Fiona Weir swam from Tenby to Tiree and Mljet to Malaysia – then three vertebrae in her spine collapsed, and both of her knees. Suddenly the swimming landscape looked very different, and she found herself in a place full of almost-accessible swim spots. Here she shares a vision for how it could – so easily – be different
I was splashing about in water before I could walk. There’s an ancient holiday snap, taken when I was eight months old, my bottom saggy in nappies, dancing in the waves with my dad. In another, my mum and I are sitting with our feet in an outdoor pool, and I’m happily kicking water everywhere.
I swam throughout my childhood, anywhere anyone would let me. On sunny beach holidays with my parents. In ice-cold Welsh mountain streams at Easter. In the River Wye on a school trip during the heatwave of 1976, with 25 other sweaty kids and a couple of teachers who weren’t too worried about health and safety. In the Highgate Ladies Pond during my teenage years, lying on the grass between dips, pretending to do O’ level revision.
Adult life broadened my choice of swimming spots – from Tenby to Tiree and Mljet to Malaysia. Cossies are stuffed everywhere: in my suitcases, the boot of my car and the bottom of my work bag. Even when arthritis began to damage my joints – especially then, as walking and other land-based exercises became more painful – I swam. In fact, I don’t think I have ever been to a place where I have not swum… until last year.
2022 was a disastrous year for me, health-wise. Three vertebrae in my spine collapsed, and then both my knees. I was already using walking poles for support, but by May, they weren’t enough: I needed a mobility scooter to get around. Suddenly the swimming landscape looked very different.
The last time you swam, how far did you have to walk and what did you have to climb? Even five minutes’ walk is too far if you are disabled, and mobility scooters are made for pavements and shopping centres, not sand-dunes or fields. Every path has mud or tree roots or stiles. Every reservoir has walls or padlocked gates. Every river has steep or slippery banks. Every beach has waves to knock me over like a skittle.
Suddenly the swimming landscape looked very different. Think about it: the last time you swam, how far did you have to walk and what did you have to climb? Even five minutes’ walk is too far if you are disabled, and mobility scooters are made for pavements and shopping centres, not sand-dunes or fields. Every path has mud or tree roots or stiles. Every reservoir has walls or padlocked gates. Every river has steep or slippery banks. Every beach has waves to knock me over like a skittle.
Helpful friends scouted possible locations for me, and sent photos and videos of access routes and obstacles. At last I found one place, a nature reserve 20 miles from my home, where swimming is tolerated though not officially allowed. They even lent me their scooter to whizz down to the water’s edge!
With growing frustration, I realised that many other swimming spots are already almost accessible, and many more could be made accessible quite easily, if only land owners and water operators changed their attitudes to swimming.
It turns out this place is pretty unique: there are about 100 other swimming spots within an hour or so of my house, but none of them is accessible to someone like me. I spent all summer trying and failing to swim.
With growing frustration, I realised that many other swimming spots are already almost accessible, and many more could be made accessible quite easily, if only land owners and water operators changed their attitudes to swimming. I dreamed of the National Trust improving paths and lending us off-road mobility scooters. I imagined boat clubs and the Canal and River Trust using disability radar locks instead of other padlocks on their gates. I wished for local councils to re-open urban ponds and construct gentle ramps down into the water.
I dreamed of the National Trust improving paths and lending us off-road mobility scooters. I imagined boat clubs and the Canal and River Trust using disability radar locks instead of other padlocks on their gates. I wished for local councils to re-open urban ponds and construct gentle ramps down into the water.
But most of all, I thought about how the water companies could transform the health and wellbeing of disabled people – in fact, everyone – by facilitating swimming in hundreds of reservoirs around the country.
In my own area, Yorkshire Water operates 125 reservoirs (although they only list 32 on their own website), where tens of thousands of people already swim regularly. Most of Yorkshire is a long way from the sea, and our rivers are often badly polluted after centuries of heavy industry. So reservoirs are the preferred option – and sometimes the only option – for many of us Yorkshire folk: they are nearby, enclosed, without currents or tides and (contrary to media impressions) much safer for swimming than rivers or the sea.
Many reservoirs would need very little change to make them accessible for disabled swimmers too. They often already have good access roads and space to include disabled parking. Access gates with radar locks could be installed. They all have stone walls, and many have ramps or even slipways for sailing clubs, where handrails could be added. In many cases, adaptations could be made cheaply and easily when each reservoir undergoes routine maintenance.
Water companies could transform the health and wellbeing of disabled people – in fact, everyone – by facilitating swimming in hundreds of reservoirs around the country.
Of course, all this would require the water companies to change their attitudes. Most currently have blanket bans on swimming, although everyone knows that the bans and ‘no swimming’ signs are ignored and do not improve safety. The National Water Safety Forum itself recognises the health and wellbeing benefits of swimming and other water-based activities, and advises against prohibitions that may prevent people from taking part.
But change is long overdue: the 1991 Water Industry Act, which is now more than 30 years old, requires water companies to allow public access and recreational activities on the reservoirs they operate on our behalf [ref 3]. Specifically, the law says (and please forgive the legal language here) that they must “have regard to the desirability of preserving for the public any freedom of access to areas of woodland, mountains, moor, heath, down, cliff or foreshore and other places of natural beauty” (section 3.3a) and “ensure that the water or land is made available for recreational purposes and is so made available in the best manner” (3.5b). They must also “take into account the needs of persons who are chronically sick or disabled” (3.6).
As summer 2023 unfurls, I have had some further health problems, but also two knee replacements – so I am hopeful I may be able to get back into the water next year. But it’s annoying to think how easily water companies and others could improve access for me and others, right now.
Every outdoor swimmer knows that swimming improves health and wellbeing. Most of us keep doing it because we realise it makes us fitter, stronger and happier. For many of us, it is crucial to managing chronic illness, pain and depression. We can all imagine how much we would hate to be unable to swim, and so we can empathise with disabled people who are excluded from swimming so unfairly.
Let’s make 2023 the year that we fight to improve swimming access all around the country, for everyone.
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