Swimming in the Irish Sea, mid-January

Photo by Conor Luddy on Unsplash

The Forty Foot, January 12^th 2020

The weather has been pretty amazing so far in 2020. A stormy Saturday brought rain of the kind I hadn’t seen in a few months, but today was calm as we eagerly anticipate Storm Brendan roaring in on Monday morning.

And what a calm it was.

A perfect day for a sea swim? Well, it’s still January. But as something I’d been wanting to do since before Christmas, I decided I’d give it a go early enough on in the year that I might keep it up for the rest of it. Maybe my tolerance for the cold would increase with the passing of time, so by summer I’d be the same temperature as the water and completely immune to its harsh frigidity, or something like that.

Sure anyway,

This wasn’t my first time swimming at the ol’ swimmin’ hole at the Forty Foot, but it was my first time going in the middle of winter. And the skies have been so blue, decorated with flushes of pink and glorious bursts of orange sunlight in the 3pm evenings, you’d nearly refer to it as the ‘height’ of winter rather than the usual ‘depths’.

This too shall pass, I suppose.

Sunday morning, and the car parking situation around the Forty Foot was one the parish priest would probably be jealous of, and with no need to shelter from rain today attendances were probably low. Absenteeism is probably high in both professional and religious worlds at this time of year, with people having overdosed at Christmas on mass and Celebrations.

A quick plunge in the Irish Sea would shake off those cobwebs. Back to work tomorrow. Back to mass next week.

This is the new mass. The congregation was huge, with well over a hundred swimmers quickly getting dressed and getting in and getting out – everything done in a chilly hurry – between the Forty Foot and the adjacent Sandycove beach, both areas submerged by a high tide, muscular waves swallowing the steps and entry points at the former, a calmer and more inviting looking scene around the corner at Sandycove.

Kids wrapped up in their new winter jackets and carefully pacing along the rocks and worn concrete walls, waiting indifferently as their parents frolicked in the water. Roles reversed from a summertime scene where the parents would have to be dragging the kids out before they get pneumonia.

There’s a mobile sauna there now that looks like an old Travellers’ caravan. We asked the lad dressed like a dryrobe™ salesman if we could go in for ‘a look’.

“Yeah, sure! Just log onto the app, enter your details, select a time slot…”

Jesus. I don’t have the patience for that.

“The next slot’s at twenty past two.”

Yeah… not waiting for three hours either I’m afraid.

“Might see you next time so”.

Nobody was hanging around. Land down, crack a joke, drop the bag, wrap the towel, change the shorts. Do the ‘cold weather’ jog down with stiffened shoulders and slightly flailing forearms, as you leap from one foot to the next down the ramp before taking your place at the steps, or the big raised rock. (Divers only, no-one cannonballs).

More jokes.

‘Tis cauld.

At this stage my attention was flickering between the sky and the sea; there’s intermittent appreciation for how this could be the most beautiful January day I’ve ever seen in Ireland, and a dread of what’s about to possibly be the coldest sea I’ve ever been in.

Context is everything.

I took one step down.

The water was cold.

Most people would tell you that before you get in, but they’re the ones who haven’t done it before and so don’t actually know anything about how cold it is.

My feet disappeared first, shortly after I got in but not before I’d slowly edged down the steps and through the little door in the wall. Submerging was quite straightforward when the steps disappeared out from under me. Even dunking the head wasn’t too bad.

Until it was. I took a dozen quick strokes out before dunking the head again and turning onto my back, as if that would somehow alleviate the cold. Pain started penetrating my chest, following my feet which I’d forgotten about at this stage (they’re still a bit cold). Instead of ‘getting used to it’, my body temperature took a sharp drop at this point. That’s enough for now. We swam around to the ramp and rail and clambered out – but not too quickly. As much as I was adamant I needed to get out of the freezing water I kind of wanted to savour it. I’d only been in a minute, max.

I don’t regret getting out ‘too soon’ because I’d already decided I’d be back again another time.

The pain subsided, I did the stiff-shouldered hoppy-jog back to my bag and quickly grabbed the towel.

I’ve been playing with having cold showers lately as a morning wake-me-up, and for their supposed benefits for your physical and mental health. A good cold shower snaps you into the present, or so they say.

It does and it doesn’t. Either way, I find myself spontaneously turning the shower cold for a bit most mornings, without really planning to or knowing why. I presume my body knows better than my mind.

The sea, now, on the other hand.

“It’s not too bad now, actually,” I said to John.

I still couldn’t feel my feet.

There’d be some amount of shite-talking done down here I’d say.

“Speak for yourself, Gav,” John fired back at me, before spontaneously deciding a minute later to go back in for a second go at it. I presume his body knew better than his mind.

I was already dressed.

And already planning my next trip down (just not today).

My mind’s catching up.

Nearly looking forward to the storm now.

 

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