27th December 2010. Norfolk. Snettisham 11.00am

After a very disappointing December when work and illness have kept me out of the water. Only S.W.'s and M.G.'s posts have been keeping my swimming hopes alive. My closest encounter with the water during this time has been taking the passenger ferry from West Lynn to Kings Lynn. However dramatic this has been,(in the middle of the river in a blizzard and the boat crunching into the ice flowing out to sea, incidental the first time in my life I have seen ice in the River Great Ouse) It is not swimming so I commit myself on Christmas eve to a post Christmas dip in the Wash by inviting some old friends to witness the insanity thus leaving myself no opportunity to back out.
As I walk over the top the wind cuts right through me straight off the sea but seeing the waiting trio I  brazen it out. Dropping my stuff I start stripping off as we chat about Christmas, food , booze and presents. Today is the first trial of my new wetsuit socks and gloves and to mark the occasion I top this dashing ensemble off with my floral swimming cap. I walk calmly into the water and within a few steps it is deep enough to swim.  For the first minute the socks and gloves seem to be making this incredibly easy no tingling hands! Toasty feet! However as soon as I start to kick the socks half slide off my feet and are flapping around like extra useless flippers. I am actually swimming though not just flapping around trying to keep my arms moving which is an improvement from last time. I can't actually give any real description of the water. It was cold. That seems totally inadequate but I can only really describe it's effects by how long it took for me to start stiffening up which was roughly five minutes.
 Only when I got out of the water did I make the transition from black and white to technicolour. Skin on fire, check. No feeling in feet, check. My wonderful friends await holding out the towel and proceed to hand me clothing in the appropriate order. There are quite a lot of people around today but they completely ignore us as if we are just a cold water mirage?
Fully clothed in record time I take the requisite sea shots I know they look as if they are almost in black and white but it really was that grey. Luckily for you faithful readers M.G. and S.W. are still filling the blog with beautiful swimming porn type photography. Back to the car for medicinal hot sweet tea and then off to the pub and open fires and rather stronger medicinal drinks.

This dip has restored my confidence however and I am  determined to make it into January. See you all on the other side. Happy New Year !

Sunday 12th December, Cogden

3.45 Cogden

MG

And Lo, it came to pass – another beautiful Sunday, clear blue skies and much warmer. I suggest a walk by the sea to My Brother from Abroad (abroad in a place where they have saunas attached to their bathrooms as standard!) and put my swimming costume on under my clothes, just in case. With SW away and suspiciously quiet, and JJ bed bound with flu, I’ve got an obligation to represent the team, but I’m careful not to promise anything.

We walk the Mascot along the reed beds behind the beach and halfway round I spot a familiar curly greypelt advancing joyfully towards us – Percy and KH. We launch into discussion, treating MBFA to the interactive-blog experience (listening to us rambling about water temperature and recent experience). I hadn’t rung KH as I knew she’d ring me if she felt like a swim, but of course on seeing me she is instantly drawn by the lure the sea has over us. Last year she swam in December, long after I had been invalided out, but the snow and the cold snap have, quite understandably, broken her. I remind her it’s not a competition (which are hollow words as it quite obviously is a competition, but between unspecific competitors – the sea? The winter? The Prancers? The rest of the world?) but as we part MBFA bets me that by the time we pass again (we are going clockwise, KH anti-clockwise) KH will have given in to temptation and decided to join. Half an hour later I see her in the distance testing out the water temperature. But without her stuff and with a long walk back to the car she decides against and tears herself away with a visible wrench. It’s a painful parting as I know she’s thinking she will regret it, but let’s remind ourselves that she swam at the end of November, 3 months after normal people had stopped. And I hope she will reappear with flasks and hot water bottles to guide us through the dreaded dawn if 2011.

With KH’s figure receding in the distance, I tear off my clothes and advance, MBFA gallantly manning the mobile phone, smoking a fag, taking photos, reassuring the Mascot. Again, I’m ridiculously brave and apart from the burning in my arms and pounding of my heart, it isn’t too painful. Actually I think the boots (as well as the perfect conditions) help with this as they protect me from the first agonizing step when the nerve endings in my toes send a frantic SOS to my brain. By the time the water has lapped around my shins, I’m in too deep to give up. I manage a pretty respectable swim, in and out for three separate dips and even achieving a thought about the beauty of the setting sun in the mirror of the water and the pleasure of having MBFA here with me. Normally it’s imposible to think of anything except how much longer you can be in before your organs will start to shut down. I submerge – delicious brain freeze – and re-emerge feeling fantastic and glowing scarlet.

Walking back to the car I get a bit babbly and giggly and breathless, but never feel unbearably cold, just pleasantly chilled. And there is something extremely satisfying about going indeed. to a Carol Service that evening knowing I have SWUM IN THE SEA. Joyful and Triumphant indeed.

Sunday 4th December, various

Poole Harbour, 9.30 am
SW

Friends rented a cottage in Purbeck for the weekend and I was lucky enough to join them for a few days. We stayed on  Goathorn Peninsular which is just behind Studland in Poole Harbour. It is an isolated spit of land covered in pines and heath with water on 3 sides, ending in a jetty. Heaven.

The snow may have gone overnight but its still icy underfoot and I think/fear that the harbour will be full of meltwater. Brrr. Despite registering almost zero bravery, the location, weather and water are all so unbelievably beautiful that I really have no option but to swim.  

