I have jogged down the coast path to the edge of the sea where the path turns inland again. However though it is all but grown over there is a side path to the edge of the foreshore which then turns into a narrow sandy ledge above a steep drop that doubles as a path down to the patch of green lawn that nestles on top of rocks below. There are now several ways down to the sea, but my favourite is a traverse down a thin lip that takes a 45degree angle down a slab of smooth, nearly vertical rock to a level space at the high tide mark. From here there is a finger of deep water that leads to the open sea, but which is sheltered from nearly all directions except on the biggest tides and in the roughest weather.
The trend for prefixing the term ‘wild’ to an activity as in ‘wild swimming’, ‘wild camping’ etc. grates my nerves. I blame Richard Mabey. The latest is apparently ‘wild running’. ‘Wild’ has now been so overused as to have become almost meaningless. Which of course it isn’t, it does have its place; though I do wonder if I have been fished in.
To my mind if you are interested in ‘wild’ swimming as distinct from outdoor swimming then with that comes a different set of objectives:
Do swim alone,
Do swim with the minimum clutter,
Be responsible for yourself,
Leave the environment a better place than when you arrived,
This of course flies in the face of most advice given when someone asks what they need to go wild swimming. Except the don’t die bit, I think we can all agree that is reasonable advice no matter what. However, I fail to see how swimming in a big group and taking so much stuff with you that you need a wheelbarrow to move it all about can possibly be considered ‘wild’ (or any safer, but that’s for another day).
You don’t have to go to the ends of the Earth, ‘wild’ is a moving target. Where I was swimming (by myself) this morning, the river was flat calm and all I could hear was birds (and far away someone yelling after their dog which had probably gone after the squirrel I saw earlier). I had a gentle encounter with a selection of ducks and ducklings, a dipper and 2 kingfishers. However, if I go back after work the place will be awash with people swimming, jumping from the rocks, on the rope swing, there will certainly be dogs chasing about, the river will be churned up and somehow I think the wildness will have gone. And so to will the ducks, dipper and kingfishers.
Wild is I accept a subjective term in relation to each person’s comfort zone. I am quite happy to wander through a field amongst a herd of cows whereas the London Underground nowadays gives me the screaming heebie jeebies.
The swimming wilderness is however fast disappearing and the amount of ‘wild’ has more than halved in 5 years. Places I used to go fairly sure there would be no-one else about are now almost invariably ‘taken’ when I arrive. Over the course of maybe 5 years and 50 swims at Abbot’s Mede I have met just 4 other people: 3 fishing, 1 walking. Last week there were 2 other swimmers.
The inevitable upshot is an impulse to go further. It can bring benefits, but it can also mean being at places where even a minor incident would soon turn major. Maybe then the only worthwhile safety advice is ‘have fun and don’t die’.