Swimmers of the UK have jumped in with both feet, come sun or midsummer downpour. Here are some of their stories.
To tell us about your own swim, please email us (entitle the email 'For the Members Chat section') a few lines about what was special about it. Feel free to include a picture or two.
Date: 07/07/10
Weather: Sunny
Location: France, London
As the smoky blue dawn gave way to brilliant sunshine I woke to the idea of trying to swim in my three favourite places in a day.
First up was the beach by the secret hotel where we stay on the French Esterel, where a dry landscape of red rocks tumbles down to the Mediterranean. The harshness of the landscape has hindered development and the area is still unspoiled.
To the sound of bird song we hug the winding road the short distance round to the beginning of our favourite place to clamber down to the sea over the rocks. The morning air is rich with the scent of honeysuckle and the sharp tang of a fig tree. A tiny lizard scurries out of my way, before stopping at a safe distance to look down on me with one beady eye. At seven in the morning the beach below is empty, the sea breaking gently over the red rocks. This beach is made up of tiny, painful pebbles, so it is always best to take off your shoes at the last possible moment, choosing a place where you can retrieve them easily, just beyond the waves' reach.
Barefoot, I pick my way over the small, rocky promontory and then and then out to possibly my favourite place on the planet. Here where the rocks protrude into the sea, it is possible to stand on a small podium above the water and dive in. The dive is not scary enough to be really scary, but it is scary enough to think you have done something a little bit brave. The chasm between the rocks into which you dive has golden sand at the bottom and even if you misjudge it slightly, it is too deep and too wide for you to hurt yourself. I pause, raise my arms in salute to the soft, golden sunshine and dive in.
Whoosh. Displaced bubbles race past my eyes. Small fish dart away. The sensation of entering the water is over almost too quickly. Instantly, I feel so gloriously alive. I swim out, turn back and watch the others dive in one by one. The high peaks of the Parc National seem somehow unreal against the deep blue of the sky. Bobbing and laughing like three seal pups, we swim out and round the rocks towards the beach. Rather than wading through the painful shallows, I grab hold of an outcrop of rock and haul myself out, skin glistening in the sunshine. I'd love to do it again but another pleasure beckons and with a plane to catch from Nice, we will be lucky to fit it in.
'L'eau est bonne?' asks the owner of our secret hotel, where we breakfast on coffee and crusty white bread half an hour later.
We nod. She chuckles. 'Vous etes bien sportifs!'
'Sportif' is that wonderful French word that seems to go beyond the mere sporty and to conjure up a feeling of being active and alive in your own skin. And sitting on the terrace ten metres from the Mediterranean, that's how I feel: although I have to go home, I long to stay.
But first to the Ludiparc in the hills behind Cannes. We leave the A8 and wind through the roads beyond Valbonne and up towards Colle sur Loup. The Loup is a river that twists its way down through Alpine gorges. We park up and walk through a small park with bouncy castles and ping pong tables. Behind the cafes is the river. We've been here so many times. Today it is still early in the season and fairly empty. But all around beneath the trees, I see the ghosts of huge parties of French picnickers, sometimes three or even four generations of the same family, maybe eighteen or twenty strong, complete with their own tables, parasols, chairs, cooking equipment and boules. Just here the Loup forms a perfect basin of deep water about thirty metres long. We stand on a river beach. On the opposite bank a sheer cliff rises sharply. Pockets of pale purple flowers grow from unexpected places and trees too have managed to gain a foothold. The impression is of grey and green and high overhead, again the startling blue sky.
The water here too is perfectly clear, but so cold. I stand hesitantly knee deep. Another step forwards and the icy water comes up to mid-thigh. A few minutes to acclimatise and I tip forward and dive into the green depths. The sensation is extraordinary. I am tingling all over. I come up for air and find myself laughing out loud. We are all laughing. The water tastes sweet. Swimming upstream the current is strong, but so worth the effort. At the end of the basin, eyes level with some small rapids, you turn and coast downstream at remarkable speed. Here too, there is a diving rock, one from which I have never had the courage to jump. But today I am determined to give it a go.
I haul myself up the moss covered rock. The distance to the water is further here - maybe about a metre and a half in the air. I'm not going to dive. I know it is deep but still, this first time, I will go in feet first. Standing here I have a view of the bridge upstream. I know that hanging beneath the bridge is a rope. All summer long, little boys of twelve queue up to shinny along a perilous ledge. Then they grab hold of the rope, swing out terrifyingly wide over the water before dropping ten metres into a pool below. If they can do that, I can do this. I jump, ball my knees up under me and bomb deep into the water below. Down here the still water is freezing but delicious. My body rises too quickly to the surface. And it's time to go. A million miles away there is early check-in and extra security precautions. I wade ashore. My skin is red but I feel magnificent. I don't want to leave.
