Still shivering from last Wednesday's foolhardy dip
22nd November 2024
I won’t swim again this week. Not because of the awfulness of the current temperature (although that’s reason enough), but because I’m off on a birthday adventure to the not-so-far north.
The very top of Norfolk, our sister county, to peer north into the North Sea, rather than east for once, and hopefully see some seals. Who knows? Driving rain and storm Bert could potentially cloud the view.
Last year, this point in November was calm and beautiful. Also cold. What strikes me is the seasonal similarity.
The sea water was like polished pewter
20th November 2023
The sky was wearing November. Layers of soft violet with golden highlights at the horizon and silver breaks in the cloud, giving momentary glimpses of the distant space above.
The wedge-shaped line of horizon gold was bright enough for us to see through it to the rows of distant windmills, like straight and uniform forests of tiny leafless trees a hundred miles away.
The layer of rumpled chiffon cloud was high, creating a stadium for a huge seascape, with the sea on stage decorated by the occasional low-flying gull, a momentary non-speaking extra in the show.
The tide was low, an hour and a half before what would be the very lowest point. The sea water was like polished pewter, so shiny it looked as if had been glossed.
The Canadian waited for me and we waded in, knee height and knee height and knee height on soft undulating sand while being knocked by small playful waves with frilly edges.
Eventually, we were wading at waist height, still working our slow way over soft bumpy sand until the bottom began to rise and we reached the sandbank and stood alongside Rupert’s Mum, the Boatbuilder and Puck.
There was morning chat and considerable consideration of the much larger waves and deeper sea that makes up the seascape beyond the sandbank. In summer, we’ll jump off the sand and swim there, it’s deeper, often livelier. It can be more exciting.
Not this morning. Winter in the North Sea is not a time for bold exploring. The water temperature wasn’t terrible — eleven and a half degrees — but the breeze, gentle from the south west, was a significant breeze nonetheless, nine mph with gusts, enough to push the flag straight out, enough to cool damp shoulders, which in a low tide are always exposed above the water.
On the way back to shore (not long after we’d arrived on the sandbank), I did bad body surfing on the small frilly waves, to save the slog over uneven sand, and by putting my body lower in the water, reduce much of the shoulder wind-chill.
I crawled out on my hands and knees, choice rather than accident, sometimes, it’s easier to pre-empt falling over. Opt for minor embarrassment over major embarrassment.
We are lucky. It is beautiful. The weather on this particular Monday morning is cool but kind. The Boatbuilder reminds me that it is November.
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