point out this is probably due to the blood rushing from his heart to his brain in a desperate attempt at self preservation. When we do emerge, I’m again pink all over and having had an accidental swallow and choke episode with a galloon of sea water, to my pleasure my voice has sunk a gravely four octaves. We rush to change while the heat surge lasts. But… “I bet you’re jealous now” stammers SW through gritted teeth as he struggles into t-shirt, jumpers, coats, and I pull on two pairs of over-the-knee socks and wellies “yes, really jealous….” Says SH with a sardonic smile.

The joyful moment has arrived when The Bar is thrusting up it’s shutters and putting out it’s tables for the Winter season – a thermos of Camp Coffee, the world’s most delicious drink. SW points out that if we were drinking it at home, it probably wouldn’t be so blissful, but at this place, at this time, it hits the spot like a hypodermic full of nectar. We have a classic conversation while SW sloshes coffee all over himself with shaking hands; the cold and delirium for a moment transporting us into the lives of two Retirement Home Residents;

MG “You can make delicious milkshakes with Camp Coffee”

SW “You can?”

MG “You did?”

SW “What?”

MH “What”

While SH looks bemusedly from one to the other. It only comes to an end as I dissolve into giggles.

We’re refreshed and pleasantly chilled as we pack up and head to the cars, discussing ways of enlivening the blog over the winter, as our swimming locations become unavoidably narrower. The Swimmer in the Bath Tub perhaps?

I return home to a parcel of jams from our Norfolk outpost, JJ, and a note I think I may frame...

Thursday 21st October 11.30am

MG

Today I made some mistakes, discovered something horrifying and Percy nearly trampled the world’s smallest dog betwixt his enormous Labradoodle paws. It’s a fairly average swimming day.

I returned yesterday from “sunnier” climes where in fact it rained almost ceaselessly, and my only glimpse of the wine-dark sea was as a blur whilst running to escape an “acqua bomba” (no joke, actual headline) which washed a tidal wave of water almost over our Lancia. Even I could not face a dip amidst the thunder and lightening of that storm. So it’s with a singing heart that I cast aside my passport and awake to a glorious day.

We’ve set a date for 11.15 at West Bay, and I and the Mascottini join KH, Percy and a new recruit, SN, on the picture perfect beach. The Mascot is almost recovered but I’m now in a quandary as the Mascottini has taken to her new role like, forgive me, a duck to water, and prising her out of it isn’t going to be easy. But the Mascot hasn’t gained her title for nothing and I will harden my heart and leave the Mascottini and all her engaging traits in her basket the instant the Mascot is given a clean bill of health….

SN is new to us but not to the sea, and on the arrival of SW we stroll a little further down the beach, exchanging tricks and ideas about cold water swimming (hats – to do or not to do?). There’s been an abrupt drop in temperature since I left in both sea and air with night frosts…

I’m wary of the water and as we wade in my face scrunched up against the cold. We all agree it feels much colder. KH is in first, as always shaming us with her bravery, and I’m next under and out, through the class clear water. Bracing no longer covers it, and for a moment forgotten pains grab me in my back and across my shoulders – the knives of cold are out. SW rejoices as his favourite stabbing pain returns in his “disco wings” (an old favourite from when we couldn’t remember the term “bingo wings”). I plough ahead, gritting my teeth against the cold and after a few moments, it’s passed and I’m toasty warm. But I’m a little shaken by how cold it felt, and I’m aware afresh that swimming all year round isn’t all going to be beer and skittles. I try to phrase this to SW but his look of horror and panic on detecting a note of weakness leads me to hastily reaffirm my wild swimming pledge – All Year Round.

And now, comes a moment of horror. KH and SN have taken off sideways, swimming parallel to the shore, and SW and I are heading outwards. About halfway to the end of the Pier, SW, glancing downwards, remarks on how amazingly clear it is, you can see the ripples on the sand beneath us and feel like you can reach out and touch it. I agree. SW disappears underwater and I gaze upwards at the cruising gulls. And then – I can hardly bear to write it – SW emerges with a handful of sand clenched in his fist. He HAS touched the bottom! All these years we’ve been boasting about the unfathomable depths, and all the time they were just 15 feet below us! I feel like I’m in The Matrix. The line between reality and fantasy, fact and fiction, is blurred forever. SW is so alarmed he texts me from home 7 hours later to tell me how freaked out he is. Luckily though, we agree that a) we are swimming above a freak sandbank b) it’s a very odd tide due to the approach of the full moon c) nothing has happened, and if it has we will never refer to it again. The surface has been ruffled for a moment, but now the water closes over the unquestionably UNFATHOMABLE depths.