Watching over me I have four temporary lifeguards on land and oystercatchers, curlews and a kingfisher in the water. It does feel a bit chilly but I am in such awe of my surroundings that I wade straight in and dive under. Delicious brain freeze. Oddly not very salty water (brackish here). Milky to murky under the surface but mill-pond still. There was the confusing remains of a mist combining with the water on the horizon to give a single expanse of grey-blue.

A brief swim, a re-entry dive then a hot cup of tea. The sun comes out as I do allowing me to stand and bask for a while before having to get dressed. This place is amazing and I make a vow to come back here for a long swim when the water is warmer.

Burton Bradstock, 3.00

MG

…and phew, in a moment of panic, I spoke far too soon! After waking up to blue skies and getting boiling hot walking the dogs, I resolve to swim by any means necessary – it's too good a chance to miss, and I know it'll be worth it, even if just to make our next swim more manageable. I consider exerting some pressure on KH, but I know that being bullied into submerging in icy water doesn't exactly add to the pleasure. So by a series of cajoling, threatening and empty promises I manage to persuade my unwilling non-support support team to accompany me to the beach and act as lifeguard, and ironically, repel any would be life-savers who think I'm drowning or committing suicide (always my fear). We motor down to Burton Bradstock where as usual on a Sunday, the café is stuffed with people eating fish and chips and staring out to sea and the cliff is studded with people walking their dogs and staring out to sea. But having someone with me makes the audience seem less of an issue (even though my companion warns me that she is going to pretend not to know me, taking a leaf out of JJ's Reluctant Lifeguard's book). The only issue is the grey, freezing waves. My resolve weakens as I watch the surprisingly big waves breaking. But luckily I have talked myself into a corner, so I cast off my clothes, pull on my wetsuit boots and plunge. The boots actually give me an air of authority – I look less like someone who has "gone on holiday by mistake" and more like a serious, well prepared Winter Swimmer. And once in the water they make a huge difference – not discombobulating, and toasty toes.

As always on my own, I'm incredibly brave by necessity and fall in, swim around, out and in again with minimal fuss. It isn't the longest or nicest (murky) swim but I go under and do some backstroke before emerging, glowing and laughing. Most excitingly of all, as I pull off my boots (which is incredibly difficult as SW has warned me – I nearly dislocate my fingers) a slurp of water sloshes out and STEAMS on contact with the cold air. I almost pass out as the smugness levels rocket.

Once dressed in my 15,000 layers (and not feeling even vaguely cold) we head back along the beach. My non-support support team is showing signs of being proud and impressed, and is extremely complementary on my zero-prancing getting in approach. I'm just basking in the glow and thinking that perhaps it's time to drop the "non-support" part of her title, when two fishermen break into a round of applause as I pass. They then negate this by saying "nice to see someone stupider than us!".

Saturday 4th December, The Heroes Subdued

MG

This is the only sort of swimming I'm doing at the moment;

It's so annoying. Due to frozen lanes, confusing schedules of double households, other engagements on perfect swimming days, we've had NO SWIMMING throughout the glorious cold snap, much to my rage and frustration. As our lanes froze, as KH and I (independently) fell flat on the ice, as I used a chopping board to clear the snow from my car and as The Mascottinni switched her allegiance to tobogganing mascot, very helpfully galloping full tilt beside the toboggan as we careered down hillsides, we have been unable to collide, much to my rage and frustration. I knew this would happen as soon as I got my wetsuit boots. And as SW texted last night to alert me to the rain streaming from the sky, washing away all traces of snow and signalling the onset of the kind of winter we are accustomed to, I teeter on the brink of depression about our whole endeavor. Lack of swimming makes the next swim in falling temperatures so much harder…But of course we are not giving up, never giving up, and though another Snow Swim seems unlikely for a while, we'll just grab swims when we can. 

Let's hope that the Norfolk outpost may do better…

snowed in

Well, we did say bring it on... annoyingly despite all this glorious snow, there was no swimming to be had this morning as the lane was impassable. Fingers crossed for tomorrow...

Sunday 28th November, Norfolk, Snettisham, 11:30

Snow. It starts to fall as I am driving home from work in the early hours of Saturday, by the time I wake up some time later that day I have an exuberant message from M.G. high on her post swim afterglow. I make an extensive plan for the next morning’s high tide and pass the rest of the day with rugby and crumpets.

 As I step out of the car tiny flakes swirl around me. I walk up over the bank on to the beach the wind hits my face and it is driving the waves hard at the shore. I can see some people walking further down the beach but my usual audience phobia is forgotten over the more practical challenges of peeling off all my layers. R.J. and my reluctant lifeguard seem to be taking a rather medieval attitude, regarding the swimming as an infectious disease which can only be caught by close proximity and are standing well back.

 I yell to them to come and guard my pile of clothes which the wind is trying to strew across the beach but my words are lost above the roar and I gesture frantically. (Regarding the many layers I dug out some Salopettes which were perfect.)