The others are drying themselves and we only have two towels between three. I seize the excuse and float back out to the middle of the pool to watch a yellow butterfly fluttering in the dappled sunshine. Walking back to the car, beaming to ourselves, a young French primary school teacher looks at us bemused. 'L'eau est fraiche?' she says. 'Yes,' I reply. 'Fraiche est bonne.'
I had wanted to do the three swims from dawn to dusk in one day. But Easyjet and waiting twenty five minutes at London Bridge for the 149 bus in Hackney made this impossible. So instead next morning, I wake at dawn. Two crows are quarrelling loudly in the tree outside my window. Amazingly here too, the sky is blue with bright sunshine with temperatures equal to the South of France. Grabbing towels and swimming costumes, we aim straight for the Lido in Gospel Oak. Everywhere the streets are quiet. Optimistic England flags hang out from people's windows like so many tablecloths waiting for the party to begin. On the Holloway Road, suddenly, there is a small crowd of people. They emerge from a night club, blinking in the morning light. We drive up through the dusty streets of Tufnell Park. I see only one man jogging and someone else out walking his dog. Parking in one of the side streets, we walk to the lido.
Built in the 1930s, the lido in Hampstead is one of London's most perfect pleasures. The water is unheated but the building is listed, so instead of installing heating, the City of London closed the pool a few years ago and lined it in stainless steel. On a sunny day you swim through shafts of sunlight. Today the temperature is 19 degrees warmer than our Alpine stream. And at seven am the pool is so busy. After the quiet streets of round and about, it comes almost as a surprise. Triathletes plough the water in faintly ridiculous wetsuits, old men swim chatting two abreast, groups of twinkling octogenarians greet one another in this amazing place, where the normal London rule of ignoring those around you is forgotten. A duck swims towards me as I raise my hands and get ready to dive. I wait for it to pass. Overhead the blue sky is criss-crossed with vapour trails. Below the silver lining of the pool reflects back the white sunlight. I dive in. You take your pleasures where you find them, and here too, the water is good.
Date: 01/07/10
Weather:
Location:
On Saturday 19 June, we set out to make the trip from Dieppe to Varazze on the Italian Mediterranean, via Lake Geneva, in one day to complete three swims. We would travel by motorbike. Me driving, and my sister Jane - a motorbike novice - on pillion. The day was seriously cold and windy. We started at 5am, before it was completely light, with a delightful dip in the English Channel. Needless to say, it was grey, choppy and extremely chilly. Staggering back from the beach and snivelling a bit, we donned our leathers to get on the bike.
The rain started to fall. We had always said that we would postpone the trip if the weather was not reasonable, but madness had already set in by this stage so off we set.
Via the outskirts of Paris with a couple of pit stops, we arrived in Geneva around 3pm, frozen and soaking wet. We rode through the Mons Jura region as rain turned to sleet. All I could think of to cheer things up were that there were some rather interesting wines from that area, unfortunately not on offer at the time.
We found a little beach on the lake and talked ourselves in and out of getting in. Again, the water was grey and rough. It was still cold and still pouring with rain. Our kit was getting soaked. A bridal party arrived along with swans and ducks and we felt obliged to add to the surreal situation by taking our second cold plunge. Then we were off through the Mont Blanc Tunnel to be greeted by two inches of blue sky and the first bit of dry road.
Less than an hour later though we were back riding in wind and rain and our hopes of a warm welcome in the Med faded. Despondent, we arrived in a little Italian seaside resort, dark falling. Nobody will mind if we swim the next day, we thought. But fuelled by a large plate of fritto misto, pizzas and a bottle of wine, we held fast to our aim and completed the mission by 11.55pm. We stayed splashing about for a while - much to the amazement of the locals.
We covered 707 miles, spent 12 whole hours on the bike, and were on the go for the best part of 19 hours that day.
Thank you to everyone for the truly wonderful support and messages which spurred us both on despite scary cross winds, wet roads and French and Italian drivers! We never once lost our sense of humour and we raised over £2,500 between us for the African Children's Development Trust and Maternal and Childhealth Advocacy International. Details of the charities can be found at: http://www.justgiving.com/3swims and www.justgiving.com/madbikers.