We paddle inwards, SW admitting to a pleasant frisson of cold. I can’t bear to give in and the others are the same, wading out before dashing back in and swimming energetically. It’s too good to stop. As KH, SN, and finally SW do go in, like the idiot I am I disobey my own rule and stay in far too long. I’ve sunk in to a state of such blissful tranquillity, all my preoccupations dropping away to settle far (far, far, FAR) below me – that I no longer care about ever getting out. But as the others finish dressing and KH does some warming star jumps, I drag myself ashore. I am “alarmingly pink” (KH) all over, as though peeled and marinated. The glow of inside seems to be burning through to outside. I dress hurriedly, but not hurriedly enough, and as we set off down the beach, I’m fighting a biting chill. As Percy galumphs up to a dog the size and shape of a bluebottle, which gazes up at him with horrified eyes, I’m fighting off shivering and cannot follow KH and SW’s conversation at all due to the roaring in my ears. I’m completely breathless as we climb up the bank away from the beach but manage to pant to SW that I feel like my lungs are closing up. A passing walker looks a little shaken, so I give a toss of my damp head and a gasping attempt at a merry laugh. I wave off the others and collapse into my car. Once home, the paralysis of cold is easily cured by two hot baths, tights, leggings, furry slippers and four helpings of pasta and piperonata. Maybe a little less time in the water tomorrow….

Tuesday 19th October, 4.30pm

Brighton.

Another run/swim combo. This time the weather is looking less promising and SH has gone to London so I have key issues again. But after a tricky day I really need salt water. Same route but a lot less people and a really cold wind. Disappointingly the wind has changed to a south westerly so there are plenty of waves and the water is a dirty gray. Still, I run, get warm, forget about the day. I swim at almost exactly the same point as Sunday but this time I cannot see another person on the beach. But I dont even think about keys. I must be adapting.

The water has cooled again and I can feel my tired muscles start to seize up. A shorter swim, dodging the waves but swallowing lots of water (I always seem to take on loads of water when doing crawl in wavy seas...). The post-swim climb was really hard this time as my legs were cold - I think the water and air temp maybe just too low now to follow a swim with more running, it will have to be a fair weather combo. Or just end with a swim and walk home (walk? oh the shame). Still, I made it home in time to replenish all those lost calories on a big round of buttery toast.

Sunday 17th October, 10am

Brighton.

Miraculously I am up early on a Sunday morning. And it’s a beautiful Sunday morning too. Still feeling frustrated at not getting to swim in Dorset the previous day – perfect conditions but no time – I am determined to go before other stuff can get in the way.

Feeling efficient, I decide on another run/swim combo. SH stays at home which means no paranoia and worries about keys this time. My route is about 1k downhill, 3k up and down the level seafront, stop for a swim them 1k back uphill. Total 5k plus dip.

My running kit consists of hand-me-down trainers and t-shirts that should be used as rags but which I cannot yet bear to part with. SH is slightly appalled. It makes me laugh to be just about the only person I see not sporting either the white lines of an ipod or clean, new designer label clothing. I guess I look pretty scruffy but that’s what a few years in West Dorset does to you, turns you a little feral.

The sea was calm, flat, beautiful in the sun. Plenty of people appearing post-breakfast and a few making it to the beach but still no other swimmers. The heat from a run seems to make me temporarily immune to the water temperature and it just feels such an amazing luxury to be able to slip under the surface and immerse. The water must be getting cooler as I start to feel a bit chilled after only 10 minutes. So its back to the beach to start the ascent home.

Tuesday 12th October

West Bay 3.00

MG

For the first time today as people stared at me as though I were mad, I was able to stare blatantly back at them – who WOULDN'T want to swim on a day like this?! We've had three days so far of utterly perfect weather, the sort we dream about and rarely get in August, let alone October. It's windy at home, but the beach is so protected by the cliffs, that the water is calm and still. The tide is low and I think the beach is deserted until I spot little huddles of people in the rocks in each alcove, like the last remaining villagers after a Viking pillage. It's a day, clearly, for sitting, thinking, looking out to sea. Not for me though. I feel very self conscious as the only person on the sand – the eyes of all are upon me as I strip off, wade in, and plunge. It's not cold – but different. There are a few exciting moments in which I am thinking, "this is… sharp". It's murky still as well, which surprises me – it's been so still that I'd imagined the water would be clearing (I'm dreaming of those days in June when the water was so clear that I thought my own shadow on the bottom 20 feet below me was a shark) but it's just as murky as Saturday and my legs are an even more shapeless blur than usual. I bob and watch the people watching me. Then out of nowhere, a ferocious wind gets up – I must have crossed an invisible line, though I can't see how that's possible, where the cliffs no longer protect me from the wind. I have to swim with the wind behind me, which is a very odd sensation, while the currents below echo those above, so I feel thoroughly pummelled. I spot some people arrive and change very professionally, so I keep my eye on them as they approach the water – but they turn out to be Prancers, in and out before I've time to say "hero".

