Photographer Florence Chavin has been documenting the loose community of swimmers at Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, for the last three years. Here, she introduces a photo essay of the regulars. Titled ‘The Swimmers’, her project combines the divine light of the southern hemisphere with a sense not only of place but also of community and the individuals it is made of.
It’s 6.30am, it’s still dark but you can see a glimmer of light behind the port. As my best friend, also called Florence, and I get ready, we watch a handful of swimmers, wetsuits on, getting into the water. They’ll be swimming between 2 and 3 kilometres as usual. We make our way to the water’s edge. There’s a faint orange light appearing to our right hand side, the sun is slowly making its way up towards the horizon. We can’t see it when it comes up, it’s hidden behind a hill. We pause with our feet in the water, we’re contemplative and grateful, we dive in.
The feeling of the cold water over our heads is cleansing, we feel invigorated, a big smile on our faces. The sun must have broken through the horizon; I can see its vibrant golden reflection on the water’s surface. Some days we swim to the first buoy, some days we just float, taking in the beauty and the calm around us. Quite often I’m there with my camera, observing, recording. It’s become a long-term project and my friend Florence has become an integral part of it, as a contributor, subject, and assistant. It is an activity that has taken momentum since I started swimming myself, three years ago.
After our swim, there’s always one or two swimmers to talk with. There’s Jeff, everyone’s friend, a legend here because he swam one of the Oceans Seven swims between the two islands of New Zealand when he was 14! He swims every day, sometimes for up to five hours, with no wetsuit on. There’s Davy, another character who swims in all types of weather – nothing stops him. There’s a lovely gentleman who has a dip at the same time as us; we don’t know his name, we only say “hi” to each other from a distance every morning, have the occasional chat about the weather, but there’s an undeniable bond between us. There’s the 8am regulars, a large group of long distance wild swimmers. There’s the two ladies with their colourful swim bubbles [tow floats]. There’s also ‘The Mermaids’, a big social group of women (and a couple of men) who swim last, around 8.30am. And lots of other people in between.
After a while, you begin to recognise all the swimmers by their walk, their swimming cap or their swimming style – even from far away. While we enjoy a warming a cup of tea under our blanket, we watch them jump in, observe how they negotiate their exit when the waves are huge, and check how long they’ve been in the water. This is our morning routine. We wouldn’t miss a day of this, even when it’s zero degrees out, windy and raining. It is the most beautiful way to start the day.
There’s a faint orange light appearing to our right hand side, the sun is slowly making its way up towards the horizon. We can’t see it when it comes up; it’s hidden behind a hill. We pause with our feet in the water, we’re contemplative and grateful, we dive in.
After a while, you begin to recognise all the swimmers by their walk, their swimming cap or their swimming style – even from far away.
There’s a lovely gentleman who has a dip at the same time as us. We don’t know his name, we only say “hi” to each other from a distance every morning and have the occasional chat about the weather, but there’s an undeniable bond between us.