 I walk straight in to the water and thankfully the beach shelves away quickly and the water is deep. As I write I am trying to remember what it was like getting in, but I can’t recall it at all, one moment I was standing on the beach next up to my chest in water. My whole life my toes have always been a kind of barometer they now seem to be completely oblivious to whatever I dip them. I was a little breathless when fully in but nothing heart stopping. I was trying to be more aware of my body but what with the snow,low air temperature and weirdly today after a whole autumn of millpond calm actually quite a large swell I just felt very disorientated. However a few seconds after my hands go into the water a sharp tingling sensation starts. I move about quickly to try and work it off. It persists and I watch with a detached curiosity as my palms turn a fetching colour of purple. After this they contract into what can only be described as claws and I decided that’s probably the moment to get out. Hilarity as R.J. hands me a towel which I barely clutch at before it falls in the snow and he has to physically put it around me. Life guard goes back to the car to turn the heating on supposedly for my benefit not his. I huddle in the towel rubbing hands until I can dress myself. This seems to take FOREVER but I don’t feel cold just sort of stiff and clumsy. M.G. mentioned something yesterday about vice like pain as her toes defrosted, mine are definitely numb and thaw out very slowly which is a little uncomfortable but not too bad. Head back to the car as it starts to snow again. I drink my carefully spiked hot chocolate and am watched with expressions of bemusement. Why am I not collapsing? Crying in misery? After all the preparations I feel good, a hot drink is a definite must but I don’t feel the need to dash home and roast myself by the fire. Despite the fact that is exactly what I do.

 P.S. I don’t think I will attempt another dip until my neoprene gloves have arrived as the reaction my hands are having really makes it pointless.

Saturday 27th November West Bay, 10.45 SNOW SWIM!!

MG 

"If you can lose your head when all about you

 Are keeping theirs…"

                              Adapted Rudyard Kipling...

We all have our dreams. And sometimes, just occasionally, those dreams come true. Today, a snow swim. A real, live (just) snow swim.

Driving back form Dartmoor yesterday where PJ and I had a glorious walk in warm sun (no swimming – it nearly killed us last time and I don't care what the http://devonshiredippers.blogspot.com/ are doing, I can't let myself start on that) it seemed incredible that only an hour later, the skies darkened and it began in a reluctant, half hearted sort of way, to gently snow. I dropped off PJ, and by the time the Mascot and I had motored home, a full-on blizzard was driving from the sky. I could barely contain my excitement and skipped feverishly about, basking in the glory of having swum in the sea on a day when it SNOWED!

But far greater was in store – waking up early, drawing back the curtains, there lying in wait was a landscape fresh from a Dickensian Christmas fantasy. And there's nothing like a heavy snowfall to make one feel like a sea bathe. In a flurry of texts, SW and I agreed a time and having fought off arguments from my non-support support team as I tried to silently slip away, my towel hidden behind my back, I was soon scraping the snow and ice from my car and slithering down to the sea.

The wind whipped over the car park as SW, I and the not-amused Snow Mascot met and made our way to the deserted beach, greeting each other with wry smiles of disbelief and barely concealed panic. But on the beach, we are agog at the beauty of the snow stretching almost down to the waters edge, and at the unbelievable bravery of what we are about to do. We've been dreaming of this day and there is no question of backing out; in fact, as SW points out, from our point of view snow this early is a god-send; the water is still an easily manageable temperature compared to January or February when we'd been expecting to attempt this swim. With an intake of breath and a few skips, we begin disrobing. A mountain of layers soon appears – for interests sake, I was wearing; a thermal vest, a t-shirt, a long sleeved t-shirt, a wool jumper, a puffa waistcoat, a cashmere jumper, tights, thick socks, fleecy tracksuit bottoms, furry boots, scarf, woolly hat and gloves. Fanciable. You could have thrown me fully clothed in to the sea and it would have taken a good 10 minutes for the water to penetrate.

But – the moment arrives and after only a little prancing (mostly on my part I'm ashamed to say – we notice that my hands are impressively blue before I've even submerged) we plunge. We had agreed to stay in our depths, but within the first stroke the bottom has vanished and we strike out across the flat, still water, with only a gasp and a squeak, all rational thought disappearing. I don't even notice the Knives of Cold, and SW doesn't mention his disco wings – we are completely absorbed in the majesty of the moment. Any earthly pains seem a long way away; swimming beneath a snow laden sky and looking back at the white beach give us a glow of triumph that'll be hard to beat. We get out and go back in several times – it's so difficult to force yourself out when you feel completely warm. I dive under and come back up to see SW literally glowing, and an enormous smile on his face as he gazes up at the snowy hills to the West.

Tingling skin, speed dressing, peppermint tea and a lot of complaining from me about the pain in my toes (once the numbness has worn off, my toes feel like they are in a vice being twisted; wetsuit booties for me henceforth) and we are done.

With a hat and a hood, several of my witty jokes pass SW by (that may be by choice) and the pain in my toes slightly extinguishes my sense of humour anyway, and we migrate to the cars at our new peculiar floating trot. But with SW's parting words "see you for a swim in December!" ringing in my ears, the various accusations of "crazy" "certifiable" "being a bit silly now" melt from me like snow in a frying pan.

As I recombobulate in a hot bath, the only niggling worry is, once you're standing on Everest, what can possibly come next?

