New name, new season, new beginnings

From quick restorative dips to lovely long swims

I have a new name! Or at least, this newsletter does.

When I created this Substack a couple of years ago I wanted some kind of play on the word ‘water’ so I chose Waterproof, but it no longer serves me. It sounds a bit endurance-y and that’s not what I want to communicate at all. The sea shapes me and I’m not tough or withstanding anything, so I started playing around with more evocative names (involving blue, ocean, surface, bubbles, etc.) but they were all a bit vague. This newsletter/journal is about my swimming, whether long or short, at this beach or that one, with different people in different seasons. Why not just say what it is, without the poetry and metaphors? Hence ‘Shona Swims’. I would have liked to call it ‘Shona’s swims’ but suddenly the S-es dominate and the apostrophe wouldn’t carry into the domain name (shonaswims.substack.com), which would give me sleepless nights.

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It’s now March – the beginning of autumn in the southern hemisphere – but the mornings are already chilly and it’s still dark at 6am, which is when the dogs and I tend to get up (we are co-sleeping, it’s great).

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It’s a Sunday and Barb’s text comes through at 6:45am as usual with a brief report on swim conditions: ‘Flat, not a ripple or white horse to be seen.’ Flat, really? The strong summer northerly has been incessant and I am tired of battling chop, searching for a rhythm that I never quite find. I drive to the beach, pull on my wetsuit, click on my towfloat buckle, adjust my goggles, hand Barb my car keys and we step into the sea.

The autumnal water creeps up the back of my wetsuit as I start swimming – but Barb was right, the surface is flat, and instead of trying to reach the first buoy (250m offshore) I set my sights further. Those first few hundred metres are always full of self-doubt: my body feels stiff; are my feet feeling cold?; I wonder if I’ll swim into a lion’s mane… But after a while I settle into the glide-and-pull, the saltwater streaming past me, the intermittent sun lighting up the surface and turning everything blue. Before I know it I’m at the 1km turning buoy, but on the journey back we face a southerly current that slows our progress. It’s a good exercise in patience because I know it’ll take a while and there’s nothing to be done but keep swimming. My mind is a jukebox and I select a song by Everclear: it’s upbeat but not too heavy, and its tempo delivers me back to shore. With a coffee and scone in hand, my muscles tired, my skin salty and fresh, I feel complete.

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It’s mid-afternoon, alone on a crowded beach close to home. On the sand, a group of boys play hip-hop music, kids paddle by the shore, dogs dash along the sand. I’ve stolen a few minutes for a dip and I drop my towel with purpose, striding bare-legged into the sea. Warm and cold patches greet me, a mixed bag from the recent southerlies. Ripples from a cruise ship exiting the harbour slosh past my waist. I dive under and the fresh water washes over my head. The water is green and empty. I straighten my arms out in front and feel like I’m flying.

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A warm, still and sunny Saturday. When a planned family outing turns pear-shaped in the morning – grumpy kids, frustrated parents – I decide instead to join the weekend dippers’ group. Besides, our planned trip was somewhere indoors and this weather feels too good to waste. At the cove it feels like a reunion of familiar faces. This group started almost three years ago and is still going strong, but people move and travel and have family commitments or other pulls on their time. But regardless of seasons or weather, a few will almost always convene on a Saturday.

It’s a wonderful hour of blue shining water, golden sand between our toes, warm sun on our faces, chatting and frolicking, and hot tea afterwards. Then the wind picks up, as it tends to do, and we are driven away, but I return home calmer, happier and recharged.

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Another calm-water Sunday. Driving around the coast towards the city, I see a few early swimmers gliding across the silver surface and feel excited that I’m about to join them. “Stay to the right of the buoys,” warns Barb, because there are a few small boats about. The air temperature has dropped to about 10 degrees, but the water isn’t too bad. There’s high cloud, a subdued pastel dawn, and the surface is flat as a mirror. I swim out to the 1km turning buoy with a person I don’t recognise – we may have met, but everyone tends to look much the same in pink cap and goggles, with their bodies mostly submerged. He’s a little faster than me but waits at each buoy, then we agree on the next destination. I find myself shivering a bit while getting changed by my car boot (my hooded towel is my changing room) and I’m grateful for my hot coffee and tomato and cheese toasted sandwich from the kiosk. “It’s definitely not about fashion,” someone laughs and we really do look like a raggle-taggle bunch next to the beach, clutching our coffees in hats and coats. I’m wearing a green beanie, large blue swim robe, jersey, trackpants, thick grey socks and blue imitation Crocs. Warmth comes first!

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We’re back at the pool for Wednesday night swim squad, which kicks off every March after a summertime focus on the sea. I’ve been a part of swim squad for 18 months now. The first time I went, I was gasping for breath within minutes and was about to quit, intimidated by the other swimmers. I persevered but initially it felt like a big effort to leave the house at 7pm, especially in the darker months. Now it’s a highlight of my week and I’m very grateful for it. I’ve made friends, we have fun, it’s a great burst of exercise, I can simply follow orders for an hour, and then I (confession time) treat myself to a burger afterwards because I’m hungry and I enjoy that too!

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A few weeks ago there was a good discussion in an ocean swimmers’ public Facebook group about swim events. Someone posted that they were disappointed they could ‘only’ (their word) manage 1km during a recent open water event when they could comfortably swim much further in the pool. People posted lots of good tips, especially about breathing slowly before a race/event, moving away from others, and starting with a gentle swim ahead of the start time to acclimatise.

All of this is relevant because I’m heading to Rotorua tomorrow for the Legend of the Lake swim. This is the first time I’ve travelled for a swim event and I’m staying in a cabin with friends right across the road from the lake. Lake Tikitapu (aka the Blue Lake) is beautiful, and bordered by a redwood forest. I paddled in it during my previous non-swimming life but have never swum there before, and my goal is just to have fun. I’m not competing against anyone, I just want to have a good time and enjoy some swims. Will report back!

(Pic via Rotoruanz.com. Isn’t it pretty?)

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I have finished my Master’s degree (Science in Society), although ‘graduation’ is still a couple of months away. It feels like the end of some things, but also the beginning of others. People keep asking if I’m relieved it’s over, but I’m not really because I loved doing it. I’ll now be putting my time and attention into ocean conservation work, including comms, volunteering, personal writing, and other things.

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In booky news, my lighthouse book Guiding Lights is being published as a paperback later this year, with a new cover. I really like it – the colours are more striking than the hardback version and I like the combination of the lighthouse silhouette, the woman, and the jagged coastline. This version feels more like ‘me’.

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What I’m reading/listening to:

A feature on seagrass meadows from BioGraphic magazine (worth clicking on even just for the stunning underwater shots).

Gilly McArthur on The Adventure Podcast. Gilly is a person I really admire, a cold-water swimmer and rock climber in the UK. This is a long interview about how her life and career path led to her cutting through ice for winter swims.