A bob at Bantham

Catherine and I set off across the great bulge of sand at Bantham, buffetted constantly by the wind, towards the pink boathouse -  the start of our float down the River Avon to the sea.  The sand blew in gusts and Jessie, Catherine's black labrador, ran hither and thither, whipped up by the elements.  The river was a not-very-attractive shade of brown.   But we got in,  and were soon swept along by the outgoing current, in what we affectionately call "the Bantham Whoosh".   However the wind soon started to affect the whoosh factor: it was whistling up the river and we were caught in the cross-fire of wind and current; our faces were whipped by the water and our progress towards the sea slowed.

Return to the Hindu Temples

I'd been longing to go back to the Hindu Temples, a spectacular set of sea caves in between Torquay and Paignton, having not swum there for several months. Once you've been, they haunt you and call you back.  They were given their exotic name by the author Charles Kingsley who was captivated by their strange beauty one winter when he and his wife stayed in the Bay. We arrived to find a glorious blue sea, sparkling in the winter sun.  The water was almost turquoise against the great orange slabs of rock, studded with pearly barnacles,that overhung us. As we swam into the caves the water groaned and gurgled, and the light danced on the walls. We swam out of the first set and then climbed into the next, where we walked around before descending into a lower, water filled section, from where we swam out.   As we returned to the first cave someone said "What's that?"   I glanced over and dismissively replied "Oh, just a rock".  Then the rock moved.  "Aaaarggh!  It's a seal!"   Stuff the sightseeing, it was time to head for the shore.
Here's a video of our adventure (NOT featuring the seal).

Wild at Wadham

 Wadham Beach is a remote cove between Noss Mayo and Mothecombe that is popular with naturists in the summer.  No sign of them today though; it was grey and wet, but actually as we started our descent down an alarmingly steep hill to the beach, the skies brightened up and became positively dynamic.  Down through a tunnel through a hedge and we slipped down a muddy path and onto the beach, which has the most beautiful, bold striped rocks and is bristling with rock pools and channels.  We undressed under the cliff and then ran into the grey sea, where we bounced around in the swell.  The silhouette of a cormorant, opening its wings against a shiny steel sky, brought to mind an ancient coat of arms.

Scaring the fishermen (but not the fishes)

My brother Matt was down, so we decided to go fishing at Hope's Nose - an exposed finger of land sticking out to sea in Torquay.  I was excited, not just because I love fishing with him, because he's so expert, but also because I've always longed to swim there but have never done so.  We'd done a recce the day before, when the sea had been crystal clear on the sheltered side of the point, but overnight there had been rain and gales and so the water had clouded.  No matter,  it was gloriously sunny and we set to and were soon catching whiting and pollack, as well as a dogfish.  There were about 20 chaps fishing - no women at all - and Matthew wasn't too keen on the idea of me going swimming as he viewed it as potentially the latest incident in a lifetime of me embarrassing him. However I was determined to go in and set off to a discreet spot away from the fishermen, taking my 13 year old son along for protection.  It's a particularly intriguing spot for swimming as there is a spectacular rocky pavement with pink splodges and white streaks, with many inlets and little natural swimming pools which fill up at high tide.  I found some convenient natural steps to walk down into the sea, from where I launched off and swam around some of the barnacle-pocked intricacies of the shoreline. Matthew needn't have worried; none of the fishermen took a blind bit of notice, being far more interested in what they were doing than in some strange woman taking a dip.

A magical mystery dip

I was on a mission to find a secret pool in the middle of Dartmoor that I'd read about.  I set off, OS map in hand, and headed out in what I thought was the right direction.   However the path soon petered out and I started to feel rather lonely, without a human soul for miles and only sheep for company.  I kept looking at the map and just couldn't work out where the track was that I was supposed to be following. (Later I learnt that I'd  made a fatal error right at the start).
  I could see Bala, Red and Middle Brooks in the distance and so decided to go and explore them instead.  After only a minor mishap when I got stuck in a quagmire - quite alarming when you're on your own actually -  I found an enchanting pool at Red Brook with crystal clear water and waterfalls; a kind of bower with moss and ferns where piskies might live.  I was rather hot by this stage, having clambered over tussocks, sunk into muddy patches and forged various streams, and so stripped off and plunged in, no doubt terrifying any piskies who happened to be around.   Afterwards I feasted on mince pies as the stream chattered away.