West Bay - Friday 26th November, 10.30 am

SW

Air temp 2 degrees

Sea temp 9.5 degrees

With a great forecast MG and I arranged a 10 am meet at West Bay, delayed at the last minute to 10.30 due to my hangover – why do I never learn that port is deadly? A beautiful bright sunny day. None of the previous days evil north wind.  Still, I was packing the scuba boots and a hot flask just in case…

The shingle at the back of the beach was frozen in ridges and crunched gently underfoot which was a bit worrying. After the warmest welcome I think I have ever had from The Mascot, MG and I took the chance to dissect the previous days swim while enjoying the weakly warming sun (and maybe putting off removing our many, many layers for as long as possible). MG’s swim-hat consensus was that its just too discombobulating – when wearing it she could not feel the rest of her body properly.  While I don’t have that problem with my toe-saving boots, we got to comparing other mind-body mix-ups such as not being able to see properly when its too noisy (or maybe that’s just me?).

The beach was gloriously empty, the sun shining and the sky deep blue. It was going to be good. Eventually we plucked up courage and stripped off, laying out our clothes in re-dress order across the beach so as to allow a rapid post-swim re-robing. Today we were both a little more cautious and slowly waded into the chilly water. The backwash from a gentle wave sucked us in to chest depth which caused much swearing and cursing at which point MG noticed we had an audience of 8 workmen from the beach re-profiling team. Damn, that meant we had to be brave so we launched ourselves out in a vain frenzy of keep-warm swimming. Initially we kept our heads above water and it did feel easier than yesterday. My hands were cold but I had no bingo wings or stabbing pains and the boots kept my toes toasty.

After 3 minutes or so we swam back to the beach and ran about in the sun to warm up – then back in, this time plunging under the almost clear blue. Much easier second time around – I think the moral for us is that when the temperature drops we need to get in slowly, no more diving starts now its down to 10 degrees.

I came back to dry land to open up the bar but MG returned for yet another 3 minute stint. Afterwards, there were no black fingers, just scarlet bodies and without the wind, dressing was easy and we barely shivered, except for a few uncontrollable shakes that made holding the hot drinks a bit tricky.

A truly blissful swim. Walking back to our cars, The Poor Mascot’s tongue stuck to a block of ice as she tried to take a drink from a bowl kindly left out for passing dogs. That made us feel a little bit brave. Bring on the snow.

Thursday 25th November West Bay 12.00

Sea Temp; 10 degrees

MG

Feeling thoroughly depressed after 11 days cold-turkey on Winter swimming, I made the mistake of taking a cyber swim through the other blogs around – one led to another – and within minutes I had depressed myself even further by reading about other people's unbelievably brave attempts in challenging conditions; rivers, lidos, even the Lakes. Suddenly our swims no longer seem quite so impressive. I can only appeal to our non-support support teams NOT to look at http://segingembre.blogspot.com/so that they can carry on being touchingly impressed by our endeavours. On the other hand, if they want to be reassured that we are not certifiable, perhaps a glimpse might be helpful – at least we are not fainting in the changing rooms (if only we HAD changing rooms) as they are at Tooting Bec Lido….

Encouraged by the weatherman closing his report of snow in Newcastle, the North East and a scattering over Cornwall, with the words "good luck" I retire to bed determined to swim the next day whatever the weather may bring. And the next day, PERFECT conditions. After several misses, SW and I grasp the opportunity to coincide for the first time in weeks, and I leap in my car and down to the sea as soon as I get his call. The North Wind whistling over the car park burns through me, and despite my and The Mascot's enthusiasm on seeing SW, I can only gasp out a welcoming sentence. We stagger up the ridge and look down on the beach. Works on the gravel yard that make up the car park here have extended and now the entire length of the beach seems to have been turned into a motorway with deep ruts and gulleys created by lorries driving up and down. Consequently, the beach is deserted and possibly ruined for the time being – but it is too beautiful a day to get irate now, and we head to the Winter Bathing Spot without much further ado.

The sea is flat calm, azure blue and when I gallop down to the surf, I see that the water has finally, after a long wait, returned to crystal clear. There's no time to waste and we begin unpeeling our layers, trying to pace ourselves so there is no exposure of skin to wind until we are both ready. We are keenly watched by an aghast workman.

Then final peel, and dash. I am cracking open my thermal swimming hat, but the moment spent in the wind, in my costume, putting on my hat, nearly does for me. Once it's on I dash and am in while SW is still wincing in the shallows. In some extraordinary way, my hat seems to act not only to warm my head, but to insulate me entirely from reality. I can feel a distant burn in my toes, but inside my hat, I could be sitting by a roaring fire. Instead of being pleasing, this completely discombobulates me and I cannot seem to access my feelings or my symptoms which normally fill my thoughts for the first moments of the swim. When SW asks how it is, I call back "it's fine!" without any consideration of how it actually is. This lack of brain freeze, lack of connection with the environment is too much and I wade back to tear off my hat before plunging back. Paralysing brain freeze greets me as I dive and I welcome it with open arms. Is this totally insane?!

But now I can recognise the true AWESOMENESS of this swim. I could stay in and stay in and stay in – I'm tingling but it is completely manageable and the beauty of West Bay, the sun on the water, the deserted beach, the mascot barking on the shoreline – whatever amazing feats other Winter Swimmers all over England are achieving, none, NONE, can possibly be as incredible as this!

As usual we're wary of staying in too long, so exit too soon. SW is suffering – hopefully it is just from the lack of his swimming booties which he swears by at colder temperatures, and not from having completely screwed up his acclimatisation schedule by his warm dips in Madeira. I advise cold baths and frequent swims. But we do agree on numb fingertips and topes, so much so that it isn't till I get home that I realise that a) my clothes are all on inside out and back to front b) I've put my boot on with my hair clip inside it, crushing it into jagged sharp pieces with a foot so numb I haven't even noticed!

