Heatwave, hottest day in October ever recorded - brilliant swimming, poor blogging. I rushed home on Friday night after three sweltering days in London, and toppled immediately into the sea with SW on Saturday morning. Strangely disappointing as SW had warned - he'd had a few days of impossible condiditons; waves and scum, despite the perfect external conditions. My support team said it was something to do with the new moon and the equinox (?! For reasons I have never fathomed, she seems to know all sorts of interesting and useful things like that) but whatever the causes, the Saturday sea was soupy and murky. Then we were nearly turned into shark-fin soup by a boat full of fishermen. Very unpleasant all round, but a swim none the less, and a high standard of banter involving a long and fascinating story about my breakfast. Not to be put off, I got in an evening swim that was pretty perfect - far better conditions and in the fading light the scum and murk were less noticeable. And the happy beach obscured by a fug of barbeque smoke at 7pm on a Saturday in October was an extraordinary but cockle-warming sight. Nowhere I'd rather be. Sunday morning found the whole team together; almost perfect conditions (though still murky) and a long, brilliant swim. Breakfast at The Hive was planned but rendered impossible by a queue almost out of the door by 10am. It was a foretaste of what was to come; snatching an hour at lunchtime I could barely squeeze my car into the carpark; there must have been 200 cars there. But the sea offered the peace and stillness as always and swimming 15 times further out than anyone else, I could look back at the beach and marvel at the wonders of the weather: no one does a heat wave like the British seaside, and this feels like the closing of the bracket opened in the April paradisical conditions.
We saw something in the water. SW was making the advance party ahead of KH and I, but by a miracle as I watched him prancing we both saw something HUGE leap out of the water about a foot in front of him. SW leapt almost as high in surprise and consternation. It could have been this:
After a beautiful and long swim at Hive in the morning we decided to re-group in the evening if the weather was still fine - we dont know how long this good weather will last before the winter storms start seriously curtailing our swimming so we want to pack as many in as we can, while we can.
A calm, clear evening followed - we met at west bay just after 7pm and the light was fading fast. It was ideal timing, the beach being virtually deserted and the sea was calmer and clearer than the mornings rather choppy murk. Familiar scenes were re-cast in the fading light with the last of the sun creating golden reflections on the water. We watched as lights appeared in the sky to our east (Portland) and the red and green of the pier flashed to our west. By the time we were getting out it was almost dark. The normally white foam from the breaking waves had turned to a tarnished silver and the water was an inky blue. We could not resist diving in a few more times as the wind had got up and it was freezing on land. By the time we were dry and had stopped shivering it was almost too dark to take any pictures. Heaven.
Just to cheer up SW and I; we reminisced about our pearl diving days as we were battered and tossed by a grey scummy sea this morning (actually much nicer than it sounds.... especially the deserted beach, what a joy to have it back to us again).
It's a grey and windy day as JJ and I are united at Stoke railway station to begin our annual pilgrimage to somewhere watery. Our holidays originally began as walking jaunts – in the distant days of yore we covered around 80 miles of Hadrian's Wall – but as the years have passed, the walking has given way to the swimming, until this year the furthest we walk is probably from the car to the tent and since I am prone to parking the car almost inside the tent, this is not far at all. Still we make up for it in SWIMS, brave, fearless and intrepid as always…
Our first stop is in Derbyshire where we are in such haste to get to the water that I get a speeding fine. We head towards a spot highlighted by Daniel Start on the river Dove, below beautiful arching Mapleton bridge. We are incredibly brave, tearing off our clothes in a howling gale and throwing ourselves into the icy murk. I'm taken aback by the cold and the brain freeze, but it's an amazing spot and we are full of self congratulation for starting the holiday as we mean to go on.
Once in Yorkshire though, things take a bit of a down turn as swim spot after swim spot reveals itself to be a roaring, raging torrent of death after unbelievably heavy rains and tempests, even, some might say, hurricanes….
(Catrigg Force)
(Stainforth Force)
(Askrigg Falls)
JJ is not to be entirely defeated by CatriggFalls on day two, throwing herself into a narrow channel of water above the waterfalls just to claim that she has swum. It's a plunge pool approach, but no less brave for that. I keep a beady eye on a gaggle of walkers on the hillside who are staring open mouthed. We fortify ourselves with cheese and jam sandwiches and resolve to come back in more seasonable climes….
