MG
During a frantic week working at the Hay Literary Festival, swimming gaps are hard to find which is a constant frustration when the Wye here is as deep and swimmable as a swimming hero could hope. I grab a half hour gap on the Thursday, the first blue-skyed day, and hurry down to the river bank to take the plunge. In previous years I've had a struggle with the current here, but with lower water due to a lack of rain, and a better spot above the rapids of the Warren (recommended by HL, who is also here working and has managed to persuade not only Spot the Dog but also one of her authors to swim with her...) I'm in seventh heaven, plunging in and swimming up river. It feels warm and though murky (not the icy clearness of the Dartmoor rivers I am used to) it's glorious and perfect. I return to the site and burst into the green room, bedraggled but reborn.
I grab a second swim on the final Monday, delaying my unwilling departure as far as possible. I persuade a river swimming novice, AT, to join me and together, heads pounding with hangovers, delirious from lack of sleep, heart broken from the end of the festival, we get the hit we need from the perfect, still water. If we'd planned it better we could have left early and practically swum home, or at least down the Wye as far as Tintern. Maybe for another year.
Literary and aquatic gems. Thank you Hay.
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