I'm already late, so I turn and pearl dive inwards, though my inclination is to keep my eyes firmly shut in the alarming murk below. I can't believe how close I have to be before I'm back in my depth – I keep putting my feet down hopefully and vanishing without trace like Shelley in the Arno. I only scrape the bottom with my tows when I'm about three metres form the wave break – from there it's a steep scrabble out. This is why this stretch of coast is so treacherous.

As I hurriedly change and dash to leave, not, for once, thinking about how heroic, brave, romantic and enviable I must appear, one of the Viking-pillage-survivors catches my eye, and "Bravo!" he says. This warms my cockles more than any hot chocolate.

--------------------------

Brighton, 5pm

Feeling a bit energetic after 2 days of too much sitting still, I decide to combine a run and a swim. This seems a really good idea until I realised I was in an unfamiliar city where there are always lots of people on the beach and I only have 1 set of house keys (the long-suffering SH who does not swim but does watch my stuff having gone back to Dorset earlier). My imagination started going overboard with most scenarios involving my bag with keys being nicked while I was swimming leaving me with no way to get in the house and no cash but with an expensive trip to the locksmith wearing only my cold wet swimwear…

I got over this dilemma by hiding a cash card in the garden (at least then I could buy a pint and some dry clothes before going to the locksmiths). And deciding not to be so paranoid.

Another beautiful mid autumn day. An easy downhill run for a kilometre led to the seafront promenade and level running east or west. I head towards Hove again, turning round at a pre-determined 2.5k mark. Just before I am due to start the up hill return home I stop for my swim. As expected the beach is busy (although the sea is empty). I stop between two people who I think look respectable – they are both reading books, surely book-readers would not nick my keys…

It feels fantastic to swim in cool water after a hot run, the water is a little clearer than yesterday and almost flat calm.  After a few minutes swimming I feel almost ready to run up the hill home. I glance nervously back at my stuff but I have managed to leave it at the bottom of a dip in the beach meaning its invisible. Either that or the book worms have got it. I am enjoying my swim too much to worry about it so continue with breast-stroke in to the sun.

When I eventually get out my stuff is fine. The book readers did not seem to have noticed my belongings or my swimming and my faith in humanity is restored. And I feel a bit embarrassed at being such a country bumpkin in the city.

Up hill is the slog I was expecting but much better for the swim. An ideal combination, kind of like a mini aquathon.


SW

Dartmoor and the Sharrah Pool – a Guerrilla Repor

Monday 11th October

It took me 23 years to realise that if I get in my car and drive for an hour, I can be in a wild swimming paradise; Dartmoor. Five rivers have their source on Dartmoor, bubbling up from beneath slabs of granite to flow across open moorland and through ancient woodland, trickling and gushing and roaring to the sea in a cacophony of laughter and tears, like a whole lifespan condensed to the charting of a water course. Each time I come, I fall a little bit deeper in love with this most extraordinary of National Parks, where on every hilltop the view waits like a present, and in every valley, a river sings. Roger Deakin shared this passion – in all three of his books, he writes with characteristic eloquence of the delights of Dartmoor ("it is one of the last great wild places in England, one of the fifty royal parks that still retains it's integrity, one of the few places in England where you can stand alone and remote, quite out of earshot of any road"). When I eventually came here three years ago for a week long jaunt with JJ, it would have taken hearts of stone to prevent us falling under Dartmoor's spell. The weather was beyond words; it was the end of July, and every single day we arose to boiling sun and blue skies. We swam three times a day in, I think, each of the five rivers, running down Tors to throw ourselves into pools at Dusk and Dawn, and had swims which cemented both of us as lifelong Wild Swimmers. I've never felt so well in my life as at the end of that week, and since then I've taken every opportunity to jump in the car and snap off a little bite sized chunk for the memory bank.

