After Autumn Comes Summer

The walk through the redwoods is like a walk into autumn this morning.  The air is unseasonably cool, the breeze carries moisture and the promise of rain, not the heavy warm rain of summer but that bone chilling, all pervading mizzle of early October.

The river level has dropped a little overnight and the water has cleared a little too, but in the cloud filtered grey light of early morning the scene looks drear and unappealing.  There is no enjoyment in swimming to the shallows and back.  The only sense of achievement comes from the fact that after crashing into one of either of the two sunken rocks every swim for the last 4 weeks I have finally triangulated them and pass by without adding to the scrapes on my knees, but once around is enough.

Chilled and inadequately dressed I stomp back to the car for warmth.

The forecast for a continuous dull day is losing credibility by lunchtime, by when there is more blue sky than cloud and though the breeze has freshened the day has markedly warmed.  Secure then in the knowledge that this unexpected turn of events will ensure I have Scabbacombe Beach to myself I head off.

Others it seems had a different and more prescient forecast.  Nudists sizzle on the beach like sausages on a barbie and I can’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye that their interest has been piqued by the arrival of Gerald.  ‘Take no notice Gerald, they’re overcooked and won’t taste good’.  Gerald meanwhile has yacht envy.

Wild Swimming
Wild Swimming

The breeze has blown the sea flat calm and I head way out down the headland almost to the far point (there’s a big cave out there I have not visited in a while).  The sea is also clearer than expected and I take every opportunity to duck dive down amongst the layered kelp fronds. Meanwhile angry birds circle overhead trying to chase me from the vicinity of their nests, whilst an oyster catcher scolds me from the rocks.

Instead of turning back and heading directly into the breeze I cut right across the bay almost tot he opposite headland and then circle in to the beach in water that is now glass calm in the shelter of the rocks.  It is only later that I discover the camera has ****ed up again and has written to file only half the photos it says I took.

With that in mind and the forecast set for dull all weekend and anyway I have other commitments I am out the door of the office at 5 and heading back to Scabbacombe.  (I’ll drop back in to work on the way home to pack away the run on the machine as I can either sit and watch it do its thing or trust it.)

The beach is no less gorgeous and the sun drifting towards the hills behind has enriched the colours of the sea and shore.  And this time I am all by myself.  The route taken is exactly the same and the camera behaves (clearly the threat of violence has worked) for which I am grateful as right at the end of the swim I pass by 2 crystal jellyfish (Aequorea sp.)

I like these jellyfish especially as they are so translucent that if you are not careful and they turn against the light they can vanish in front of your eyes.   I’m told they are also bioluminescent so I’ll have to come back another time after dark, though it is already getting on as I half jog and half plod back up the steep hill.

All in all for a day that started out as autumn it has turned out to be a pretty good summer and I have even unintentionally managed to catch the sun a little across my back whilst swimming.

 

 

The Towel Two Step

Scabbacombe is unofficially a naturist beach, though what The National Trust who own it might think about that I’m not sure.

Wild Swimming
Wild Swimming

Now, if you want to go and take your clothes off and lie in the sun then fair enough Scabbacombe is quite discrete as beaches go.

The key word in that sentence is ‘discrete’.

This is a public beach, people take the kids there and whilst nudity is the natural state there is a subtle difference between ‘lie in the sun’ and ‘sprawl in the sun’.  And, discrete to display to flaunt to flashing is a continuum that means different things to different people under different circumstances.

I am however aware that I am to some degree in residence in a glass house here.  I cannot be doing with the towel two step let alone dry robes, adopting instead the ‘get changed, do it swiftly and discretely and don’t look at the person standing next to you’ method.

Now, if I stood and stared at one of the naturists I am fairly sure I’d get a slap.  Why then should one of them feel it appropriate to stare at me (wearing my swimming leggings, a sure indicator that I’m not one of the flashing community) and then come up to me to discuss the merits of waterproof cameras whilst hanging in the breeze?

By all means do your own thing, but please do it over there.

I have nothing against naturists.

And I would like to keep it that way.

But all that said, it is only for a few weeks in the year; September to May I have the place to myself.

Wild Swimming
Wild Swimming

A 6th Sense.

Either there are more seals or they are less shy than they once were.  Even back 10 years ago I considered it quite a moment to see a dark head silhouetted against the blue water, though usually only at a distance.

I have had some exciting close encounters too, both good and bad.

There was the time a drifted down the tide near Bell Rock and got within yards of what looked like a pup just shedding is baby fur where he was basking on a rock.  Another time I found a lobster pot buoy wedged high and dry on some rocks and having untangled it and the length of rope I towed it back to the beach with an inquisitive seal getting steadily closer and closer.  Then there is always the seal at Churston Cove who thinks it is fun to swim up and bump your feet, then surface a few feet away watching and waiting and as soon as you swim off again she bumps again.  The first couple of times it made me jump, now it is part and parcel and I know the feel of seal to be soft and yielding and a bit like wet chamois leather.

That has been good to know because there have been other times when something has bumped me and I am now able to tell; it’s soft and a bit slippery, it’s a seal.

Some of those encounters have however not gone so well.  In murky water a seal finds out what you are: food, something to be avoided, something to be chased away or something to get, ahem, more friendly with, by biting.  A seal’s head is actually not dissimilar to a dog’s only 4 times the size and several investigative bites have left me with nicks in my wetsuit or dribbling blood.  Some people get a bit worked up by that: seal’s bites are infectious, go and get antibiotics.  For me or the seal?  I have been around long enough, much of the time up to my elbows in it that any seal foolish to bite me probably will need antibiotics, but if it thinks I limping to the vet to help it out it can damn well think again.

All in all though I have been bitten frequently enough to have developed a 6th sense.  I had a feeling there would be one at St Mary’s Bay the other day and there it was, an inquisitive young one who got within 10 feet of where I was wading in the shallows, but I was going no further and sure enough a little further out an altogether larger, darker, more menacing profile rose and submerged.  A second young one bobbed up too.

Seals at Churson, Elberry, St Mary’s and even Newfoundland Cove are almost a case of more often than not.  Mansands, rarely, Long Sands once, Scabbacombe once or twice.

Today it’s a little after low tide, the sand has been stripped from the foreshore leaving the water full of sand and silt and I just know that somewhere out there today, waiting …. I can feel it, just like you know, though it may only have happened a few times in your life, you know when you wake up that there has been snow overnight.  It is as if you can hear that anechoic silence.  Somewhere out there in that flat calm sea, I can feel it.

I wade out scanning the water. Nothing. I swim out to clearer water.  The gulls are nesting on the cliff and start yammering away at me.  One of them swoops down harrying me, skimming the water just a few feet away then rising up at the end of the pass, making a loop and then back it comes.  This is a regular springtime game here and will be kept up until I turn away from the cliff.  Another gull passes higher overhead and tries a more direct approach pattern bombing the water to my right, its aim is rubbish, fortunately.

I have crossed the bay and swum back to the beach and reached the shallows where I can stand.  Scanning along the surf line and I see there, not 20m away, is a dark head.  It ducks down looking guilty and resurfaces, the water can be no more than waist deep.  We stare at each other and again the seal ducks down only to be forced back up immediately by the next wave.  Then with a casual turn that says ‘I was leaving anyway’ it slides under the water again and vanishes.

And this is how things should be, he keeps his distance over there and I’m not bleeding.

Wild Swimming Map: Devon & Cornwall