Chris Cooper, July 2010
Date: 06/06/10
Weather: Calm
Location: Loch Chon
I'm always on the look out for new places to swim. So I was delighted when a Google search earlier this year revealed a loch that I never knew existed.
Loch Chon is an little known wild swimming paradise located in The Trossachs (Stirlingshire), just northwest of Loch Ard. When I first discovered it, I was looking for somewhere that I could swim myself with just land support, somewhere that was not a haven for kayakers, and somewhere that did not allow fishing from boats. Loch Chon ticks all the boxes.
You can swim close to the shore with someone on land to support you, or with accompanying swimmers there are one or two islands you can swim to, take a break, or just do a circuit back to shore. The circuit I like to do, with swimming support, is just over 1.2 km.
The first time I swam at Loch Chon the temperature was below 10 degrees. This was April, which is around the coldest time of the year for water temperatures. The good news is it is now starting to rise: currently about 11 degrees. I don't find it too much of a problem. I'm quite hardy and don't tend to suffer from the cold. However, I should say I'm swimming it wearing a wetsuit, neoprene socks, gloves, and two hats!
If you have never swum outdoors before, Loch Chon would be a perfect place to start. You are not dealing with the tides and choppiness of the sea, or the chance of been knocked on the head by kayak paddles or fishing lines.
At the moment this is my favourite place to swim purely because it is quite isolated and not very busy. It's got a nice little beach where any non-swimming members of your group can build a fire, and whip up a barbecue when you return invigorated from your swim. What could be better?
Date: 25/05/10
Weather:
Location: Derwent Water, Lake District
On March 16th I decided I should really learn to swim. I could swim a few lengths of breast-stroke, and I could even put together two lengths of front crawl, but after those two lengths I was ready to drop. So on that Tuesday in the middle of March, I decided to get some lessons, decided I should make a concerted effort.
Fast forward 9 and a half weeks. I've been swimming for fewer than 70 days, and for some reason I'm lined up in a wetsuit, with 250 other similarly neoprene clad fools open water enthusiasts, on a beach by Derwent Water, Lake District, waiting to start the first OSS Wild Swim of the season.
I'd done a long swim in the pool just 4 weeks ago - 128 lengths of front crawl, but in the safety of the pool, in 4 feet of cosseting lovely warm water, with a wall to grab a breath at, with a drink break every 10 lengths. But to go out into water barely half the temperature, with no walls to hold on to, no floor to stand up on, and a mile to swim without stopping, not to mention having 250 other people to worry about swimming into.
Fast forward 45 minutes, and I've done it. I've done 7 laps of the course. I'm not sure how far each loop is, but listening to the other competitors, most people seem to have done 5, with only a couple making it to 6. But it really doesn't matter - I've spent 45 minutes swimming in open water, enjoying the rhythm of the stroke without the jarring interruptions of walls, seeing the fish scatter below me as I swim over, feeling the freedom of the outdoors.
Out on the beach again, and everyone has the broadest of smiles across their faces - all ages, all walks of life, I'm sure, but all elated at swimming in open water for 45 minutes.
Today, 1 day on, I have a swim session in the pool. I can't help but feel it's going to be a bit of an anticlimax, and I might just swim into the first wall.
When is the next wild swim?
Date: 01/12/09
Weather: Quiet December Night
Location: St Ives
Had lovely night swim on Porthmeor, St Ives, early Dec. A beach I know so well. Usually it presents itself with a roar, but this night I could hear bird song above the surf. It must have been a robin. The water lapped as if in a bath tub. Just a little toddle around with a few dives down. I knew I couldn't stay long because my greyhound was running wild on the sand. I think he thinks I disappear and become just a head when I get in the water - drives him nuts!.
But a reasonable assumption nevertheless. However issue is, is that the little sod steals my clothes! So unfair... I think he's having a car boot sale at the end on the month. No way of hiding them from him.
What do I do? I've put heavy stones on them and gesticulate wildly; to no avail. He just bombs off into the darkness with my dignity - I swear he's laughing. We have so much fun but I just want to do the long drag home maintaining an epicum of decorum.
Any suggestions?
Please, no-one say a balaclava.