We're breathless and tingling so we cross the car park at a strange floating gallop and part at the cars in a dash to get to our heaters, hardly having exchanged a word. It's all happened in a blur, for which I blame my swimming hat. And the lack of a bar. But we do agree that a hot tub or a sauna like they have at Tooting Bec Lido would really be the business right now.

We're all (except possibly KH….) praying for snow – I think the lucky old Norfolk outpost may beat us there…..

Brighton, Monday 22nd November, 1.15pm

SW

I returned from Madeira late on Sunday night. Brighton on monday morning was a shock. Very cold and very grey. I had got too used to nigh-time lows of 18 degrees and a sea temperature in the mid twenties. Re-adjustment as soon as possible was vital if I was to have any chance of continuing with winter swimming. This is the only explanation I can give for heading to the beach on a freezing, grey, late november lunchtime. On my way I passed the seasonal outdoor ice rink full of wrapped up skaters - not exactly confidence inspiring.

At least it was calm and the sea was flat. There was a frustrating number of huddled people on the beach - an audience makes it much harder to chicken out and you have to scream silently.... Strip, change, wade, dive, swear, swim out, swim back, run to clothes, get dressed. OK, it was brief, 5 minutes max but it was also at least 12 degrees colder than my previous swim. However, the cold water high hit me before I was fully dressed and I wandered back through town in a happy daze.

from a foreign correspondant

Madeira, Portugal 18 - 21 November

SW

A short trip with some dodgy weather...

The pool OK, so not exactly wild swimming but then the whole island appears as one giant suburb (albeit with stunning scenery and tropical plants) so maybe its quite appropriate. An amazing pool, breathtaking views, open 24 hours, and almost always quiet during our visit. After a 13 hour flight (best not to ask) the sight of this pool really helped my mental state. 

With the combination of stormy weather and few accessible beaches, it proved invaluable. And it was a few degrees cooler than the sea.

Rock pools Seeing 'natural swimming pools' marked on the map helped set the first days itinerary. Most land plunges in massive black cliffs down to the sea, giving very few swimming opportunities - except off jetties and harbour walls. Jetties etc fine in calm and clear weather but we picked a stormy and changeable week. The first natural pool we came across was in the village of Sexial on the north coast. A huge tidal pool had been made from the back of the harbour, some rocky outcrops and many tons of concrete. Unfortunately the storms had washed in loads of debris and litter but the narrow outlet was letting none of it go. It resembled the great pacific garbage patch and was entirely un-enticing. Feeling somewhat disheartened we continued west to the next marked set of pools at Porto Moniz. Circumnavigating the new bypasses, roundabouts, esplanades and suburbs I peered over the smart new esplanade with trepidation. Bingo! Below was set out an immaculate collection of deep blue pools separated by craggy black volcanic outcrops with the sea crashing furiously just beyond, out of harms way.

A few people were wandering about but no one was in the water. Being a natural coward, this made me a little nervous but I was also hot and desperate. The water was extremely salty, crystal clear and obscenely warm (over 24deg). 

All the pools were interconnected to form a labyrinth for exploration. And with goggles and many deep breaths, I explored every single crevice and dark corner. Many fish, some of beautiful bright colours, were trapped in the pools and added to the sense of wonder. Although a tame experience in a semi man-made environment, it was a wonderful swim, serene almost in its stillness and contrast to the crushing sea only a few feet away.

Calheta beach The next swim was at Calheta on the south west of the island. Here, imported white sand has been used to make the only sandy beach on Madeira. A man made harbour protects the beach and created a large pool of calm water. The weather had settled and in this relatively sheltered spot, the sea was gentle. However, it all made for a bit of a dull swim. Lifeless harbour, too warm water and overlooked by modern hotels. It felt quite divorced from nature but it was the closest I got to swimming in the open sea. The photo makes it look more attractive that the reality - the spot was dramatic but the beach itself and the swim were underwhelming.

Brighton, Tuesday 16th Novermber, 1.20pm

SW

Another sweltering day at school (it was even hotter than previous weeks, heating system having now really gone into overdrive). A dull but still day. Luckily for me the clouds parted for a short while, and even more luckily they chose to do it in my lunch hour. On the strike of 1 I made a dash to the coast where I found calm but grey water. There were a few people sitting huddled in their winter finery on the beach and a couple of gulls bobbing on the water.

On with the embarrassingly red trunks and in, as usual, before I can think about it. The water murky brown-grey but not really cold. A short swim - to cool down, to feel human again and to enjoy my last chance for a proper swim for a while. Tomorrow I am jetting off to where the waters are disgustingly tepid (20deg apparently). Drying off on the beach, my skin is a bit red but with no wind I feel no chill. If it carries on anything like this, even December might be straight forward... Back in the classroom and after an ice cold ginger beer, I feel pleasantly chilled for the first half hour and immune to the furnace.

