The calm before the storm

Friday 6th December

It’s dark. Dark in the morning, dark in the evening. If you’re unlucky, dark in the afternoon. When your mental clock tells you it’s around four thirty, time for the final cup of tea of the working day, you discover that it is fact only half past two.

People tell me that it’s not long until the shortest day on the 21st December. I take no comfort. Friends try and encourage me by saying things like, ‘it will start to get better after Christmas’. I am not encouraged. I switch on my sunshine lamp and swallow vitamin D.

Then along comes a morning that changes everything. Monday 2nd, the first Monday of December, the Monday between Bert and Darragh and the North Sea is so perfectly fabulous, I can barely remember what on earth I’ve been grumbling about.

The water is calm, polished pewter, a blue sky with lacy sirrus decorations. Morning sunshine bounces off the smooth surface, just a tiny frilly edge at beach side, enough only to tickle your calves as you enter the water.

It’s been a while, ten days between my last swim and this morning. This time of year requires making bold noises on entering the sea, anything to distract your body from the cold. This is what winter feels like.

The sea temperature is now below ten degrees. On Monday, it had dropped to around nine and a half. Something tells me that it’s probably not possible for your body to feel a half degree temperature change, but mentally, falling into single digits for the first time is significant.

Once in, the sea was cold and wonderful, a salve, a curative dip in a salt pool in an expensive spa. I didn’t stay in long, only a handful of minutes, enough time notice the cold water creeping up and around my neck and to twizzle around so that my face was pointing at the freshly-risen sun.

We’re in the water at just after eight am. Sunrise is currently at seven forty, more or less. The golden sun has only just dragged its face over the horizon. On Monday, it seemed to be celebrating the gloriously still water after all the storm wind churning. Golden rays radiated across the sea.

Every tiny little aspect of the morning made this sea swim feel special; the coldwater fix after so long in withdrawal, the fresh sun, the swim, but also, the lack of wind. It was a calm morning with only a soft breeze from the south west. Three hours after the first low tide made for a comfortable water depth in what felt like healthy saltwater.

The lack of wind meant that the beach wasn’t particularly cold. You wouldn’t want to hang around for a picnic but neither did you lose all contact with your hands and feet as soon as you started to change. There was pebble-dashed blond sand and clean seaweed between us on the shingle and the water.

The sheer loveliness was enough to carry the happy mood to Wednesday 4th. And there we were wallowing (briefly) in the water again. The sea had stayed at around nine and a half degrees, somewhat of a relief not having had a bullying wind to beat it colder.

The difference was that on Wednesday, the sun was hiding its face under a thick duvet of cottonwool cloud. We swam in a gentle blue light in a gentle grey-blue sea, a little more active at the edges but nothing to get tripped up on. Tide a little lower than Monday (weird how that keeps happening) gentle breeze still from the south-south-west and a happy bunch, duly dipped, very nearly back to their normal state.

Friday 6th’s prediction was that Darragh would have arrived. We anticipated strong winds from the south west, heavy rain, tide just past low, all of which would add up to rough water, kicked up by the weather, impossible to swim with a wind that made even watching uncomfortable.

Instead, it was as if we had discovered a secret calm before the storm. A pause while Darragh assaults the west and begins its march in our direction.

Friday morning was in fact perfect still water soaked by golden morning sun. Only a tiny wave at the beach, an un-trodden (because the forecast was so bad) wide sandy strip leading to pretty dry shingle. The water temperature (after a week’s mild weather) has risen to ten and a half. Balmy.

The gulls were darting back and forth not far from the beach. Dashing without pause, gathering supplies, hunkering before the storm arrives.

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