Date: 10/11/09
Weather: Windy
Location: Corryvreckan whirlpool
The Corryvreckan is a whirlpool in the Inner Hebrides in Scotland. For most of the day and night the maelstrom rages, with a ferocity than can be seen and heard 8km away on shore, and then for about half an hour it calms down enough for swimmers to make it across. On 11 October two members of the OSS were invited to swim it by local Ali Macleod. Here is the story, as written by one of the swimmers, Diana Appleyard:
As the winds of autumn swept over Argyll a small group of wetsuit-clad swimmers wondered if they might have bitten off more than they could chew. The swimmers concerned were Hazel Manson, Laura Blowers, Lorna Macgregor, Pete Robertson and Diana Appleyard from the Mid Argyll Tri and Cycle Club, and were joined by Kate Rew and her friend Michael Worthington from the fast-growing Outdoor Swimming Society.
The swim across the 0.6 mile stretch between Jura and Scarba is not to be taken lightly. At high tide, the water rushes through this stretch at 8.4 knots and creates a fascinating series of whirlpools and water patterns, due to a deep hole and rising pinnacle beneath the surface. At its height, the Corryvrechan is known as the third biggest whirlpool in the world.
The challenge depended on making the swim at slack water. This only occurs for about half an hour a day, and the weather has to be calm. Ali Macleod has been using his extensive knowledge of weather charts and tides to work out the best time, and the small group set off from Ardfern at about 12 that day. They traveled on board Ali and Sally's boat Eala, and the team was supported by Chris Floyd in his RIB and Hazel's husband Andrew Manson in his boat, helped by Lorna's son Angus.
The trip out was enlivened not just by sightings of sea eagle, porpoises and seals, but by Sally, Gilly and Hazel Whiston's cups of tea, sandwiches and biscuits. We arrived at the whirlpool by about one, and then sat for an hour waiting for the slack water to arrive. Conditions were not absolutely ideal, but by now everyone was determined to make the swim. Eventually Ali gave the nod, and in groups of three, the swimmers lowered themselves into the dinghy and then into the very cold sea. Touching the rock on one side, they set off, encouraged by cheers and shouts.
The crossing was reasonable, although it felt much further than 0.6 miles! As each boat led us on, we tried to keep track of each other in the increasing swell. After about twenty minutes the sea was really quite bouncy indeed, and Ali admitted the slack water window was closing. The first to touch at the far end was Laura Blowers in an amazing twenty-two minutes. Kate, Michael and Pete swam quickly too, and then Hazel, Lorna and Diana touched Scarba in thirty to thirty-three minutes. Hazel and Diana were feeling the effects of the sea, as it was not only cold but very choppy towards the end. Lorna, on the other hand, discovered her inner seal and was beaming from ear to ear. We have now decided she is a selkie.
Welcome cups of tea and food back on Eala, and the crew and swimmers headed home. It had been an amazing swim, and everyone was buzzing from the experience. Ali and Sally provided a lovely meal with wine that evening, which really rounded the event off.
Date: 07/09/09
Weather: Sunny Autumn Day
Location: Knoydart, West Highlands
On a pleasant, softly sunny, Autumn day I was walking on my own near Airor on Knoydart opposite Skye when I noticed that the receding tide was exposing a sandy causeway to a this little island where I had heard there were otters.
Suddenly I could hear gentle splashes and realised that seals basking on the far side had spotted me and were swimming round to inspect me so I stripped off and joined them, the most magical skinny dip ever! (I retreated before they got too inquisitive).
Date: 05/06/09
Weather: Gloriously Sunny
Location: Rural West Oxfordshire
I've had an amazing couple of Sunday morning swims in the Windrush from Burford to Asthall. I say 'swimming', but rather imagine scrambling, in a river.
This is not a river for those who only like to swim hard, fast or long. But for those who want adventure, excitement and good old-fashioned fun, you would find it hard to beat.
The depth of the river varied from one foot up to 10 feet. We found ourselves swimming happily one minute, barely floating above the riverbank the next; giving in and hauling ourselves upright to walk, sploshing along for the next few yards only to find ourselves immersed to chest height again.
Starting at the bottom of Burford Hill and swimming under the bridge - something I had always wanted to do as a small child - the river runs between the manicured gardens of some very old and grand houses, then along the back of the church and past a very public car park where tourists were feeding a myriad of ducks and geese, including some of ducklings who, unused to people, swam about our heads, squeaking for food. The rest of the water fowl, not used to people being in the river, made a hasty (and rather noisy) retreat. We swam by the car park, gave a cheery wave, and left bewildered parents and non-plussed children wondering what to do with their remaining bagfuls of bread.
