#girls can do anything
We’ve only been wild swimming for the past year or so, mainly in Cornish quarries, Alpine lakes and once in the blue Danube, but this was by far the coldest water I’ve swum in.
After a night spent camping in the Welsh forest, sheltering under a tarpaulin from the deluge of rain, we hiked most of the way up Mount Snowdon on a typically blustery Autumn day.
We’d hiked through the Pyrenees, driven the length of the Alps, travelled across the Carpathians and explored the Accursed Mountains, but never did we realise the beauty of the mountains which lay on our very own doorstep.Snowdon was every bit as wild, every bit as barren and every bit as breathtaking as the mountains we’d explored so far, although perhaps its beauty simply struck us so poignantly because it had been so long since we’d seen a landscape this untouched.
Feet hot and aching post-hike, and feeling a little less than fresh three days into our camping trip, we pulled the car over next to Llyn Dinas on a whim. After a brief walk around its shore to a spot that looked suitably clear and shallow enough to climb into, I stripped off and put on my bathing suit, then eased myself into the water. It was instantly, numbingly cold, probably no more than 10°C, taking my breath away and the feeling from my toes, but I pushed myself to lower my shoulders and swim a few armlengths out into the water.
The water was invigorating, crystal clear, Autumn-hued leaves adding little splashes of colour to the glassy surface and that view- ! Luscious forested banks framing rugged peaks toward which the water stretched infinitely- this is what I focused on as I swam a few short lengths trying to warm up, and eventually my body adjusted to the temperature and I was blissfully floating.
Nothing could compare to this feeling; cold wild water, empty open space. Warm chlorinated pools could never recreate the exhilaration and freedom that swimming in wild water provides. The cold shock was said to improve your circulation and do wonders for mental health, and floating here, fully immersed, I could see why that would be true.
Wild swimming had been at the top of my agenda for our trip to Wales, and I sat in the car shivering afterward, wrapped in as many layers as I had packed, feeling truly accomplished in myself for having gone in.
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I wash everything by hand in our van- underwear, tops, cardigans, you name it, using whatever river or lake water is available nearby. We take a trip to the laundrette once every two months for our bedding and that’s it. It saves money, but I also enjoy doing it in some weird, old-fashioned way.
Maybe because it reminds me of when I was younger. We were always moving between houses, hauling all of our stuff in this big old yellow Mercedes truck to and fro across two countries. I got used to washing my clothes by hand in the sink of whatever house we were in that month, always a different bedroom or kitchen to get used to.
Maybe that lack of permanence in my formative years is what drove me to eventually get a van. Those memories of brushing my teeth in a lay-by or sleeping in the footwell of our truck seemed like hard done-by times back then, but I look back on them now with a sort of fondness and nostalgia at my unusual childhood.
There are many hundreds of little reasons that made me want to travel; moments that seemed innocuous at the time now resonate with a deeper meaning and inspire me to push on further. Movement is in my soul; it makes my spirit restless to sit still.
Often challenges can be the most defining points of our lives, whether we realise it at the time or only once they have been overcome. Maybe one day we’ll look back at these times we’re living now, cast a fresh gaze upon old memories, and I wonder which of those will stand out, and which will fade away.
