bimble (plural bimbles)
After a summer being dogged by flu, a chest infection, a stomach bug and more, my outdoor season of swim training hasn't gone exactly to plan. Before I knew it, the end of August came, and I remembered that Gee, Cath, from my swimming club, and I, had booked a weekend break with SwimTrek, swimming down the River Wye in Herefordshire.
The other SwimTrek 'river' break I had been on was a few years ago – a day swimming down the Thames. I had loved the gentle meandering down the river, following the wide sweeping curves of the water, watching the cows chewing grass on the reedy banks as I swam along pretending I was taking the racing curve. I was really looking forward to what the River Wye was going to offer.
Cath drove us from London to our rendezvous point - a hotel in Kerne Bridge a few miles from Ross on Wye. We missed most of the introductions to the other swimmers, arriving a little late, but soon settled in to chatting with our fellow swimtrekkers: about 8 women, and 3 men. Andy, our guide, took us through what was going to happen the following day, and did the mandatory briefing on the possible hazards of Weil's disease, which put us all in the mood for a hearty meal, after which we went down to the restaurant to tuck in to our pre swim dinner and an earlyish night...
Saturday
Swimsuits on under clothes and wetsuits (for some) stuffed into backpacks, we hop on a bus to take us from Kerne Bridge to our start point in Ross on Wye. We get off the bus and crocodile through the town of Ross on Wye to arrive at the river. Many canoes and canoeists are launching on to the water, they look rather curiously at us disrobing and donning goggles and hats. We start to prepare to get in, meeting our kayak support for the weekend – who report that the river is 'fresh'. We've got three boats - Canandian canoes - two green and one red - as our safety escort. We are told that the red boat will always lead - that we must always follow the red boat - that it will steer the best course, the fastest course, through the river and watch out for other boat traffic and swans and so on. I realise that it is only me and one other woman that are not wearing wetsuits. I'm sure it's not that cold, Andy our guide has told us that it's about 18. 8 C, which would be warm so I'm happy not to wear one.
I've been told that I'm swimming in the fastest group, which seems wrong to me, but Andy tells me that 'everything is relative' so despite my concerns of being too slow for a fast group, I accept my pink hat and wait for my turn to start. Andy sends the slower 'scenic' blue hats off first, six or so of them, variously breaststroking and front crawling off down the river. Next go the orange hats, all front crawlers, and then it's the pinks turn to get in - the remaining four of us. For the first twenty strokes I keep up with the rest, and then I'm left for dust as I get all anxious and panicky about being left behind. Oh bugger... didn't I know this was going to happen. I feel prickles of panic in my thighs but I can't sprint - I'm just not warmed up. I will just have to take it at my pace and wait till it's time to regroup. Gee and Ben ( in the backmarking canoe) are drifting down the river smiling at me, keeping me company as I just swim along feeling humiliated. This is supposed to be a holiday not ritual humiliation! After fifteen minutes or so the front red canoe turns 90 degrees signalling that the front most swimmers should stop and wait for everyone to catch up. We all do, with me being the last to arrive at the muster point beside the red canoe. Despite the fact that I'd quite like a rest and a chat, I just swim past the group and keep going - I know that this is what I should do. I don't want to get left behind this time.
After a while I am warmed up, I settle down and the prickles go from my thighs, I relax and feel more at ease. I begin to be able to enjoy the swim, watching the world go by, keeping an eye on the red canoe.
The River Wye flows really fast here – about 2 knots, our guide Andy has told us – and is really shallow in parts, maybe only a foot or so deep. In the water there are huge patches of long, long bright green weed - each clump many feet long. The weeds roots are attached to the river bed, but the fronds are stretched out lengthwise along the river bed - being dragged horizontal in the direction of the water's flow. Like long long green hair being blown in the wind - long strands of crazy green rapunzel hair billowing along. As I swim I try to avoid getting my arms entangled in bunches of crazy green hair. Sometimes it's so thick it's impossible not to get ensnared, we're swimming through so much of it at points it's like swimming in a just weeds with a tiny bit of water, and it's a struggle to find somewhere to place your arms to get a stroke. Every now and then there's relief from the weeds and I can swim unencumbered, and stretch out not having to deliberately place my arms.
Even though the water is thick with weeds, we are all still flying along. Sometimes I'm moving so fast that my legs are being whipped by the weeds as I swim over the top of them. My thighs start to sting with the abrasions. It's not unpleasant, just surreal. I feel amazing - like Michael Phelps! The fact that you can see the river bed at such close quarters, and the weeds, gives you a sense of just how fast you are moving through the water - and man I am motoring! The river is quite wide at this point, and every now and then I catch a glimpse of a great gnarly tree on the river bank. I could be looking at more at the view but to be honest watching the crazy green hair in the water whizz by is mesmerising. We swim under a great iron pedestrian bridge - waving at the onlookers above as we go by. Wheeeee.
It's a long swim this morning for some, even I'm getting a little tired, but after 1 hour and 40 mins we reach a little beach on the river bank where we stop for lunch. Everyone is in great spirits, and work hard to get warmed up, the canoeists dole out tea and rolls and cakes. We lie on the grassy bank and chat and laugh, and soon enough it's time to get back in, just as the sun comes out.
Our afternoon swim is much shorter. Andy has told us that in his opinion it's a prettier swim. It doesn't disappoint. During the afternoon swim the sun has come out, making the long green weeds almost an acid green in the sunlight, and turning the water a golden colour. At the same time the river narrows, the banks close in, and the vegetation on the bank gets thicker. We swim past a weeping willow, then a forest of tall straight trees on the right, next glimpsing the red sandstone of Goodrich Castle up on a hill in the distance to our right. I smell freshly cut grass (I think) and hear a noise that I think is a motor boat - which is odd because there is no motorised traffic on this river. I spot the source of the noise - and the smell - a tractor with a hedge trimmer on it working on tidying the hedgerows. I'm swimming along enjoying the smell - small things like this add to the enjoyment tremendously as it's rare to smell anything when you are swimming. No sooner than I spot the hedge trimmer when I see the red canoe ahead move into the bank and I realise that our day's swimming is over. Too soon, too soon. We get out of the river, pick through some mud and nettles in a field in our wetsuits and cossies and towels, and nip on to Kerne Bridge and within five minutes are back at our hotel. We've swum from Ross on Wye to Kerne Bridge in about two and a half hours - about 8km. A beautiful day.
Sunday
(To be continued...)