And now, joy of joys, there's PJ, at University in Exeter and dying for an escape from the rigours of her social life and TS Eliot. We've set a date and today's the day, dawning with cloudless skies in an orgy of perfection. The Mascot is still Sore in the Paw, so I've got the Mascottini, who makes a fairly good substitute, though as a co-pilot, she's not ideal. Every time I turn around to reverse, she leaps from her seat (sunny disposition leads her to suppose that I am turning around purely to tell her how much I love her) and covers me with kisses. When she's squeezed into the passenger seat, she chooses the most unexpected moments to suddenly stick her tongue into my ear, causing me to swerve across three lanes of traffic. PJ, when I spring her from Campus, and allow her to usurp the Mascottini from the passenger seat, manages to resist this temptation.

We're in high spirits as we flee Exeter to a cacophony of horns as I career around roundabouts (my driving seems to have taken a downward swerve – at one point an emergency stop deposits the Mascottini on the floor, and causes PJ to remark that she feels like she is in a ride at Alton Towers) and a colourful stream of untruths as PJ rings her tutor to tell him she needs to reschedule their meeting today to a time when they have more leisure for a LENGTHY DISCUSSION…

We're still trying to decide where to go as we eventually shake off Exeter – Cullverton Steps in the North East corner of the Moor, or the Sharrah Pool to the South West, when the road signs make our decision for us; we seem to be heading down the A30 straight to the Sharrah Pool. This suits me as I've been wanting to make this pilgrimage ever since JJ and I attempted to get there but were defeated by failing light, and had to plunge in where we stood. Kate Rew talks of it with mystical reverence, a 100m long pool on the Dart, buried deep in the woods below Mel Tor and marked on the OS map by the end of the footpath. Though it's so late in the season, I'm determined to at least see this legendary spot, and knowing me, I think I'll manage a dip. PJ is just as keen; she's a fledgling (minnow?) but fearless wild swimmer, telling me as we drive along how she swam two miles along the Wye in August, carried along by a current so strong that she couldn't stand, even when it was shallow enough to be able to. She's caught the bug and has packed her bathers along with a healthy dies of insanity. Just what's needed.

We pause only to hog a large lunch before weaving our way toward Holne. As we plunge down narrower and narrower lanes, my Spidey sense tingles as we approach the river. It's Holne Bridge, and for once I'm concentrating on the road ahead. So much so that I barely register the figure standing on the bridge parapet as we pass by. As PJ and I open our mouths at the same moment to say "look at…", he jumps. Slamming on the brakes, swerving into the hedge and, once recovered from a fit of hysterical laughter, we struggle out of the car and rush to the bridge. 30 feet below, a narrow gulley between shards of rock into the black water. To the right, clambering up the bank to where he has left his bicycle and his clothes, a boy. But before we have time to swoop on him with praise and admiration and proposals of marriage, he's gone. It's like a vision, a mystical vision laid on especially for us, two people here for the swimming getting a glimpse of wild swimming at its most raw and vivid. Were we two completely different people we would stand on the bridge ourselves to jump, but there is absolutely no question of that, so we're back in the car and on our way, but feeling buoyed up and inspired by the sight.

We park up in Holne and set off along the footpath, which starts in green field and then plunges into the valley to weave through the woods alongside the Dart. Our side of the river is cloaked in oaks; across the way, hills rise and loom over us. The Mascottini is in fine form, dashing ahead to check there are no tigers, and tearing back to tell us all about it. She helpfully attempts to push PJ into a stream which spills across our track by gently nudging her in the ankles with an enormous log which she is carrying in her mouth. PJ, teetering on one foot, is forced to clutch at the air for balance. But, mishaps aside, we skip through the woods, while below us, the river, like the Jabberwocky "wiffled through the bulgy woods and burbled as it came". VERY LOUD as PJ nervously points out (Kate Rew warns that the Sharrah  Pool can be risky after heavy rain)….

After what seems a very long time, and after several false alarms, we climb a stile that signals the end of the National Trust path, and there ahead of us, it lies. There's no mistaking it – the Sharrah Pool. I see now why Kate Rew adopts her mystical tones; the pool lying as it does between rapids and upstream of that raucous, burbling river seems like an undreamt of paradise. It's still, deep and black, carved out of rock on either side, 100m long and 10m wide – a pool dreamt of by some celestial swimmer, and it's overwhelming perfection and splendour floors us for a moment.

 And then a pair of upturned kayaks spill down the rapids and bob into the pool. It's hard to know what to do. Clearly, two kayakers have been spat out upstream and smashed their brains out on the rapids. A gory scene fills my mind. We should call the police. We should call the mountain rescue. But before we can call anyone, a figure appears on the bank and throws himself into the water to recapture his bolting mount. "There are some awesome rapids up there!" He shouts to us. My imagination is rebuked. It strikes me that what kayakers are looking for is generally the exact opposite of swimmers; boiling fast flowing water is as useless to us, as beautiful, empty, still pools are to them. But outdoor adventurers are united by their differences.