Day Four brings us Hawes Force, an incredible swim below Britain's longest free falling waterfall (or something); famous for this, but for us more celebrated as the site of Kevin Costner's shower in the 1995 classic "Robin Hood; Prince of Thieves". KC clearly disregarding the many signs warning us NOT TO STEP BEHIND THE WATERFALL (in fact in these conditions, I think the cascade would literally knock your head off).We have to choose our moment between groups of gawkers, but when a second of solitude comes, I'm in the water like a flash of lightening. It's utterly terrifying with the roar of water so loud we can't hear each other and black water below us to unfathomable depths. I swim about squawking before braving the underwater which takes the edge off my fear. It's AMAZING, an incredible place. We are exhilarated and breathless and the ringing in our ears continues for some hours.
A post breakfast outing on Day Five - we take a dip below the bridge into Hawes, which is disappointingly shallow, but a swim all the same and then motor happily on over the dales, by now in full holiday mode.
The end of the day brings us our most perfect swim, another cracker from Daniel Start and an incredible campsite in Burnsall to go with it, 10 minutes walk from the river. We wander down to the river Wharfe which is lying wide, still and unbelievably beautiful, with even a little sandy bay to make getting in easy. It could not be a better spot. We plunge in and swim about for what seems like hours.
The next morning we make another pilgrimage here; we're both thrilled to see a kingfisher in a blazing flash of emerald (not caught oncamera unfortunately).
Post swim we are feeling…. slightly chilled…. (!!) so don't swim at Bolton Abbey, though it would be a magical place to dip on a summer's evening.
Neither do we embrace the Turkish Baths at Harrogate…. I make an executive decision, feeling so purified and peaceful from our Wharfe dip that no amount of steaming could improve my sense of well-being. Actually I do slightly regret that now, but the enormous tea we demolished in Betty's Tearooms was fair exchange at the time. Then it's pedal to the metal to make a downward swoop back to the Peak District for our last night. We swing by Chatsworth where the river Derwent feels like an old friend; we swam here last year on our way up to the Lake District; it's incredibly still and peaceful after the quick, youthful sprite of the Wharfe; this river flows majestically in no hurry at all. The ancient duke compared to the rakish count. In the dying light with the Chatsworth deer cropping the opposite bank and the quiet park all around us – this could not be a better conclusion to our adventure.
7 days; one speeding fine, more jam and cheese sandwiches than you could believe possible, several bottles of the Queen of Lemonades, a lot of Kate Bush (Wuthering Heights) one internal tent fire resulting in carbon monoxide poisoning, one hurricane, several frightening pubs, a lot of very happy Steve Coogan quoting, one cave, zero Kevin Costner sightings… and 7 perfect swims. Thanks to JJ for being such a brilliant companion (and very flattering - at one point laughing so hard at one of my jokes that she sprayed a mouthful of porridge all over the tent walls... xxx)
A strange day. Heavy with clouds and fog. Muggy too. By early evening the sun was trying to break through but largely failing except for a few chinks of light over the sea.
Walking towards the water it felt like winter swimming all over again. After such thoughts the sea was pleasantly warm and smooth. The gently undulating surface and blue-white, milky-clear sea felt oddly soft, closer to fresh water in texture. A trick of the light, movement and colours confusing our senses.
Swimming out beyond the pier (way beyond the pier) we felt more normal and the regular conversation about food and sharks resumed (I had been alarmed to read earlier that a great white was caught of La Rochelle in 1977).
The depth of our diving has always been limited by the feeling that our brains are about to exit through our ears. After reading about holding nose and blowing to equalise water pressure (http://www.freedive.net/freediving/freedving.htm) it had to be tried. It is amazing. Its like vacuum packing your head. There is no pain at all and I found that I could dive as far as I could hold my breath. A few seconds on the sea bed with 5 metres of water above opened up a whole new world. MG braved it too despite the knowledge that the sea is unfathomably deep and came up as high as a kite.
