Janet Gogerty's Blog: Sandscript - Posts Tagged "sea-swimming"

'The Water's Lovely' is the title of the Ruth Rendell paperback I have been reading at our beach hut - you can read my review here on Goodreads. An appropriate title, though the story is about a drowning in the bath.
The only water some beach hut owners come into contact with is that which comes out of the stand pipe to fill their kettles. For myself and others one of the benefits of a beach hut is a handy changing room for sea swimming. My first swim of the year in May was at 11 degrees, yesterday the sea temperature had gone up to 16 degrees. It is not easy wading into the cold sea, but the thought of the beach hut shelter and kettle boiling for a hot drink helps boost morale.
So why do it? People go in The Solent all year round, much to the entertainment of onlookers and photographers. In wet suits they surf, body board, kite surf out to the horizon or power through the waves freestyle as if in practice for a channel crossing. Every Sunday morning at Boscombe Pier, from October to April, the Bournemouth Spartans, aged ten to ninety, extol the healthy virtues of winter sea swimming. At least they enjoy the benefit of warm showers; on other mornings on any stretch of the beach you may see a solitary bike propped up with a pile of clothes on the saddle and a towel on the handlebars. A swimmer will emerge for a quick salty rub down, then jump on his or her bike. I have seen an elderly, very arthritic man regularly hobble down to the water's edge with a human and dog companion and plunge in.
I don't possess any equipment except a swimming costume. I swim parallel to the shore, within my depth, east to the next groyne, pain turning to numbness. As I turn around, the warm glow has usually arrived and if the afternoon sun is shining in my face it is exhilarating; I know why I am doing it and the water is lovely.
Cold freshwater shower on the promenade, brisk walk up to the beach hut. If it is sunny I sit and soak up the warmth. If the sun has disappeared behind black clouds and a stiff breeze blown up, then I wrap up with plenty of layers and enjoy my coffee. Either way, it is time to scribble some more of my novel, I have usually planned another scene while in the sea.
It is a beach hut, not a beach house; a calor gas ring, enough room for folding chairs, cupboards, shelves and hooks. A tiny wooden shed; we own the wood, the council owns the square of concrete it sits on, but it is large enough for its purpose and affords a great view of the Isle of Wight and The Purbecks. For a taste of the seaside visit my website.

http://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk

Do you dare to bare? The innocent pleasures of swimming naked in the sea or allowing the sun to reach every pore of your body are not easily achieved, unless you own a private beach or know of a secluded cove. Hence the popularity or otherwise of nudist beaches.
Our nearest naturist beach is the delightfully natural Studland Beach on the Isle of Purbeck. Owned now by the National Trust it is wonderfully free of wooden breakers, sea walls and promenades. At Knoll Beach there are car parks, toilets and café, but leave these behind and there is just heathland petering out into dunes and white sand meeting the clear sea.
Perhaps the tradition of discarding clothes here grew up from the days when the beach was a secluded, remote part of a private estate. Now it is a favourite destination for the chattering classes, families and dog walkers. The walk from Shell Bay, where the chain ferry arrives from Sandbanks, along the shore to Knoll Beach and further, is a great way to enjoy fresh air, scenery and exercise. It is the middle section of this beach which is the naturist beach, a blue warning sign at either end, the only demarcation.
If you hope to see beautiful bodies, you will probably be disappointed, except perhaps on the hottest days. A couple of weeks ago we were at Knoll Beach car park on a chilly cloudy day and saw a revoltingly obese ‘older’ man attired in lime green swimming shorts. His wife (we assumed) was slapping sun cream on his back, I wondered that she would let him out in public uncovered! But she obviously did not intend to be seen in public with him. He marched off alone towards the beach. We could not help but follow him in our stroll along the shoreline. As soon as he stepped past the sign - 'Naturists may be seen beyond this point'- he bent over, whipped off his shorts and continued to stride out.
We have occasionally visited the naturist beach on a hot day and attempted to join in the fun, hiding in our little beach shelter, waiting for the beach to be clear of strolling clothed families with gawping teenagers, before making a dash into the gentle waves. The same procedure repeated to emerge from the sea. There is always the dread of seeing someone you know, clothed or unclothed; a friend took his family, persuaded them to undress, then looked up in horror to see his boss waddling stark naked towards them. ‘Oh no, it’s Big Madge’ he exclaimed, urging his family to retreat to the dunes.
But the regulars, the real naturists, are blasé as they greet friends from last summer. Their nut brown bodies are devoid of tell tale strips of white skin, they stand hands on hips, legs akimbo, chatting in as relaxed a manner as if they were by the water cooler at work.