Monday 15th November, Cogden 12.30

MG

"We are all born mad – some people just remain so"

                                                                  Samuel Beckett

"Hello…" I say as KH answers the phone "I'm afraid it's me…". I can actually hear her heart sinking with a "plumphh" sound as I proffer the idea of a charming sea bathe. What could be nicer?! Actually, I'm not exactly leaping at it myself, but I'd begun to think our swimming days were numbered as JJ nobly flew the flag in Norfolk, but gales raged, a woman was impaled by a branch and a kite surfer picked up and hurled into a building in France. So this sunny, warmish, still day is a chance I know I shouldn't miss. I graciously offer KH a get-out clause, which she leaps at like the Mascot after a piece of parkin. Despatching me as guinea-pig, I'm charged with reporting back if I can "honestly say it is at all a pleasurable experience"; the weather forecast suggests that tomorrow may be as good as today, so she's sensibly keeping her options open. Tomorrow, I may be more insistent in my role as Winter Swimming Tsar.

So I fortify myself with crumpets and spend an infuriatingly long time looking for my swimming costume, having decided to upgrade from bikini to one-piece (it's been suspiciously well put away for someone who plans to swim all winter – I blame the non-support support team). Then it's off to the beach. With a pre-swim walk in mind, during which I will gird my loins, I've got two dogs – Mascot and Hairy Aunt (ancient, fragrant, be-whiskered, beard tinged with orange from a long-ago meal, but utterly beloved of all) and I choose Cogden. I wouldn't normally swim alone here, but I'm not feeling strong enough for the 15,000 spectators eating fish and chips at The Hive (Burton) and as it's so still today, I think Cogden will be OK. I can't imagine I'll be in long or swim out far anyway…

In fact, when I reach the car park and look down on the sea, I'm in such a state of keyed up anticipation that I'm too nervous to walk first, and gallop down the hill and onto the beach before I can change my mind. There's an enormous ship on the horizon, very unusual for here, which makes me quake as I think of the submarines reportedly still on the bottom of the sea just off Portland, as well as the numerous wrecks off this coastline.

 I pitch within sight of the only other person, a fisherman, just in case, peel off and advance. Though it's pretty calm, the waves seem to be making a terrible racket as they break, which makes me even more nervous, and as I'm thinking this, one breaks over my knees, soaking me with spray, so I hurl myself in and cast off without another thought. Unbelievably, despite all my nerves tingling in terror, it's "reassuringly not bad" as SW would say – I was expecting far worse, and actually, I can't detect any drop in temperature from last week, though surely there must have been a down shift. It's cold of course, but by no means unbearably so. And as well as that, the sun is out, the wind has dropped, and I'm SWIMMING on the 15^th November! This makes up for the murk which has gobbled up my legs and fingertips.

As always, the thoughts I came in with detach from my mind and float away, and within seconds, I'm calm and peaceful, aware only of the tranquillity of the now. There's nothing like it. But I am nervous about getting out – I think mine and SW's near death experience has given my confidence a shake-up, which is probably a good thing in these deceptive waters – so before I can get cold, I choose a quiet moment and swim madly in, backstroking till I'm almost back at my towel. It's the drop from ankle depth to bottomless that is so alarming. But I'm fine, and I give a few skips of self-congratulation as I change. No bar. No banter. But a triumphant swim all the same.

Snettisham 12:45 : Feel the fear and do it anyway

JJ

A grey and cold day, but as the rest of the team are out of play  due to the rough seas I really have no excuse so we head off to Snettisham. I walk along the shingle beyond the post Sunday lunch crowd the tide is high but it is at it’s lowest ebb today only about 5.5m it still covers the mud flats thankfully as they are quite uninviting. As I walk into the water the steep shingle beach soon gives way to the smoother mud and it is not an unpleasant feeling as my feet sink slightly into it. There is not a breath of wind and the water is ridiculously flat if there weren’t so much silt in the water I am quite sure it would be crystal clear. I swim laps against the shore. Checking how long I’ve been in with my lifeguard after the first five minutes I relax into it a little more. Swimming here so close to the mouth of the river you are surrounded by land it is hard to believe it really is a proper sea and not a vast lake.  The stillness and the steep bank of shingle do lend it the air of a swimming pool everyone on the shore is above looking down as I swim by with the reluctant lifeguard yelling the time out every so often. The water is colder but more because of the fresh water from the Ouse than the time of year, so I feel quite encouraged that I can bear swimming here for 10-15 minutes. As I get out my arms decide that they don’t want to work anymore and I have to rub the feeling back before I can get dressed with any ease. Once fully dressed the many layers reapplied I have that strange feeling of unreality and it all feels quite dream like. I have to admit though that I didn’t quite feel completely warm until after standing under a boiling shower at home for a good 10 minutes.

Fleecy linings and swimming hats sitting idle

Cogden 11th November

Storms, gales, tempests; even when the rain stops and the skies clear, the sea is still ENORMOUS.....

No chance of swimming here for the moment.....

Sunday 7th November, Various



Burton Bradstock, 1.30

KH

When the phone rings and I hear MG’s voice my heart actually sinks a little – nothing to do with her, but only that I can see it’s a swimming kind of day and I don’t feel like swimming AT ALL. Nevertheless I can’t resist the challenge and I know still, sunny days in November are not to be counted on and I am rather longing to try out my new pink frilly swimming hat.  So we meet at Burton Bradstock, where people are sitting outside the Hive tucking into fish and chips.  The sea is perfectly calm – a light, chilly breeze just ruffling the surface – and the sun still has some warmth to it.  As it’s Sunday there are a quite a lot of people strolling up and down the beach and we are stared at as we change self-consciously. But the hat, I have to say, is a triumph – everything one could hope for from a swimming hat, just the right degree of frilliness and a good, deep shade of pink (altogether superior to the turban).  We get in and the water is decidedly colder – perhaps a couple of degrees - than a week ago and cloudy from several days of wind, but still entirely bearable. We swim about and gaze back at the cliffs, all majestic and golden. The dogs guard our clothes and gaze at us.  My limbs tingle but my head, beneath the pink ruffles, remains toasty warm.  After ten minutes or so, as numbness begins to take over, we get out - to much cavorting from Percy and disdain from the Mascot - and struggle damply into clothes.  And of course, as usual, I feel thrilled and renewed and the day takes on a fresh complexion.   