Onwards from here, the river is weedless, but plenty of trees and branches overhang it. We could see that the river was heading towards a converted water mill. We had two choices, swim back up to the car park and get out or carry on and under the building. We approached cautiously. It was obvious that the water was not very deep - a foot at the most, even if it was now very fast and flowing. We could also see that there was a clear path (and daylight) only a few feet away under the house and so let ourselves be taken under the building into what turned out to be a private patio.
Had its owners been about that morning, they would have been surprised to see two rubber-clad adults suddenly standing in their grounds where the river ran. A few hundred yards on, we were out of the town and into the meadows.
This time of year, the river has a lot of weed - the tough, sinuous, stringy kind rather than pretty lily pads, duckweed or algae. Breast stroke and occasional doggy paddle are the best options. Getting a good crawl going is tough because of the inconsistent depth of the water.
We made our way downstream, stopping occasionally to allow swans to pass or to talk to amused ramblers or just simply to just take in the serenity of the countryside.
The following week we returned to the Windrush to continue the adventure. This time, instead of swimming under buildings, we found ourselves sliding through sluice gates into mill ponds where the water had been diverted away from the buildings or to make small pools which seemed to be rather extravagant garden features. Luckily, we avoided meeting anyone and scaring them.
After swimming past the Old Swan pub at Swinbrook, we stopped to watch a pair of kingfishers dipping in and out of the water for a few minutes before carrying on, only to bump into a week old family of swans and cygnets. On a river that is barely 10 feet across, there was nowhere to go and we couldn't get out because the bank was too high. We had to force the obviously displeased swans downstream for a few hundred yards before we could get out onto the bank, walk around them and get back into the river. I've never heard swans hiss so loudly and there was a lot of posturing, but nobody was hurt. It really was a fantastic couple of days' swimming, although it may not be for everyone.
You really can't 'swim' for very long and have to be prepared to work for your swim - standing up and walking occasionally, clambering over fallen trees and branches - but it really was wondrous in a way that I can only remember experiencing as a child.
For me, a true wild swim.
Adam's route from Burford to Widford (Google Maps)
Adam's route from Widford to Asthall (Google Maps)
Find the entry on the OSS Swim Map here:
Date: 09/06/08
Weather: Inclement
Location: Vesuvius Bay - Vancouver
At three o'clock on Monday the ninth of June, competitors took to the water for the inaugural swim around the island. The event took plane in Vesuvius Bay but due to inclement weather, entries were limited to John Mitchell (UK) and Vida (Chocolate Labrador).
"I think the rain kept some people away" John told us, "but overall I was pleased with the turn out".
The course took swimmers out from Vesuvius beach to the furthermost rocky island, counter-clockwise around the island, and back to the beach for the finish.
"The cold water was a real shock," John said after the race, "but I was keen to take an early lead and with Vida biting at my heels there was no time for hesitation." However, Vida was soon forced to retire early from the race due to an irrepressible desire to play on the beach.
"I'm very proud of Vida for giving it a go, he is a brave dog and a great friend; he can walk with his head held high." said John afterwards.
Applause and hugs greeted finishers at the end of the race, followed by fish & chips and pots of tea at Seaside restaurant.
Event organisers were delighted with the day's success and wish to thank all those that came to support the swim, inviting them back next year.
Final Race results:
Boys (25 - 28): John Mitchell (22:38).
Canines (all ages): Vida (DNF)
Date: 25/05/06
Weather: Any weather, including when there is a 'Sturmwarnung' (storm warning - which you can see by the little orange light flickering on the mini tower on the south side of the lake).
Location: Woerthsee Lake (one of Bavaria's cleanest lakes), 30km south of Munich, Bavaria.
If you're ever lucky enough to go for a swim in the Woerthsee, after you've gotten over your excitement about how mild the temperature is, you'll soon realise that it is silkier, smoother and softer than any water you've ever swam in. A single stroke is like diving into a pool of down feathers. The lake is small enough so that depending on your skills, you can swim to the island in the middle, across it or right around it. During your swim, you'll be able to check out the beautiful bavarian-style houses on the lakefront, as well as the Alps in the background (when there is Foen - a certain weather condition). You may be accompanied by Herbert, the local duck and his offspring, or Glenda, the local swan. When you emerge from the waters, mermaid (or mer-man) that you will have turned into cos you'll have gone much further than intended, you'll feel clean, healthy, fresh and zingy. What's more, as soon as you step onto the jetty, you'll turn around and go straight back into the water as not even the air and breeze that surrounds you will compare to the softness of the lake. Take a trip to the dip. It's worth it.