Tomorrow Never Knows

Wild swimming has been one of the great joys of 2021 for me. The shock of initially getting into the sea - especially in the last couple of weeks - isn’t entirely pleasant, and dragging myself out of bed on a cold Friday morning is hard work. However I quickly acclimatise to the temperature of the water, although the length of time I’ve been swimming has come down to an average 35 minutes and will probably decrease further with the temperature as we roll into winter. Friday mornings I cycle down to Penarth or drive down to Barry (and meet my lovely friend Doktor Helen Payne if it’s Jackson’s Bay) since October I’ve thought each sea swim it’s going to be the last one until spring, that I’m going to take shelter in the Hilton pool, but every Friday I find myself still zipping up my wet suit in preparation. So why do I still keep going back, especially in these teeth chattering mornings? One reason is that I never know what it’s going to be like when I get to the sea.

Around three weeks ago i waded in to the water in Penarth, it was cold but manageable and the sea was pretty calm. My plan for these swims is to start off at the Lifeboat station and aim to get to the head of the pier, around it, underneath the pier and back, twice if possible. That morning I put my goggles on and swam off into the inky dark. I had the pier in my sights and thought I could do it, so i put my head down and swam. Now, I bought the goggles precisely because they were supposed not to fog up, but that exactly what they do almost immediately. After fifteen minutes I popped the goggles up to see how close I was to the pier only to find that i was actually further away than when I started! I laughed and thought ‘Well this ain’t happening.’ and swam back to shore. I did have to put a bit of effort into it but managed. Back on shore I put my shorts and hoodie on and cycled off but got flagged down by a bloke I see at the seafront from time to time and who recommended a couple of months ago that I get a Tow Float (which I did). The bloke said he’d been watching me swim and had been concerned at how far out I’d been pushed. Concerned enough to call the Coast Guard and to ask a surfer to keep an eye on me. I’d never felt that I was in trouble, but I suppose no one ever does. I laughed but thanked him for looking out for me. The current in Penarth is really deceptive. It looks really calm but can’t be denied. Last week I managed to get up to and under the pier and tried to swim to the head but kept getting bashed against the struts of the pier, so then decided to literally go with the flow and got swept back to the Lifeboat station.

I enjoy the ritual of cycling down to Penarth, i put my Friday playlist on to psyche myself up for my plunge, and as Penarth comes into view on the horizon I point at it, ‘I’m coming for you.’ before the steep climb after the barrage, but yes I don’t know what’s waiting for me, which is thrilling. The shock of the cold and pushing through the water makes me feel pin sharp alive, and I try to be present and awake to the experience although inevitably by mind drifts off. However I am able to bring myself to the moment and if I reach the pier head I touch the rough, barnacled concrete supports, or really feel the freezing cold around me instead of shrinking from the feeling. Once, I drifted on my back underneath the pier and looked up at lights on the pier as they blinked at me. It was like the mother ship was coming to take me back home. I make myself float around and look at the infinite I find myself in. You can’t ascribe any feelings or motives to the sea, it just is. The day I take my last breath that’s where I’ll be, drifting off into the unknowable darkness.