Kemp Town, 2.30pm

SW

Bright sunlight and blue skies masked the true temperature when sheltered amongst town buildings. Walking down to the beach and watching the arrival of the first few London to Brighton veteran cars, the cold and strong north wind became more and more obvious.  The sea was flat calm. The north wind creating just a few ripples and the sun making the water look a tempting dark blue. This was too good an opportunity to miss given the newspaper headlines in town warning of 70mph gales overnight. There were a few people on the beach enjoying the sun but nobody in the water.

I was already wearing four layers against the cold so changing took ages but once changed, I was in the water before I could register cold wind. Cool but not stabbing grey-blue water, clear enough to see my hands when swimming and bright from the sunlight brought me back to life. Knowing more walking in the cold was to follow I opted for a shorter swim, – straight out into the depths to enjoy the view back from marina to pier, followed by a sprint to shore in an effort (vain) to warm up.

Changing back into my four layers on the beach was a race against the north wind which almost won, taking the last bits of heat from me while I tried to get dry and struggled to put on clothes while still half wet. Walking back towards town I hugged the beach-front sun-kissed iron railings, enjoying their amazing warmth only to be told by SH that the railings were in fact cold to a normal person and I must just be significantly colder than them. That was slightly worrying. I thought they felt like lovely hot radiators. Three cups of tea and a slab of carrot cake later I was back to a relative normal and enjoying some delayed invigoration.

Old Hunstanton: 15:45

JJ

 Trumpets please!!! My first November swim ever! Ok no more exclamation marks. . I am feeling somewhat fraudulent after the dramatic posting from MG and SW. I really can’t see there ever being a point here where I wouldn’t be able to go in because of the sea being too rough.  The only major danger might come from accidently straying in to the path of one of the Kite surfers or being breathed on by a seal (a diet of raw fish does not make for fragrant breath).

We left it as late in the day as possible to catch the incoming tide.  Arriving at the beach the sun was just hovering over the horizon. My guarder of the wellies today R.J. was still wavering on whether to come in or not his last swim having been on an unusually hot and sticky October day, despite the deceptive brilliant sunshine the air temperature is definitely bracing.

 My strategy at the moment to discourage any form of bottling out is to get as close to the water as possible, strip off and dash in before I have anytime to over think it. Today however this tactic almost ended in a minor disaster. I choose a spot which I thought was far enough away from the approaching tide for my clothes and waded out. When the water reached my waist I had to have a little pep talk before I dived in but after that it was glorious I swam through the baby breakers parallel to the shore. Accompanying our normal audience of dog walkers today were two people Paracending. I  look back to see R.J. fending off a dog a little to thrilled to have found my things and carry on the Paracenders still buzzing round in circles over head.

When I next turn to shore R.J. is stripping off and running full tilt into the sea. Clearly the shame of wussing out on a challenge is too much. I yell encouragement as he dives straight in. He takes the plunge pool approach and is soon running out again as  I stay in a bit longer until when I  look back  at our pile of discarded clothes it seems as if the water is getting dangerously close. I run out, feeling the impending dread of having to put on wet socks.  R.J. had got back just in time and carried them to safety and he informs me that before he came in he had moved them three times already, I feel a little stupid as everyone knows how fast the water comes in on these flat wide beaches.  I carefully rub the feeling back into my arms and feet and we head off for some hot chocolate but I really feel the need for something stronger.

West Bay, Wednesday 3rd November, 2.30pm

A swim so good it gets 2 posts...

Weather terrible. Mild enough but grey and windy. Not a good sign for swimming in west dorset but obsessions don’t bend to the conditions. I meet MG at West Bay determined to swim whatever the sea throws at us.  The bar has re-opened and MG has hinted at a special treat all the way from London… Comparing fleece linings (yes, we can be that sad), we wander towards the winter swimming spot in the hope that the waves may be a little smaller there. A large group of geography students are studying beach re-profiling but the lower beach is deserted. The westerly cliffs are lost in mist and a light rain is falling. The waves are huge. They crash at the shore sending foam and spray for 10s of meters.

Before I can think too much I change. MG is not very sure so I volunteer to test the waters as long as she mans the emergency mobile. Infuriatingly the students have stopped just above where we hoped to swim so I was to have a large audience. At the shore the waves become dauntingly massive, some over 8 ft, the rest as tall as me. They crash a few feet in front of my face and pummel me with spray and foam. I have to brace my legs to stay up right. I can now hear my audience making ‘will he wont he’ noises. I daren’t look back.  After a few minutes comes the hoped for lull in the large waves and I am in before I miss my chance. Swimming rapidly away from the wave breaking point the sea envelopes me, its roar in my ears. I feel safe. I feel at home. I bob up and down on the waters but know not to go too far and decide to test getting out before I get cold or tired. Swimming back with the waves is quick and easy. Finding the sea bed is more troublesome, land underfoot being at wave break. I float just behind the waves waiting for a small one to come in on.  My chance comes quickly but is followed by a monster and I have to run to get out of the water before I am sucked back and crushed.

