Kent Falls, Connecticut 2010

One of my earliest childgood memories is learning to swim in the sea when we lived in Troon (Scotland, famous for its golf course). It was always sunny, there would be hot bovril in a flask and a rough towel to get dry. I can still taste the salt, feel the wind biting and hear the seagulls screeching overhead. Being in or near water has been a theme that continues to run through my adult life. Over the years I’ve swum offshore around the British Isles, in lakes, rivers, “the ocean”, tarns and even a friend’s pond!

There is nothing that compare to the thrill of stepping into cold, untamed water, minnows tickling your ankles (the river Severn), Dolphins swimming by (North Wales), the gasp as you reach waist height and duck under the wild waves (Saltburn by the Sea) or  being caught out by ramblers (skinny dipping in a tarn, Cumbria).

It doesn’t surprise me that more people are discovering the thrill of swimming outdoors, but what has pulled me up short is the growing number of people who seem oblivious to the visceral joy of swimming outdoors, the spontaneity, the thrill and sense of adventure as you plunge into open water and instead want to recreate the organised lane swims typical of your local indoor pool, to constrain, tame and formalise the outdoor swimming experience.

Books like Wild Swim and  Wild Swimming have inspired readers to go out and explore Britain’s moving waters and I’m all for that, but  more recently I’ve noticed the growth in “Open water” swimming and a growing consensus that swimming in untamed water is dangerous, foolhardy and to be avoided at all costs. Instead people are joining wild swimming, or open water clubs. Lakes have organised themselves  to meet a growing demand (mainly from tri athlon competitiors looking for somewhere to train I think) and I am regarded as irresponsible for even thinking of swimming out doors without a wetsuit.  It seems to me that in our risk averse society, we are trying to tame our wild waters, to constrain and make them conform to our needs. You won’t find me down at Salford Quay on a Saturday morning, or filling out a form like this to get my open water kicks.

Yes, outdoor swimming has risks (every outdoor pursuit does), and yes in certain circumstances I would wear a wetsuit and I would never swim alone in  unfamiliar water. But, so long as you take sensible precautions, there is nothing that can compare to the sudden rush to the head when you dive into moving water.

Humans have swum in wild water for generations, favourite places, secret coves and deep pools along river banks are well known in most communities. Thanks to the internet, these quiet places with their own unspoken rules (as kids we knew that no-one went on the rope swing in the middle of the river before they went to “big school” – that’s where the current was strongest, you needed muscle and your wits about you to avoid being swept to the opposite bank) are being accessed by outsiders with a desire to experience the thrill of cold, wet skin. Armed with guide books and web links to those special places they feel more confident to swim where they might not have swum before and to experience the freedom that you simply don’t get in a chlorinated, lane swimming environment of the municipal pool.

I don’t resent sharing my outdoor space with anyone who wants to experience this, what I do object to is the organised trip, the indemnity forms, the gangs of noisy adventurers out to tick off a full moon swim in a tarn from their “Things to do before you’re fifty” list, complaining at the lack of changing facilities and access to a car park.

I worry that we’ll end up with a situation like the town beaches we swam in in Connecticut, roped off areas on huge lakes, with changing cubicles, refreshment kiosks and a life guard who would tut tut if you dared to swim outside the designated areas (maybe it’s already here?). Life is an adventure, it should be a physical and mental challenge, it should be about joy, laughter and risk. I’m glad my daughter has swum in Britain’s rivers and and lakes, that she knows how to spot a sloping bank with easy access, when to avoid the fast moving currents and not swim near a weir. I’m glad she’s lost her footing, knocked sideways by a huge wave in the North sea and emerged exhilerated and ready for more of the same,  snorkled in Spain, gasping at the colourful fish beneath the surface, suddenly aware of the sea urchins and jelly fish lurking beneath her feet.

I’ll never forget my first skinny dip, late at night with a full moon and a group of friends egging each other on the swim out to the rocks, trying to dry ourselves off with a t shirt, struggling to get our wet feet back into tennis shoes. My treasured memories of spotting a kingfisher, seeing a trout in all it’s rainbow scaled splendour, waving to ramblers in the banks of the river Dart, coming accross a group of teenagers wallowing in the muddy banks of the river Cocker  have been a reult of a life lived to the full and I hope future generations can do that too, without the safety net of a guide book or club membership, but with family and friends armed with the gift  of practical experience and passion for the outdoor life that  I have been lucky enough to have had passsed on to me.