Seven point one degrees. We did it. Later there is sun.
19th February 2024
Grey. All is a uniform grey as if overnight, someone has built a pale concrete dome that is big enough to give an impression of the sky. The rain has stopped but the new-cut ditches, square, invisibly deep, only straight edges, are full to the brim with water. The field run-off pours into them and it looks as if they could catch a car that makes an accidental swerve on the road.
In stretches, places where there has been no cutting, where the old grass-edge ditches are left to do the job, water still runs and washes the road. The sinister ditch thankfully remains undug, full to the brim with a touch of ice float and tufts, spikes and fringed edges, quiet enough to conceal what may be beneath.
Where the fields are not flooded, the grey light gives them an unworldly iridescent green. Green enough to give a highlight of hope to the grey.
There was a cormorant drying on the old rig when I arrived. I hadn’t seen one for months, the beach temperature was around eight degrees, the air almost seems too warm for them. He was stretched out to dry like Jesus on a rock and brought his own kind of fishy hope. There must still be fish if he dives to eat them.
The sea was deep and grey and running like the flood water. Running north with huge ripples that caught the light. There was sun, the Canadian pointed it out, blurred behind the clouds but strong enough for a moment to sprinkle silver on the grey running sea. When it runs north, the sea also pulls out and it’s easy to lose your feet.
Today, the sea was full of swimmers. Full for February, at least. It makes the cold and the pull less scary and when you lose your feet, you realise that someone else probably has too and there will be a hand to help you if you need it.
Mrs Professor Peru is in for a full five minutes, timed. I’m in after her but in my head, time stretches and I have been in for full five minutes too. One day.
The water temperature is seven point one degrees this morning. It’s a degree warmer than the sea that we have swum in this last month and, according to the predictions, it’s warmer than it will be any day now. Perhaps a spike from the mild weekend? One doesn’t want to think about any of this too closely.
Seven point one feels like properly cold water. When the tide is high, it appears more like a pool (albeit a grey running ripply one) and can be easier to get in, particularly when you’re part of a group. The temperature squeezes your chest and after not long at all, your limbs (in my case my arms) start to feel very cold indeed.
We look towards whatever vestigial sun there may be and soak up the grey light. Immediately upon getting out, swimmers without wetsuits are generally an array of shades of red and pink, like a set of fresh shrimps that have made their way, awkwardly out of the water.
We change into dry clothes as quickly as humanly possible. It’s clumsy. The cold disables your hands and the salt in the water makes everything feel sticky. The wind is from the west. Soft-ish 14mph with the occasional gust that chills immediately.
We did it. Later, there is sun.