We have some banter with the kayakers before they disappear downstream and leave PJ and I no choice but to take the plunge. The moment has come. We balance on rocks to change and then PJ, in a moment of fearless recklessness, steps down into the water. She lets out a strangulated mewl of misery. And as I step in, I see why. The water is so cold it feels like my skin is being peeled away from the flesh. It's hard to believe that water like this can still be flowing smilingly along. But there's no way out and PJ, terrifyingly quickly, has stepped down and with a "I've got to do it, I've just got to do it" is sliding away from me in a deathly silence. I have to follow her. I cannot put the feeling into words. I couldn't at the time, opening and shutting my mouth in a paralysis of silence. But once through the pain threshold, as always, I'm ok. My body heat steps up to the mark and curls around me, so suddenly where I was dying, now I am warm. But I can't relax, I know how cold it was and I'm frightened that this warmth is the precursor of something else – cramp, heart attack, hyperthermia. PJ, after a fearless start has gone for the plunge approach, submerging and then climbing out like a Russian bather who has cracked the ice with his fist. There she stands, atop a rock, shivering but glowing with the joy of having done it. I'm persevering, ploughing across the slightly alarming current to climb out the other side, before submerging and swimming back across. Submerging may have been an area. Brain freeze grips my skull so that for a moment I am blinded. But I just have time to see the black rocks below, in the coca cola peaty water. The pool is not as bottomless as it appears, and when I return next year I am going to pearl dive up its length and explore every cranny. But today that is the shortcut to an early grave. The cold and the deep, deep concern of the Mascottini, who has had a complete sense of humour failure and is tearing up and down the bank barking and crying, urge me out and I rise like Poseidon to stand on a rock, my skin lobster red and burning. But I feel A M A Z I N G. It's always, always worth it.

I hurry to dress, knowing you have to harness this warmth and preserve it beneath clothes. It's only in tying my shoelaces that the shivering impedes me. PJ is doing star jumps, assisted by the Mascottini, and as soon as I'm dressed we set off at a brisk trot. As a result I never really feel that spine clenching cold that I was so frightened of. PJ, though feeling peculiar, is warming up too and we tear through the wood to burst into sunshine in half the time it took to get here. In no time at all, we are sitting at a table loaded with scones and clotted cream. Before you've time to say "heroes".

A fittingly blissful conclusion to our already blissful day. We drive through the fading light across the moor, the Tors cast in gleaming gold, mentally marking potential walks and exploration for the coming months. And on every bridge – potential swims. For next season!

------------------

Hove, 4.30pm

A post college walk west for variety led to Hove and a chance to swim on the other side of the piers. The buildings are grander, the esplanade is wider and it definitely all feels a bit more genteel.  A perfect mid autumn day with blue skies, warm sun, gentle winds and a calm sea.

The large pebbles on the narrow beach are hard underfoot and cause much stumbling so one cannot look cool, even in bright red shorts.  A calm sea and almost clear water beckons  (a few worrying floaters, best not to look too closely). Swimming out I reach a group of gulls bobbing on the water. My aquatic approach seems to leave them unfazed and they remain in place with just a few glances in my direction until I get close enough to touch them. Then all at once they wheel away, almost silently and re-settle a few yards off, safely out of reach again.

SW

Saturday 9th October, 4.30pm

I am deeply embarrassed to report that the official sea temperature is a near tepid 16 degrees. We were feeling brave and a little smug yesterday and enjoyed admiring some colourful post swim body parts. But 16 degrees, that’s virtually the same as August! No wonder the bar is still closed!

Saturdays are always quite busy here and there were even a few fellow swimmers in or almost in the water – serious ones in wet suits in training for something impressive, a few prancers and a couple of normal swimmers (if there is such a thing).  Given the water temperature I am not surprised there are plenty of swimmers. I think it is just the gray skies and cold winds that put people off, its actually often warmer in the water than out at this time of year.

The Mascot, who is already elderly and a little lame has damaged her foot in a running incident and so has been replaced for one day only by her daughter, the Mascotini. She seems very excited by her time away from the rest of the pack and plays, jumps, barks and goes generally a bit mad. We all walk (or run, jump etc) five minutes to an empty patch of beach, just in time to catch the start and end of the promised Indian summer weekend. After 24 hours of Tupperware skies there were at last a few patches of blue and a weak sun.

