Last weekend a group of swimming friends drove down to Pembrokeshire to visit our friends Sarah and Simon, for Simon's 40th birthday party. The weekend involved a lot of alcohol, a swimming pool shaped cake, some horse riding, coasteering, a karaoke machine, toasted marshmallows and the obligatory Sunday morning swim.
Part of the reason Simon and Sarah moved to Wales was to be near the coast. And how nice to be so near the sea. Saturday was grey, wet and brooding. And windy. Windy enough to force the outdoor centre which was running sea kayaking I'd been planning to cancel. Frustrating. White horses were everywhere though.
Sunday however, was lovely. Fresh and calm and almost bright. Hangovers abounded. I woke up having spent the night throwing up - some bug I contracted at work. Feeling weak and nauseous, I couldn't face breakfast. A swim, however, that was another matter...
A few people went to reccie where we might find the sea. Despite being on the coast, the tide was way out and it was hard to find the sea. We had to find a way to get to the water without having to wade half a mile in knee deep water before being able to swim. In the end we chose a 'cockle picker' route, walking for a few minutes along an inlet where the river met the sea, then ceremoniously casting off clothes and shoes and walking in a mad crocodile procession of cossies and bare feet, hat and goggles, with only towels to keep us warm, in the start of winter, across the mud and sand in search of the water... It was some sort of crazy pilgrimage.
Solva, with the tide right out, the sea must be out there somewhere...
Getting into the water was exhilarating and seemed a little crazy en masse. The previous week I'd been swimming in Parliament Hill lido with the water a harsh 5C. This was more like 9 or 10. The sea cools down so much more slowly than lakes or lidos. It was like recapturing the summer, eking it out just a little longer.
Out past a big rock, between a big (rugged) rock, sneaking in the gap between it and a little one, the faster swimmers forged the route and the slower swimmers followed. Everyone processed around the rock, behind it out of sight of the few people on the beach, to emerge a few minutes later back in sight.
Three small figures watched from the clifftops. They surely must have been baffled by the sight of 15 scantily clad swimmers seeming to play a carefree game of tag in the sea at the end of November.
OK OK....Poetic license is one thing, blatant lies are another..you see, it was such a nice tale, and then the author(ess) says "I woke up having spent the night throwing up - some bug I contracted at work" come on Sal, after a night of throwing beer down your neck do you expect us to believe it was a bug you caught at work!!! self inflicted alcohol fun does not fit into that category! best wishes Mark
Posted by: Mark Robson | December 03, 2007 at 01:51 PM