The call of the sea

New locations and adventures at home

I am standing ankle-deep in the water, my toes gripping tiny stones, facing out to sea as large waves throw themselves in my direction.

There’s a southerly swell warning and angry surf is being tossed around, pounding like a timpani drum as it hits the beach: BOOM… BOOM… Breakers splatter me up to my chest as they land. The cold, gritty water fizzes past my legs and it stings a little on my shins. Who needs exfoliants? I’m barely in the water but it’s already tricky to stand, with the current pushing me backwards as the swell rolls in. This is not a swim-out-to-sea day. Even in mild weather, this is not a swimmer’s coast: it faces south-east where the Pacific meets sharp, rocky land and it’s not welcoming, this site of old shipwrecks and fishing boat mishaps, but it sure is dramatic.

I’m partway through a 3-day hike over private farmland, called the Tora Coastal Walk. It’s not very intrepid; our luggage is transported and we are well-fed, with cosy accommodation. Still, there are more inclines than I’d anticipated and my legs ache, so the fresh water feels like a balm. The previous day we’d (mostly) enjoyed 15kms of walking/ambling which took us about six hours. The farmland was pretty, but what I was really there for were the coastal views and some kind of cold immersion, so my spirits lifted once the sea came into sight. For early May, we were very lucky with the weather: sunny, still days, about 15°C during the day and just above 0°C at night.

At the end of the first day we arrived at Stony Lodge, our accommodation shared with six other hikers. A cake was waiting, and a hot shower, and coffee, and then a little doze in the sun after admiring the view.

At sunset we headed over to the ‘beach’ to photograph the big waves, then I had my little immersion in the morning. The was definitely the highlight for me. I’m drawn to wild coasts and feel at home there.

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Walking into the wild water at Tora was a new experience, but I don’t need to leave town to try new things.

A growing number of people here in Wellington are doing early-morning harbour swims, before the sun comes up. I’d been meaning to give it a go for a while and had bought a couple of swim lights. Finally a swim buddy and I agreed on a meeting time so I was committed. The night before, I eliminated as many steps as possible: all gear was in the car and coffee was spooned into a thermos, so all I had to do when my alarm went off was get into togs, pull my wetsuit up to my waist, add hot water and milk to the thermos, and head off. Still, driving into town around the coast in the darkness at 6am, I questioned my life choices. Swimming offshore before dawn? Black water? Almost winter? What on earth was I doing? My mind started conjuring up the first scene from Jaws and I shut that down immediately. No, brain!

I got to the beach, opened my car boot and put on my wetsuit, gloves, socks, cap, goggles, tow float with a torch inside, and a dive light secured behind my goggles. What a faff. But the water was mirror-flat, and when we stepped into the inky sea it felt velvety, with the lights along the bay sliding across the water’s surface.

As we swam the sky grew lighter and we marvelled over how beautiful everything looked in the pre-dawn. Other swimmers’ pink and orange tow floats bobbed on the surface and flickered like Chinese lanterns. We swam 300m out to the first buoy (which handily has a flashing light on it), then around the fountain, then back. It was getting properly light by then and we needed to get back to our days. As we returned to the beach we passed about a dozen dippers. I felt uplifted for the rest of the day.

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Other swims are more contemplative and, as we edge towards winter in the southern hemisphere, I find myself going for more solo dips. I’m sticking with my ‘proper’ sea swims too, but it’s not possible to swim as far and we need to stay closer to shore so we can exit quickly if our body temperature is dropping. So, to balance out my neoprene-heavy or pool swims, at random times during the week I will simply pop my togs on, grab a towel and go for a little frolic alone. It’s a more sensory experience: salty water on my skin, surrounded by nature, listening to the sound of the water sloshing on the sand. No need to chat or worry about how long other people are staying in.

This is the time of shorter days, a weaker sun, muted greys and yellows and blues. Quiet beaches, a silver sea. Yesterday’s clouds were growing heavy with today’s rain.

Once I’m up to my waist I feel the uncomfortable ‘fanny freeze’ (I’ve also learned it’s called ‘Fantarctica’ too – I love that) and then I submerge up to my neck and cruise for a few minutes, feeling the water – and then I’m out and dressed in my mobile changing room, aka hooded towel.

Seriously, don’t you feel like just stepping into this? The call of the sea.