We change and then run into the brown calm, swimming out into deeper water. MG recalls a news report of bottle nosed dolphins having been seen locally and we scan the horizon and listen underwater for them. We concede that although it would be amazing to see dolphins here it would also be the end of the blog as we would probably never have anything more exciting to report.  Therefore we were really quite glad that we saw nothing more thrilling than a few stray lumps of seaweed. We discuss ear problems – a swimmers hazard – and admire the patterns that the suddenly developed strong winds are making on the waters surface. Another lovely swim. A touch shorter than yesterday as the Mascotini is getting restless and we were probably in a little too long last time (ref alarming hands). Although the sea had been quite calm, as we were getting out the earlier noted strong winds were causing some very large freak waves to break right at the beach which caused some comedy falling over/being washed away.

I think we must have timed this one just right as we left feeling exercised and refreshed but not chilled and I am pleased to report, with normal coloured hands.


SW

Friday 8th October, 11am

My legs are feeling like someone has replaced the muscles with poorly set (Vegetarian) gelatine, due to my week struggling not to succumb to the plague. I’ve complained long enough (especially since Rebecca Eddlington has just won gold at the Commonwealth Games under much worse conditions…) so SW and I make a plan to meet at West Bay at 11am. Although KH can’t make it today, she lives nearest the sea and so has helpfully contributed a weather report; very windy and grey. So we think we will try West Bay and if it is too rough there, we’ll go further afield. SW has thought of a beach which may be sheltered in windy conditions, which we are keeping up our sleeve. But once at West Bay, the sea looks fine – pretty choppy, but safely so, and the beach itself is glorious – deserted, apart from a few dog walkers, and the cliffs at their ramshackle best against a darkening sky. We walk quite a long way down, only pausing to examine what looks like sea kale growing out of the cliff all the way down a seam. As we change, an enormous dog appears on the horizon, and Mascot, hackles raised, goes off to stake her claim over us, and any bits of old parkin, cheese rind or biscuits we might have about our persons (we have no illusions about that) but instantly regrets it and turns tail as the enormous dog galumphs up to her and then to us, but it’s very endearing, stamping it’s enormous paws all over everyone and the collapsing to be scratched.

Once the owner has reclaimed his giant, SW and I head down to the water which, I must admit, feels bracing. We do some prancing. SW thinks it is colder than Brighton. But with the memorable words “Be brave for the blog!” SW has disappeared into the murk, and I plunge after him. Although “refreshing” for a few seconds, I soon feel my own body heat wrapping around me – I try to explain this to SW but my explanation in terms of the-skin-as-a-built-in-wetsuit are lost in translation, partly because the wind whips away our words and the waves bury them in a tumult of crashing and thundering. As well as that, we are slightly separated, so as I rise on a peak, he disappears in a trough, rendering conversation rather taxing. But it’s great – the sky is black and violet and blue, and the Chesil Beach is shimmering. The tiny mascot looks lonely on the expanse of sand, and below us, our feet have disappeared in the murky waves. SW shouts something about underwater, and when I go under it’s completely disorientating, so dark you don’t know if you are up or down and the light from the surface only stabs through the top inch. But it feels warm and lovely and we’re in for ages – when we work it out afterwards we think it must be nigh on 40 minutes, though that seems extreme, even for us.

I’m out first, greeted by the over-enthusiastic bouncing of the mascot, who is always relieved when we make it out alive. Despite the advancement of the swimming season, the bar seems to be closed, but getting dressed quickly in lots of layers is almost as good as a thermos of hot chocolate. For various complicated reasons, SW has only got a towel the size of a flannel and is struggling to change without total exposure, which provides some comedy. Changing on the beach will be enough for a whole blog entry later in the season – the colder it is, the more complicated it becomes with layers and layers of mad, bag-lady outfits.

We’re feeling warm, but SW’s hands are horrifying; fingertips completely white and knuckles purple and black as though stained with plum juice. I’m normally the first to admire this mark of triumph, but I think this is worse than in previous years and urge him to wear the wetsuit gloves which he bought last year. But he brushes aside my concerns, and as we part (by which time it is pouring with rain) we have high hopes for another swim tomorrow.


MG

Wednesday 6th October, 11.00am

Back in Dorset and after a stormy night and low expectations I awoke to a calm clear morning, feeling hopeful. The wind picked up as I set off, a brisk westerly. I thought nothing of it as it had been calm since waking. Approaching Hive I could see white horses out to sea. A bad sign. Round here, a very bad sign. 

Chesil beach is a spectacular shingle ridge but it is not the safest swimming area and it has an infamous undertow. We are all very cautious of the sea here in bad weather. I get out of the car and the air is damp with fine sea spray. Waves are crashing in rapid succession and the beach is covered with gleaming white foam. The sea is muddy brown and I can see clumps of seaweed and branches being tossed in the surf. Its like August only sunnier. I walk a bit in splendid isolation, take some photos and return home disappointingly dry.