Festive dipping

We have been at home in Devon this Christmas so it's been wonderful to  swim on both Christmas and Boxing Days.  On Christmas Day Yaara, Rachel, Steph, Judy, Angie and I did a sort of "Santa Dash" to the Dart at Spitchwick; we have it down to a fine art now.  It goes something like this:  put costume on, with robie or dressing gown on top.  Put on coat and hat for warmth, and wear neoprene boots on feet.  Get in car.  Arrive at river, strip off outer layers, get in river, swim. Get out, fling robie/dressing gown on, put on coat and hat and run back to the car.  The perfect way to start Christmas and still be back in time to get the turkey in.  The only slight issue was the rain and hail which decided to fall with a vengeance as we started swimming - but, as Yaara observed,  the hail stones were actually very beautiful on the water as it was so cold they didn't melt straight away.   Then today, Boxing Day, it was totally different. Blue skies and bright sun, and we went down to Mothecombe to walk to Bugle Hole.   I love swimming here - it's a keyhole-shaped inlet which fills up at high tide.  Today it was like being in a spin-cycle and totally exhilarating. Nancy kept me company, bouncing around in the water, and I got to try out my new pink and white flowery swimming cap, a present from my lovely sister in law Kate.

Santa swims at Sugary

 We descended on Sugary Cove in Dartmouth where the tide was high, in anticipation of a swim through what is sometimes grandly referred to as 'the Ravine' - a channel bordered by high rocks on either side, which leads through to Castle Cove. We had Santa with us, aka my friend Allan, who led the expedition through some initially alarming swell and then headed bravely towards the channel.  I suppose, being used to going down chimneys and all, he had no fear of this particular tunnel, and was soon half way through the ravine.  We followed Santa, like a troop of little elves, and it felt spectacular being surrounded by the high, dark rocks, and getting through to the other side.

Exploration around the Armchair

There were white horses out in the middle of Tor Bay, but down in the little cove sheltered by Armchair Rock, the sea was pretty calm, apart from a gentle swell as we waded in.   This place is special, a secluded lagoon with intricate rock formations like coral, with a maze of rocky channels to explore. We swam through one, admiring the unnaturally flat wall of rock which bordered us on one side, while trying to avoid injuries as we scrambled over the shallower bits.  We came back through into the main lagoon where Karen and Jo jumped off the Armchair; this is a great spot for diving at high water.

Thanks to Jo for the top picture.

The sharks' fins of Torquay

A sporting swell and some fat rollers greeted us on our arrival at Meadfoot.  The sun was gloriously bright and the islands off the beach rose up like shark fins in the distance.  Getting in was a little hairy, as the waves tried to knock us over, but once in we were fine.  We swam around Triangle Rock, continuously carried up and down by the swell, and blinking in the brightness of the sun.   Once round the corner, we swam along to West Shag Rock.  Gary was keen to 'claim' it, and launched himself into the swirling surf at the bottom of the island, so as to stretch out and touch the rock before being knocked back by the surf. As we swam back I saw an exotic looking white house at the top of the cliff that I'd never noticed before, with the perfect round turret looking out to sea.

A swim and a skull

Anna and I set off from New Bridge following the Dart upstream, in constant admiration at the intensity of the oranges and golds of the leaves, set against the dramatic river rushing below.   We arrived at Holne Cliff, opposite Wellsfoot Island, where the river opens out into a particularly dark, oval pool.  Wild swimming guru Rob Fryer has a powerful description of the boulders on the bottom of this pool; he says they're like 'tightly swaddled babies'.   Anna and I made our way in by wading in along a ledge and under a fallen tree, before launching out into the cold yet beautifully soft water.  There was a strong current to swim against to get across to the calmer side by the beach on the island, but the effort of swimming against it helped us acclimatise.  Lily, Anna's dog, seemed very excited and we discovered she'd found a sheep's skull with a spectacular set of horns.  Anna took it home to add to her growing collection of Dartmoor bones.