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.

Brighton, Tuesday November 2nd, 1.15pm

I was caught out by the end of British summertime. After a day of melting in a sunny classroom with winter heating on full blast and all the windows sealed shut I really needed a swim. By the time I escaped the furnace however it was already too dark to swim. Night swimming in summer is one thing, but I am not brave enough to try it in November. My frustration was exacerbated by texts of delight from Dorset based swimmers who had enjoyed a dip in the warm, sunny calm of the day. I ran off my annoyance, happy at least that in the city running was not a problem at anytime as it never really get dark amongst the buildings (the lanes of west Dorset however are spooky and lethal come darkness).

The following day I knew that I had to swim at lunchtime to beat lightfall. The normal weather had returned with dark skies and swirling winds but optimistically I packed my swimming stuff in the morning and headed back to the hothouse.  Another sweltering morning before I virtually flew out the building on the strike of 1. Speed-walking past huddled figures in coats and scarves I reached the shore in just 15 minutes. The sky was grey, the wind was howling, the beach empty. With strong south-westerlys, I had feared a sea too rough to swim but was greeted by beautiful white foam from a thousand rollers. No single wave was over 3 or 4 foot but they were coming every few seconds, breaking far out and rolling to the shore.  I change quickly, covering my clothes with stones to stop them being blown away and was in the water in seconds – I was too keen to swim to even bother thinking about my normal key/wallet issues.

It was low tide which means flat sand underfoot and a gently sloping gradient. The water was cool, certainly not cold. Diving under the first wave, I saw only grey, visibility 1 foot maximum. The grey sea and grey sky was counterbalanced by the sparkling white foam. I jumped over some waves, dived under others and generally threw myself around like a demented seal. Thank goodness the beach was empty. The rollers were a bit too consistent to do any real swimming and the easterly tow so strong that I could only swim on the spot anyway so I just had fun in the waves, rejoicing in the ability to swim at lunchtime. And rejoicing to be able to swim safely in winds that would probably prohibit swimming off Chesil Bank. Before I drifted too far east, I waded to shore and walked back to my pile of clothes. The wind now felt cold and biting so I changed quickly, regretting having come down in just a shirt and trousers. However, once out of the wind and back amongst the buildings I felt both elated and tingly warm.


SW

Monday 1st November, Cogden (11am) West Bay (3.30pm)

MG

By the way, we like this http://www.madeleinewaller.com/gallery.php?pg_id=25

Cogden 11am

I've had a bad few days one way or another, rendered worse by a) a member of my non-support support crew repeatedly telling me how much colder it is in the North Sea b) weather so inconsistent that at one point I was standing in sunshine gazing out at the distant blackened peaks of Devon to the West, when my own squall sneaked up behind me from the East, and gave me a thorough drenching. The storms have rendered the sea unswimmable – KH reports it as completely wild when I bump into her on Saturday evening (where incidentally we bemuse and horrify all present by immediately lunching into a detailed discussion about our swimming hats practically without saying "hello") Consequently, at the first glimpse of blue sky our texts and phone calls cross as we over-zealously make a plan to meet at Cogden.

The sun is out, the sky is blue, there's not a cloud to spoil the view (except SW's absence in Brighton) as we meet on the beach, Percy giving me a warm welcome, despite my comment last week that I'd like to turn his beautiful curly pelt into a post-swim jacket. I've got neither mascot nor mascottini as I've come from and am going back to work, and I must say, it's a blessed relief. The sea looks dreamy and we strip off, keenly discussing our post swim wardrobes with which I am now totally obsessed. My fleece lined tracksuit bottoms render KH extremely jealous – it's true that they are so joyous that the real hardship is taking them off and putting on my ridiculous bikini (I must upgrade to a proper suit). I draw KH's attention to the "snuggle suit" which JJ has so helpfully found for her (see below) but strangely she seems a little less keen. I vote JJ, or possibly SW, invest in one. By the way JJ, SW does have gloves, but I'll leave him to explain why he chooses to have dead-person hands rather than wear them…Excitingly KH has got her turban, but she's not as happy with it as she had hoped – it's rather shiny – so she's still in the market for the Dream Turban (or "turbot" as her father misheard me describe it). I am thrilled with my Kiera Knightley hat (though I look disappointingly unlike Kiera Knightley) but am saving it as a special treat for later in the season.

We take the plunge through a churning break which nearly unseats both of us, but KH is in and away, as always shaming me with her bravery. It is glorious, just GLORIOUS. It seems unlikely, but either we've become ridiculously acclimatised or it is a degree or so warmer (possible I guess, in the stirring up of the storms) – there are no peculiar pains, no stabbing knives, just pure unbridled bliss. We swim peacefully about, coming together every now and then to exchange remarks. Even though we don't swim side by side, it is such a pleasure sharing this whole experience, and the companionship of KH or SW, whether it be a distant shiny turban, constant hilarity and banter or a beaming smile to echo my own, is really a huge part of this. Plaudits are due to JJ, who is swimming ALONE in the MUCH COLDER, icy wastes of the North Sea – really, bravery beyond measure.

We eventually emerge to the ridiculously warm sun, feeling completely warm and untraumatised. KH points out that although it is undoubtedly November, and thusly impressive, swimming today isn't really anything to feel too smug about as the air is so unseasonably warm. As she says this, two walkers hone into sight annoyingly wearing t-shirts, though we comfort ourselves that they haven't been IN THE SEA.

Feeling relaxed and tranquil and slightly hysterical, we part company and I drive back to work with the windows down, which would have been unthinkable in the post-swim shiver-fest of our last few swims.

MG

West Bay 3.30

I intentionally resisted the urge for a second swim during the perfect days we had in October, as I'm aware that that pushes me from "charmingly eccentric" into "dangerously obsessional". But today there's no fighting it. These days are numbered with the Autumnal colours in dutiful swing all around us;

...and I find myself back on the beach, pulling on my wet bikini and throwing off the traumas of the day, before I've really had time to consider it. The light is already fading by 3.30 and the beach is almost deserted, but I responsibly pitch my camp near-ish to the populated Pier, just in case of disaster. I feel horribly exposed, and can't shake off the feeling that some Big Brother figure is going to come and warn me how cold the water is. Or possibly come and save me under a misapprehension. Not Drowning, but Winter Swimming (copyrighted!). So I strip and plunge in a rush to show off my authority. Again, heavenly. Cold, but nowhere near too cold; a bit choppier, but safely so, and comforting. I can feel the strength of the sea below me, but
swimming at West Bay is like coming home; I've been swimming here all my life. This could be a May evening, and I truly wallow, pearl diving in the murky depths, gazing at the honeycomb cliffs, bobbing on the incoming waves, and floating on my back watching the gulls. The hardship of getting out is only tempered  by the lure of my fleecy tracksuit bottoms.

Driving home (heater ON) and later in the evening as I feel totally restored to full strength by my two swims, there are not enough numbers with which to count my blessings.