SW

Monday 4th October, various times

12.30pm Cogden, Dorset

After a weekend of rain and wind, a perfect autumn day – warm, windless and clear. A perfect swimming day.  With Percy in tow, met MG and the mascot, at Cogden and preceeded the swim with a walk, along the coast path behind the beach and up, picking odd blackberries on the way – the well-worn dog-walkers route. Yesterday a raging sea of great green foamy waves. Today just the gentlest ripple breaking on the shoreline, the water blue and shimmering like a beaded dress. We plunged in, just a momentary gasp of cold, and then swam and swam, out and along.  The water seemed actually a little warmer than the last swim of over a week ago, an odd tingling in my wrists but otherwise painless.  The mascot almost took to the water herself to escape Percy’s cavortings, and then they sat, guarding our clothes, their backs to each other, looking disdainfully in opposite directions, but keeping us in view.  Having swum out we looked back at the expanse of Chesil beach, empty save for a lone fisherman and a walker with her dogs; Lyme and the white cliffs towards Start Point so sharply delineated as to be almost magnified.  Hard to leave the water and only did so, after about twenty minutes, for fear of incipient hypothermia. To be greeted by Percy, leaping and twisting like a dervish and throwing himself wetly on top of us.  In the sun our bones warmed rapidly.  Often, as I swim, I find myself wondering whether this one might be the all time greatest swim. But by any standards today’s was GLORIOUS.  At home, a re-fuelling lunch of fried bantam eggs on toast.

KH

4.30pm, Brighton.

Sometimes one of us is away from West Dorset but the need to swim never diminishes. After being stuck all day in a room with 40 people and very little air I would have probably swum whatever the conditions. Luckily, by late afternoon it was warm and still outside. Ideal. Only problem was I had no kit. Being in a city that was not going to be an issue. Half an hour later I was on the beach with a towel borrowed from the hotel and a new pair of rather un-subtle bright red swimming shorts (‘sorry love, we don’t sell many at this time of year, limited range of colours and sizes you see’).

I spied a lone swimmer towards Kemp Town which made me feel more comfortable, its always nice to have company, however distant it may be. The sea was flat calm, lapping against the pebbles. Due to recent storms the water wasn’t clear but rather than the expected and uninspiring turbid brown it was a beautiful milky gray-blue.  The beach shelved steeply allowing a shallow dive from knee deep. The water was cool, clean feeling, refreshing after such a stuffy day. The views were a real surprise. Looking west, the ruined West Pier was framed by the nearby struts of the Palace Pier and looking inland, the stucco seafront was gleaming in the sun. 

The current took me eastwards but it was gentle enough to swim against and return to where I started. I hauled myself back onto the beach and dried off in the warm autumn sun. As I was leaving another swimmer was entering the water. I think I might just be able to get used to this town swimming lark.

SW

The Wash: 4^th October 2010: High Tide 16:30: Snettisham 16:10

I reach the shingle beach as the sky turns a threatening shade of black behind me. I’ve never swum off this beach before, been to drunken parties here yes but swimming no. I walk up and down for half an hour debating the best spot to go in. The usual suspects appear dog walkers and today a man fishing on the incoming tide. Finally I panic that it’s about to rain so plunge in, the shingle bank is quite steep here so happily I avoid the usual wading. The water is slightly murky as the shingle beach only extends a short distance before turning into muddy flats. Perfect for wildlife less so for swimmers who like to be able see their legs beneath them. No sun today so the sky and sea merge and the sea is eerily calm. I watch little wading birds pick amongst the debris on the shore line, they pay no attention to me.  Walk back up the beach and chat to a guy in a kayak who pulls up having been out watching seals eating the fish the fisherman had been trying to catch. We talk about good beaches to swim from, Bird watchers and their telescopic lenses both agreeing that we feel quite sorry for the birds sometimes. He goes back in for a dip however still wearing his wet suit I note. Suddenly the sun makes an appearance on the western horizon. I look out towards the other the side of the Wash happy not to have lost anything precious like King Cnute but pleased to have snatched this moment from the usual post work slump of coffee and TV.     

JJ                                  .

