One very recent sunny summer evening, I swam further in open water than I ever have in my life. Out and back across a (small) loch, tow-float bobbing next to me. It wasn’t planned, I didn’t train, and probably wasn’t that impressive if you’re a triathlete, but for me it was a huge deal.
If you’d told a younger me that I’d quite happily do something like that, I’d never have believed you. While I’ve always loved water, I’ve also always been a bit nervous of it. A healthy degree of caution and care when outdoor swimming is really important, but my overactive imagination didn’t help. It’s highly unlikely that I’m going to get nibbled by a great white shark in a Scottish loch. To be honest, statistically it’s highly unlikely I’m going to be nibbled by any kind of shark anywhere at all - sharks get a bad press.
What changed? People talk extensively about the journey of self-discovery and self-awareness that comes with cold water dipping and outdoor swimming, and that certainly played a huge part. I got to know how my body and mind react to different conditions. But the other thing people talk about with outdoor swimming is the community around it, and that has been the magic ingredient.
I first dipped over winter when I lived down in the South West of England, in Clevedon Marine Pool. It’s an unheated sea pool in the Bristol Channel, and I was invited along by two brilliant women; Janine, an experienced triathlete; and El, an all-round adventurer. They shared the practical knowledge I needed - what to bring, what to expect, what to do afterwards - but also other less tangible things. I felt safer trying it not just because I was with other people, but with other people who had a lot of experience. They were encouraging, supportive and positive, and when that first post-dip glow hit, it was incredible to have people around me experiencing the same feeling to share that with. That experience gave me the cold-water swim bug.
There’s a pretty big sense of achievement that comes with doing something you’ve never done before, so when I’d reached the opposite shore, and the water was shallow enough to stand up in, I was buzzing. High fives to Katrina, my swimming partner, and a moment to look back across what we’d just swum. Really though, getting to the opposite shore was just half the journey - we needed to get back too.
At every stage of a swim, there’s a bit of a risk assessment happening; what are the conditions, can I see anything that gives me cause for concern, how am I feeling, what are my entry and exit points, and is there a back-up? I learned a lot about what to look out for from going on guided swims, and the first one I ever went on was with Angela Jones, the ‘wild woman of the Wye’.
Angela is the closest thing I can imagine to a real-life mermaid or water nymph. She knows the River Wye intimately, and as she walked our small group of would-be swimmers upstream to the entry point, she pointed out different features on the river and explained what they meant: this collection of mid-stream ripples meant a rock was near the surface, that patch of water was much deeper. She explained the importance of having the entry and exit points decided ahead of time, learning about the water from experienced dippers or locals,
Interwoven with practical guidance were stories of the river; how she’d shared early morning dips with otters playing nearby, swum amongst the water crowfoot underwater with her monofin, and observed the plants and wildlife over the years…and how she’d seen the environment of the Wye change, as human activity impacted this delicate and precious ecosystem. Her passion and care for the places she swam was infectious in the best way, and Angela is a vocal advocate and campaigner for the health of the River Wye. If we want to have these beautiful places to swim, we have to be too.
Over the next few years, thanks to the usual issues of work and life stuff, I didn’t dip so much. The occasional solo dip in the idyllic Dookits in Peebles were bliss, but were few and far between. It was an unexpected opportunity that turbo-charged my dipping activities.
The brilliant women of the FNY Collective were taking part in a river dip as part of filming for Greg and Jules Wild Swim tv show, and I joined them. I don’t think I have ever laughed so much in my life. It was autumn, it was during a storm, and there we were - a group of women sat in a stream, holding hands, while the rain pattered down through the trees and water flowed around us. The wonderful ridiculousness of it was incredibly freeing, and any self-consciousness melted away because we were all here doing this together.
Over the winter months, a kind of group evolved naturally. We helped each other dip regularly - just a quick dunk or a minute or two in a nearby stream, followed by hot tea and a lot of chat. I knew and expected the cold water benefits, but what I didn’t anticipate was how important I found the shared experience and social time over the dark winter months for my mental health. Over the months, we dipped in different places and watched the seasons change from the water, dipping for a bit longer every time if we felt it, or swimming a bit farther out if we were confident, but also completely free not to if we didn’t fancy it. The group provided all the support and cheerleading, and zero pressure or expectation.
As we swam the final few metres back to the starting point in the loch with the sun shining and the water lilies beginning to bloom, I have a moment of pure happiness.
Swimming that final return stretch across the loch to the starting point, with the sun shining overhead and the sounds of summer all around, felt amazing. I knew I could do it again and could maybe try a bit further or faster, if I wanted to. I knew I have people that I know and trust that would come with me, look out for me, and help me, and that’d I’d do the same for them. The swim wasn’t just about me and my body and the water; it was also about the community that I was part of, and all the people who’d helped me along my swimming journey.
In the water, we are ourselves. It’s a vulnerable and precious and beautiful feeling, and having a group of people to understand that and to share that with is a rare blessing.
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