On dry land I am elated. MG points out the sea has now calmed and when I turn she is right. I have to go in again. A run and a dive and I am under. By the time I surface, MG is running into the water. A changing time record?  Almost as soon as she is in the huge waves return so we stay close to the shore. A wave takes me up and drops me on the beach, almost elegantly. Just as I am feeling impressed by this stunt I turn in time to see an 8 footer. MG has dived under it but I am right in its path. I am hit with its full force and am sent headlong into the washing machine. I surface, disorientated, trunks full of gravel but with enough wherewithal to run out of the sea before being hit again. The wash-back from the waves does feel strong but not frighteningly so. I watch MG going up and down or under huge waves. I sense she is ready to come out but is waiting for the large waves to subside. I wait on the shore rather than going back under just in case a rescue mission is needed. I am unduly worried and MG comes in on the next smallish wave although she grabs my hand and I pull her out of the undertow before another wave can come along.

We think we now know our wave limits. Although it did not feel dangerous and getting in and out was fine it was definitely as rough as we would risk. And we absolutely deserved our open bar and bar snacks. Amazing raspberry brownies washed down with vanilla camp mocha (better than it sounds, honest). Driving back home, I have seaweed in my hair and sand in my eye, I am happy.

SW


 And from a different view point.....

MG

Wednesday 3^rd November West Bay 2.30

I had to make a very brief foray into The City yesterday for a work event, where the duality of my existence as illicit wild swimmer and socialising worker bee suddenly overwhelmed me with confusion, the only relief of which was to be found in the bottom of several glasses of wine. Consequently it is not without effort that I peel myself from my cocoon and trickle down the railway line the following morning, to where SW has alerted me that a perfect swimming day has dawned at home.

Our definition of "a perfect swimming day" seems to differ – gazing out of the train window with bloodshot eyes, I can see the elms whipping to and fro in the wind and past Salisbury, the skies darken. However, to the beach we must, and at 2.30 I am there, Mascot, Mascottini and special guest star, The Hairy Aunt, in tow. I am immediately certain that today is a non-swimming day. White horses are plunging, rearing and collapsing with resounding crashes, and the muddy waves are anything but attractive, especially under and amidst the grey skies and gusting wind. SW is given a warm welcome (and near blinding) by the Mascot and Mascottini, while the Hairy Aunt looks on in bemusement, never having been a part of team alpha before. We decide to check out The Winter Bathing Spot, a corner by the harbour which is sheltered by the walls and thusly is usually a bit calmer. It IS calmer, but I am still unconvinced. SW bravely volunteers to test the water; I decide that if he drowns, I won't swim today. As SW begins the painful peeling off of layers and anxious dash seawards, an entire minibus of GCSE Geography fieldwork students appear on the amphitheatre effect shingle bank above us, and accompany his progress with wolf whistles, sympathising groans and eventual cheers as he vanishes (the possibility of giving up rendered impossible by his audience as I well realise) from sight into the raging torrent. The dogs and I watch, hearts in mouths, as the tiny dot of him appears and disappears in the peaks and troughs, the waves rearing 8 feet high, dwarfing him in their shadow.

It is with great relief that we see him emerge in one piece, and cover him with praise.

As he puts down his towel, I glance seaward and comment that now is a much quieter moment where the sea is almost calm. In a blur, SW has turned and dashed back in, and without any consideration, I have pulled off my 15 layers in one fluid movement (bikini already on below) and covered the ground to the water in literally 4 seconds. SW does a double take and shouts "stay in the shallows!" as I suddenly appear and throw myself in. For 10 blissful seconds I'm swimming (the water quite insanely warm, when is it going to get cold again?) and all is right with the world. And then, of course, like the dreaded monsters of the deep, the waves appear from nowhere. I'm tossed high up where I get a bird's eye view of wave after wave after wave coming in and no possibly break where I'll be able to make the 4 strokes in without being smashed. As I disappear into the valley and look up at a vast wall of water towering above me, I let out a squawk and reflect on a life well lived. At least I will die hung-over. Actually poetic licence aside (calm yourselves support team) I'm beyond the break point, so I'm actually in no real danger – I'm avoiding the real risk of being smashed and churned, and then smashed again.

SW, as I discover later, is not so lucky, which thank God I'm in no position to notice – my only solace at this point is that SW will save me. On fact, he's mid-washing machine cycle, head over heels in the surf. The Heroes are floundering, the end is nigh. And then, a calm! I swim as hard as I can, make it to the shallows, extend an arm to SW who is now managing to remain upright, and am hauled me up the bank. We stand, panting, speechless, but BLAZING with success. Adrenaline is tearing through me as I collapse on to my towel.

Never have brownies and SW'A special mocha-mix  been so well deserved, and we huddle over our cups agreeing, half jokingly, that this is probably as rough as we should go. We take our time in recovery, basking in success and drying our wings in the sun (like this cormorant) which has made a congratulatory appearance.

Driving home, I can't stop laughing and realise that my hangover has gone, but I'm drunk again – hair of the mascot not alcohol, but sea water, near death and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.