5.00pm West Bay

I'm feeling decidedly peculiar by the time the second swim comes around. But 'flu like symptoms – absolutely NOT brought about by swimming, before anyone jumps to that conclusion, they are ABSOLUTELY UNRELATED – are no excuse on this most amazing of days; after our idyllic, dream like swim this morning, I'm not missing out on a second chance. I go down to West Bay at about 5, mascot in tow. When I clamber up the bank, the sea looks completely different and there's a sharp breeze blown up, just in the 3 hours since KH and I were here. It's incredible how quickly it can turn. But the sky is still cloudless and the sun smiling down, so the sea looks sharp and blue and inviting. It's all in the sun – on a grey day, this would look anything but inviting. But there are actually two people IN (!!!) and I know how warm it is, so I don't question it, but ditch the mascot and scamper down. It really is quite choppy; I have to choose my moment  between the waves (which are coming in very sharply) but once in, it's lovely. Murky and choppy, but lovely. As I'm swimming along the waves actually block out the sun a few times, which is less impressive than it sounds, as the sun is pretty low in the sky, but underwater the changing light as the waves sweep overhead – it feels like a forest on a windy day.

Every time I glance back to check on the Mascot I get a wave over my head, most embarrassingly when someone I know walks past and I raise my hand to wave and am instantly submerged. Not quite The Swimmer as Hero. There's ferocious barking coming from the shore as the Mascot overzealously protects my towel, and what with worrying about that, and being submerged every two minutes, it's not exactly restful. But totally worth it, always worth it.

I drive home feeling reborn – two swims in one day is pretty pleasing. And when I fall into bed, after Spooks, I sleep for 14 hours. That's what swimming does to me… either that, or the 'flu….

MG

Sunday 3rd October 5.30pm

It's not that I don't want to swim. I'm absolutely dying to, crying out to, I feel half dead without it (is that worrying?) but it's never a good sign when you can hear the sea before you see it. At West Bay there is a steep bank blocking the car park form the beach and normally it shields all hint of water from the oncoming crowd. But today as I get out of the car, a thump and a crash accompanied by a gentle spritzing of salty mist, warn me that all might not be as I hope. There's been a huge storm while I've been struggling through the urban grind for a few days – the roads are scattered with branches and relocating bits of houses – but a whispering voice had suggested that maybe, by a miracle, the sea would be calm and still. But it's not to be. Muddy waves are rearing up and the beach is completely changed by what really must have been a storm – a long, smooth expanse of sand washed clean and smooth by an immense tide. Only a few hardy children rushing in and out of the surf – two boys are having a great time daring each other to dash in and grab one of the buoys that the lifeguards used to corral swimmers in the summer. It has broken free and is cruising in the surf, coming almost to their feet before being pulled back and smashed by another wave. It gives me great pleasure to see the buoys exercising some mischievousness; they got us into trouble in May when we strayed beyond them and were humiliatingly reprimanded by a lifeguard who paddled out on his surfboard. All the witty comebacks we practised over the next months and never got a chance to use…

But for the Mascot and I it's instantly clear that there is to be no swim today. This, I'm beginning to remember, was our refrain last autumn. It's not US or the water temperature that was our downfall, but things beyond our control. The currents and sudden deep water on this stretch of coastline make foolhardiness and bravado, especially alone, nothing but insanity (not that I'm convinced by SW's lifesaving abilities but I have to admit, I have more faith in them than the mascot's). If SW were here – if it weren't so late – if it didn't look quite so muddy and terrifyingly ferocious – but in this case (and NOT every case) death by drowning isn't worth it to prove a point and we motor sadly home for lemon curd on toast. Tomorrow's another day.

MG

Postings from the North Sea: 3^rd October 2010: High tide 15:23: Brancaster 15:30

Drive through the rain to Brancaster, I tell the parking attendant I am here to swim so he kindly lets me in for £1. Score 1 for Sunday swimmers. Tide is just about to turn and I get a boot full of water in my rush to drop my stuff. I have to wade out a fair way until the water is even above my knees. The sea is colour coordinating with the sky today a smoky dull grey. I man up and dive in. Cool but not the heart stopping rush of a mountain stream. The internet tells me the sea is a toasty 15c. I feel the pull of the tide going out so don’t go out of my depth but swim parallel to the beach towards Titchwell. The sea is calm but the wind lifts the spray. I can see know one between the beach and the horizon apart from my solitary reluctant lifeguard. I backstroke to the shore. Walking out of the sea the wind is warm. High smugness rating as I talk to my woolly hated watcher before heading back for another dip. I am rewarded as the sun bursts through the cloud, changing the grey to sparkle. The tide is receding fast as we walk back to the car revealing the carbon stumps of a prehistoric forest. We leave the solitary parking attendant in his caravan, my hair stuck to my head in salty clumps sand covering everything I touch.

JJ