Monday 29 October 2018

Hampstead, 28th October 2018



Jump straight in perhaps, both feet first, the way we always did with the water (well, that’s not strictly true, ie the hours of cormorant-ing and prancing) with no explanation of absence or promise of return? Well, perhaps some explanation. We loved this blog and knowing each swim would have to be reported pushed us on to greater depths and feats of desperation and bravado. Perhaps as the winter season approaches, it's helpful to remember that showing off for the blog is what got us through, not just through the plummeting temperatures but also through some difficult times, never reported, but there in the undercurrents of our writing. SW, KH, JJ and I, separated now as we are by distance, have all been through some pretty tricky times since we stopped blogging, but we've, quite literally, swum through it all, and a reminder of how incredibly brave we were, still are and how much we all mean to each other, can't be anything but helpful now. And - as always - do I ever do anything except to show off? I met someone at a party recently who had stumbled across the blog and asked me what had happened to it, and since then, the words have echoed around my brain as I splash through the icy wastes. We're still here. We're still swimming. We always will be.




The clocks have changed and the temperatures taken a serious plunge. An icy north wind is blasting. I’ve spent Saturday swapping over my glorious colourful summer clothes for my winter wardrobe – out of storage, dusty, mothballed and in every shade of black and grey available. It should be depressing but in fact I’m wrapping winter around me and quite looking forward to hunkering down. But by pure chance, I’ve swum every weekend for the past few, and am keen to keep this streak up as long as possible. My friend RH feels the same and as I wallowed in the glories of a Dorset sea last weekend (see above) she, a novice Winter Swimmer, stuck her courage to the sticking place and plunged into the cooling depths Kenwood Ladies Pond, her first Winter Swim alone and very brave she was too. I owe her the very same this weekend.

It’s raining when I get up, what a relief. But the sun breaks through and once decided, I am resolute and set off on the long trek for Hampstead from my new flat in South London. The journey alone means that this really isn’t going to be sustainable through the winter; the timings make it too arduous before work, so I can't get in frequently enough to make the temperatures manageable - and the commute isn’t the one of yesteryear, when SW and I would sometimes be side by side in our cars at the Crown Roundabout post swim, heaters blasting, numb feet on the gas, sand in our ears and euphoria glowing from every pore. And there’s no denying that the Ponds – even without the 90 minute commute - require a higher level of determination than the sea: lowering yourself down the ladder into the water, rather than being smashed by the waves, and all without the promise of SW’s open bar, or in this case the camaraderie of someone else to cheer you on, means you really REALLY have to want it.



As I emerge from the tube in my motley collection of jumpers and layers (garnering some odd looks – but winter swimming fashion is something I DO know, and once at the ponds I suddenly fit in like the one lost sock) and swerve around the 50 million spaniels peppering the Heath, my thoughts are of the Mascot, so much a part of this blog, and now slathering over parkin and doing her nose breaking leaps on the great beach in the sky these past 5 years. I miss her all the time. Other dogs have come into our lives since we closed the shutters on the blog, but the Mascot will always be the boon companion of those years.



I make it to the Ponds, and in through the secret gate to be welcomed with the expanse of still water and only a few bobbing bobble hats. The women here are encouraged to wear them to show up in the dim light, as well as to keep the heat in. It wouldn’t work for me as I always have to put my head under to get the full experience, although this is probably what will kill me in the end. It’s incredibly still and peaceful, a few damp ladies sipping from thermoses, a little hushed chat, and it could be a different world from the heaving masses of the July heatwave (where RH and I once bumped into KH midway through struggling into her underwear, which is the last moment you want to be greeted by even a close friend). I change as fast as I can, gritting my teeth with determination. A girl changing next to me is shuddering into her clothes and gasps out how nice it was in the water between gritted teeth, which does little to reassure me. I approach the ladder, slide in, feigning know-how. It’s brutal. Absolutely brutal. I swim from ladder to ladder with the breath knocked out of me, and a wave of pain across my skin and shoulder blades. I know I can do this, but I’m taken aback by how hard it is. I clamber out, walk round, submerge again, and by the third time of doing this I’m ok and can strike out around the winter swimming area, take stock, watch the heron take off a few feet from me, and even roll over on my back to paddle along and feel the sun on my face. I get out sooner than I feel I need to: I’m out of touch with my body, and can’t work out how long will be too long in the water (ie it will take a day to warm up), where by rights, 10 degrees (as the water is) really shouldn’t be something I can’t manage. I stand on the jetty my skin aflame, and the cold wind feeling warm. If I could do this for a few days solidly, I'd settle back into it, and know exactly how long to stay in but I know this is just impossible. It's frustrating and as I dress and regroup, I feel spaced out and detached rather than euphoric. 




The buzz of achievement keeps me warm and I prance off across the Heath for tea and soup. As always, the Pond is a glory, but wonderful as it is, it can’t match up to West Dorset. I’m hankering to get home. Fingers crossed for some storm-free weather this weekend so I can give it a shot (KH?!).


