IT'S MORE THAN JUST THE COLD THAT'S MAKING WINTER SEA DIPPING A CHALLENGE
2022 is my third year of sea dipping, so I decided that it would also be the year I would attempt to get in throughout winter. The weather it seems, vehemently disagrees with me on this matter.
If by some slim chance you’ve thus far missed my tendency to extol the virtues of getting up to my neck in cold water of a morning, there’s more here on how it all began back in the fateful summer of 2020. Things got pretty intense in that first lockdown and I maintain that, had I not been regularly washing away my cares in the sea, they could have gotten a whole lot worse.
As a lover of words, there are many I could (and invariably do) use to describe what happens when I get in the sea but essentially it is this. Upon entering the water and inching down to allow the shock of the cold to hit my chest, there’s a moment when my breath quickens, my heart races and icy diamonds tingle across the surface of my skin. Slowly, my breathing steadies and a quiet sense of peace settles in as my body adjusts and becomes numb to the cold. Turning to face the direction of the rising sun, overcome with gratitude for the moment, I end up laughing or sometimes, feel close to tears. The awareness of being so insignificant within such a powerful body of water, on a planet I know so little about brings things into clearer perspective - it’s a leveller unlike any other. Everything that comes after this seems more manageable – a sunrise sea dip has become the definitive mantra that gets my head where it needs to be in the moment, day or life stage I’m in.
This recounting applies to the calm mornings – mornings where the air is cold, the sun is visible and there is barely a breeze. So far in winter, the journey of getting to the moment of nirvana, has borne little resemblance to the one I describe above, and sea dips are becoming an altogether more challenging pursuit. The majority of October and November has been nothing but strong winds, heavy rain, high swell, choppy waves and a continual stream of phone alerts about storm drain overflows. The latter being something I was blissfully unaware of until I began getting into the sea.
When there’s continual heavy rain, our drainage systems are often unable to cope with the volume. This results in water companies up and down the country allowing raw sewage from their combined sewer overflows to run into rivers, the sea and wash up on beaches; damaging the environment, aquatic life and presenting a real danger to people that get into the water. As I wrote this and checked the Safer Seas interactive map, there was a long line of red crosses all along the South Coast that indicate water contamination. Before this began making recent headlines, I’d read about it on the Safer Seas site and was horrified that not only was it a regular occurrence, but no government body seems prepared to make even the slightest attempt at a solution - it seems agendas, popular opinion and money comes first. As with many matters relating to the environment and our climate, it can feel helpless when trying to affect change – you’re left wondering if any of what we do will make a difference. I’m a firm believer that even the smallest of actions are better than none so spreading the word here, donating to organisations such as Surfers Against Sewage, signing petitions and writing to local MPs feels like small but positive steps in the right direction.
Constant surveillance of the Safer Seas Service App, weather and tides has resulted in my being able to get in the sea three or four times in the last couple of months. Having come this far into my winter dipping effort, I’m feeling the pressure to maintain that cold water exposure as the sea temperatures begin to slowly drop. But due to conditions being rougher than I’d normally tolerate, in order to get to those magical after-effects, I have to first endure the waves. Standing close to the shore, only in chest deep, I spend my time trying to judge where the wave will break, jumping to keep my head above water and if I’m honest, feeling terrified of the water bearing down on me. I am literally and metaphorically, out of my depth. Because other than not wanting to ingest sewage-contaminated water, a near-drowning experience I had as a child has left me with a lifelong fear of being submerged. I know… not really conducive for one determined to get in the sea as often as possible.
Aged seven or eight, I remember playing with some kids in the shallows of the River Itchen in Southampton where I grew up – a river well known for how polluted it was even then. I must have either ventured out too far and off a ledge or fell down a hole because I remember suddenly finding myself under the water. Every time I came up gasping for air and trying to shout, I could see my Mum (who couldn’t swim at all), standing on the riverbank, hysterically screaming and shouting at the others to pull me out. I remember being under the surface of the water, eyes open, particles and floating detritus everywhere, conscious that my hair was wrapping around my face and getting in my mouth. When I return to the moment, even now I can still see the murky yellows and muddy green hues of the water and the streams of bubbles coming from my mouth. I remember hearing the disconcerting noise of my own voice under the surface and how the water tasted as it’s acrid sting went up my nose and into my mouth. And then it was over.
A taller boy, I still don’t remember who – it may have been an older cousin – yanked me upwards and hauled me to the muddy riverbank. I remember tears (my Mum’s), coughing, spluttering, feeling sick and being told I was so brave because I “wasn’t even crying”. I was promised a stop off at the shop on the way home to choose anything I wanted – coloured glass marbles in a net bag were my reward for not drowning that day.
At the time, I don’t remember it feeling like the major incident it had the potential to have become, but I do recall the painful process of attempting to get back in the water thereafter. Being cajoled by family to lift my feet off the bottom of the junior pool whilst wearing arm bands and a rubber ring, the repeat persuasion to go for a paddle during trips to the seaside and the pressure of school swimming lessons that I think were meant to provide a solution but in hindsight, probably did more harm than good. Eventually, and I don’t remember when, I did learn to swim – the definition of which was getting from one side of the pool to other minus buoyancy aids and without putting my feet down. Box ticked.
My relationship with the water ever since has been a conflicted one - I’m drawn to it despite the apprehension. I don’t dive or jump in and I’m not fond of being out of my depth. Aged 19, I tried learning to swim under water in a friend’s pool and managed to make progress - but having mistimed my breathing once and felt that familiar sting of water up my nose, I declared it not a life skill I needed. On a holiday in Mexico and then on our honeymoon in the Maldives, Patrick taught me how to snorkel. I managed to get the hang of it – staying in the shallows, floating on the surface and never letting go of his hand - I think the sheer beauty of what I saw was enough to distract me from what was playing out in my head. For the last twenty years I’ve lived a ten-minute drive away from the local beaches and quays but I don’t particularly like going out on boats - despite my Dawson’s Creek leanings. And then with the events of 2020 and the shit storm of perimenopause, along came this pressing need to get into the sea. It’s an odd yet encouraging quirk of human nature when the compulsion to do something eventually outweighs a fear you’ve harboured for so long.
As I recently started to understand the realities of what winter dipping looks like, for all of thirty seconds I entertained the idea of sea-swimming lessons. I’ve even seen the lifeguard crew and a posse of enthusiastic, swimmers on my beach, their skin bright red form the cold, laughing, leaping in and out of the waves. The thing is, I know that for me, it would suck all the quiet joy I’ve come to value out of my sea-dipping experience. The pressure of knowing I would have to learn correct stokes, master breathing patterns, put my face in or go under the waves would turn getting into the water into an activity I would dread. Those aren’t the reasons why I enter the water – I go in for wonder, equanimity, serenity and an all-day feel-good factor that can’t be explained to those who’ve not tried it.
So this winter I’ll persist in waiting until the conditions are right and be ready to pounce on those golden opportunities. I’ll continue to turn the shower to ice cold for 60 seconds every morning, as I have done every day for the past two years – even that feels like a challenge on the coldest mornings! Today, just before I hit publish on this post, my long-awaited cold water pod arrived - I pre-ordered it in early October when I realised how limiting the weather can be. On stormy days, I’ll walk along the beach, marvel at the raw power of those winter waves from a safe distance and then come home to a cold water dip in the garden.
A wise, sea-dipping friend recently told me that going through your first winter is the hardest and she’s not wrong… but I’m determined to persevere. Because every now and again you have that incredible morning – the one where the stars align, all the conditions are right and it’s just you, the sea, the sunrise and the cold-water magic that keeps you topped up until the next time.
