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