Thursday 28 February 2013

I'm MAD about water


No swimming here in the icy east, the semi annual bout of plague has struck. The closest I can get to it from my spot on the sofa is a tantalising glimpse of the river outside. However I can share a little unexpected tidbit I came across in the documentary about Diana Vreeland The Eye has to Travel.

JJ

Tuesday 8 January 2013

Ringstead, January 6th 2013

 
 
After a categorical fail at Burton Bradstock on the 5th (involving more humiliations than we could number including someone asking our support team, ODG, whether we were doing this "for a bet" as we pranced about shrieking in the surf) AT and I were utterly determined to swim the next day and motored over to Ringstead Bay, the home of calm seas and no-getting-out-of-it. We display quite staggering braveness in the face of the full body peel from the cold, and have a totally fantastic swim, emerging glowing, raucous and alive. The year has finally properly begun.
 
 

Sunday 30 December 2012

2012, The Highlights



It's been a wet, cold, blustery year, but in amongst it all we've had some cracking swims - here are a few of the (mainly unblogged) highlights.....




 
Thanks and love to everyone - the team, our new swimming friends, among them RL, SM, PA, GW and our new heroic mascot Charlie (a black lab who frequently swam out to try and save GW), the jellyfish, the sharks, the biting cold and the balmy warmth, the cakes, the jokes, the injuries, the blue fingers and stabbing pains, the complaints, the thrills and spills. Here's to 2012, all it's highlights and lots of swims ahead in 2013!
 
MG
 

Wednesday 12 December 2012

Sweden, November

 
Had this been two years ago.... maybe I would have broken the ice and swum....
 
 
 
As it was, RL and I contented ourselves with extreme toboganning. Oh brave winter swimmers of 2010/11, what happened to you!
 
MG
 

Wednesday 14 November 2012

at last

... after a ridiculously long break we manage to combine decent weather and MG and SW all in the same place at the same time...


We both managed to miss swimming completely in October and only had one swim each in September so we were a bit daunted by the idea of going swimming in mid-november.


By the time we made it to West Bay it was gone 4pm and getting dark... at least the water was calm and the beach was looking as beautiful as ever. MG sensibly had her boots and I instantly regretted not having mine. How bad could it be? We used to think November was warm. A few seconds in the surf and my feet were numb. Ouch. We were embarrassingly cowardly and ran from every wave but gradually inched a little deeper and deeper. Finally we ducked under and swam for about a minute - then out to gasp a bit and then back in for another minute or two. Following our second dip I ran back to get changed (being cautious as I have lost all my bodyfat after being ill and have really turned into a bit of a wimp) while MG continued for a third hair-washing swim.


As always we felt fantastically invigorated afterwards - especially pleased to be albe to still get in (just!) after such a long break and feel we could get hooked again very quickly...

Thursday 20 September 2012

North Norfolk weekend Sept 15-18th


Much swimming during a long weekend in North Norfolk with family. The whipping north winds made it feel freezing despite the blue sky and this combined with average 1 hour walk from car to swim point meant that all swims kept brief to avoid hypothermia. Felt a bit pathetic in September and the sea was a fine temperature but those winds are mean!

First stop Wells, the main beach was really busy with families enjoying the autumn sun. Started with a swim in the deep cool channel which cuts across the expansive beach - massive sand flats on the other side of the channel are only accessible by swimming across and so its totally deserted yet within earshot of all the sunbathers and families playing games. A bit of a surreal contrast.

After lunch a long long trek across empty sands to the sea at low tide followed by long wading through shallow water until eventually deep enough to dive under. The sea water much warmer than the channel, positively balmy. Treated to beautiful sight of a seal in the water with us, head bobbing up and down a few times about 100m away.

Next stop Thornham. Stunning walk across empty salt march to a vast empty beach - sand as far as the eye can see with a silvery glimmer in the distance betraying the ocean. I had forgotten just how vast this place is at low tide.


Much like at Wells beach there is a wide creek which crosses the beach and makes for good swimming when the sea seems just too far away. This creek is lovely for its emptyness. Not another person in sight. In fact nothing in sight except sand, sky and water.


Final swimming stop was Scolt Head Island. A long held favourite spot. A sand-bar island which can be reached on foot at low tide by wading across creeks and marshes while trying very hard not to fall over in the deep oozy mud...


...All the slipping and sliding is worth it for the stunning sight on arrival at this deserted island paradise. 


As always the swimming was a bit distant and the winds were really strong (no problem for waves which would keep us from swimming in Dorset, instead the problem is freezing on the hour long trek back) so we opted for another creek swim. The tide was still going out at this point so we had to be careful - being swept out to sea a real danger here. A run, a dive, a quick swim then a dash back to clothes before the wind chill kicked in. Brief but lovely!



SW / EW