tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78449768961918473892024-03-13T15:58:21.740+00:00Devon DispatchesSwimming and exploring South Devon, from Dartmoor to the seaSophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.comBlogger452125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-91649936100682406132021-01-21T13:59:00.004+00:002021-01-21T14:04:06.633+00:00The Green Hill <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5nMk_pi3ejkz7sCue4j0Sd9lFzU_3iMKUZSRztZumtjkhmBfMjGPpapTAxvGwlbcMiUl-32n13PeD8Xyp6ngD_55q31pUCGMwwnwXiE0az4Y7dTrHtwXfjM7DMx6A986IIU2j8Tx058B/s2048/IMG_4321.JPEG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5nMk_pi3ejkz7sCue4j0Sd9lFzU_3iMKUZSRztZumtjkhmBfMjGPpapTAxvGwlbcMiUl-32n13PeD8Xyp6ngD_55q31pUCGMwwnwXiE0az4Y7dTrHtwXfjM7DMx6A986IIU2j8Tx058B/s320/IMG_4321.JPEG" width="320" /></a></div>The Green Hill is my name for the place where my son Felix is buried. It is a field above the Dart estuary, called Sharpham Meadow. Since he died in 2017 it has become a place of great importance for me, not just because it is where he rests, but because of its connection to the other places of significance in my life: the sea, Dartmoor, and the river itself. These places are all bound up with my sense of home and family and shared experiences that have formed me over the last twenty years. I'm writing about this in a memoir called <i>The Green Hill: Letters to a son</i> that has been taken up by the crowdfunding publisher Unbound. The book is, of course, about grief, but it is also about how you can experience joy even when in the depths of sadness. The publication of the book will depend on people pledging in advance; you can find out more <a href="https://unbound.com/books/thegreenhill/" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br /><br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAN9jxe29okDzTFZLvt24wRnonfkKvFMMN1ao9sNESteL6dEYgjuF6aSZtBqsKTb4kdVuk4dsP7ijF_eu2rFK7rISq30eGSx6pxtNnfBs6Cn4D8Y7ROKfYA8tl1BGns2fE7-tPNpPEXSN/s2048/sophie+p.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1273" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAN9jxe29okDzTFZLvt24wRnonfkKvFMMN1ao9sNESteL6dEYgjuF6aSZtBqsKTb4kdVuk4dsP7ijF_eu2rFK7rISq30eGSx6pxtNnfBs6Cn4D8Y7ROKfYA8tl1BGns2fE7-tPNpPEXSN/s320/sophie+p.jpg" /></a></div> Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-85105263536700503672020-12-07T09:46:00.004+00:002020-12-07T09:46:49.682+00:00Pointy daggers <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3e2OYwQ6l8H6cDHeRBMMEFoHW3FfuO0XljTx1ZEcLB-i4gp20WofsJcH1PTLxd_ap6TvTX8uVBjW_lebUPnl8YPXiZZukqa7WCMaYE4znlj9jIWfynEiSVWJVydw6C4ojMGB4C4CNncD/s1440/D96915A3-5806-4867-B88C-1E9EFDE3FE7B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3e2OYwQ6l8H6cDHeRBMMEFoHW3FfuO0XljTx1ZEcLB-i4gp20WofsJcH1PTLxd_ap6TvTX8uVBjW_lebUPnl8YPXiZZukqa7WCMaYE4znlj9jIWfynEiSVWJVydw6C4ojMGB4C4CNncD/w200-h200/D96915A3-5806-4867-B88C-1E9EFDE3FE7B.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>So far the autumn has been warm and wet but suddenly the temperatures have plummeted. There was thick, swirly frost on the car when I set off for our Sunday morning rendez vous at Spitchwick, and when we got there there was ice in the car park. Such a refreshing change. We walked along by the river, admiring the frost-rimmed oak leaves underfoot. We arrived at Deeper Marsh and found it covered in grey frost and there was much speculation about what temperature the water might be. In we got, and there were cries of OOOH!!!!! POINTY DAGGERS!!!!! This is when the water pricks your skin like a thousand little needles. Vapour was rising from the water and I think I managed to stay in for 2 minutes max. The question is, why? It seems such a mad thing to do, and yet it makes me feel so good, I have embraced the river, life itself. Everything is better after being in the water. And there is the camaraderie too. I have been swimming here every Sunday morning with the same group of dear people for, well, it must be around a decade now. We see each other and the place in all seasons and moods and in times good and bad. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjcOxd5Zq9ZAYpEREEkf6D9WyCaWPatyuIGsIc6ZWqmEE30G4qDD3KNaOp_2rDV37CMMFS-N8CPf3yBT2hMOCfNbYn_vij4B0NOEMyqGpPL1zypfDe1mjUMggHXhR-Q2EA2E3r8jjbJT5f/s1440/81F3BED7-1C42-426B-BFB7-14690BD6E50A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjcOxd5Zq9ZAYpEREEkf6D9WyCaWPatyuIGsIc6ZWqmEE30G4qDD3KNaOp_2rDV37CMMFS-N8CPf3yBT2hMOCfNbYn_vij4B0NOEMyqGpPL1zypfDe1mjUMggHXhR-Q2EA2E3r8jjbJT5f/w200-h200/81F3BED7-1C42-426B-BFB7-14690BD6E50A.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRGmotOdxIDUUhKZgX-ivE6E5WaPwR8wfoqyZKwTXgGpTjTVwQgBUorY40rAMeTvQGZ-QIMxJ780BwCNOaFn4C8uCDxv-uOwx1Z6AXtV8XSUfT_3vAmCns2w_Q8_H3v5w-94z4GJTFSvE/s1440/581B9C39-3771-4CD2-998E-050B7C60DDDF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRGmotOdxIDUUhKZgX-ivE6E5WaPwR8wfoqyZKwTXgGpTjTVwQgBUorY40rAMeTvQGZ-QIMxJ780BwCNOaFn4C8uCDxv-uOwx1Z6AXtV8XSUfT_3vAmCns2w_Q8_H3v5w-94z4GJTFSvE/w200-h200/581B9C39-3771-4CD2-998E-050B7C60DDDF.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-80958890857585448732020-04-20T08:27:00.000+01:002020-04-20T08:27:14.116+01:00Swimming through lockdown <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-A0zwMzmyer-hUB-WmBL7Iv03YZchBS43wWzQ5sprLnahM0Wi2djKRXdW3c0qYR0_RelELJOowQxmTOt7DtGJ3316OgJRolzcrQYCaduXFAzwM6hW33-dCzRVpuphleL8HilqWoKwol-0/s1600/IMG_2707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-A0zwMzmyer-hUB-WmBL7Iv03YZchBS43wWzQ5sprLnahM0Wi2djKRXdW3c0qYR0_RelELJOowQxmTOt7DtGJ3316OgJRolzcrQYCaduXFAzwM6hW33-dCzRVpuphleL8HilqWoKwol-0/s200/IMG_2707.JPG" width="200" /></a>Lockdown coincided with the start of miraculous spring weather. Getting outside has never been more important, and yet this joyous (and often noisy) sprouting of new life that I experience daily is a jarring contrast to the feeling of fear in a suddenly altered human world. The birds are singing more loudly than I've ever heard them, the flowers in the hedgerows are so bright and fresh, and yet a virus is on the rampage, killing people daily. As usual, I find solace in the water. Instead of driving, I am walking to my special places on the River Dart, uncomfortably realising what a lazy and polluting thing I am in normal times - driving to places that only actually take 40 minutes to walk to. I went to visit Felix and found the daffodils on his grave had flowered, along with snakes head fritillaries and cowslips. <br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-74380712987338343642019-05-20T18:43:00.001+01:002019-05-20T18:43:59.408+01:00The water, my companion<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJS-WFwSH4nsOwZAFR8YcwJ9q4P9hXGYycVwdRK2oD8rF8ezNcX1zebHP2BrhJNlmj1Y7rOfdXXHXGAV2SW5vIqlzr2REJCZrk-U4npHAVUAkcMvf-i0Deywi0jjMGEqpIf77X9IZLnTgw/s1600/IMG_1310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJS-WFwSH4nsOwZAFR8YcwJ9q4P9hXGYycVwdRK2oD8rF8ezNcX1zebHP2BrhJNlmj1Y7rOfdXXHXGAV2SW5vIqlzr2REJCZrk-U4npHAVUAkcMvf-i0Deywi0jjMGEqpIf77X9IZLnTgw/s200/IMG_1310.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVFkMLnszJPAV_hOtiuyKNOGpQWmP6glLBD1FcUvFlxyBNsQy6pVzSPjkkoWUCpMTrbvJDFjbP80pMyGxZEWSSVDt_o1-5nZR39AG_8NPjhYsn3ucjLiTEH1uReSXGl-zePBXxk7dOLWf/s1600/59496616_10213915363903663_4012355273942368256_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVFkMLnszJPAV_hOtiuyKNOGpQWmP6glLBD1FcUvFlxyBNsQy6pVzSPjkkoWUCpMTrbvJDFjbP80pMyGxZEWSSVDt_o1-5nZR39AG_8NPjhYsn3ucjLiTEH1uReSXGl-zePBXxk7dOLWf/s200/59496616_10213915363903663_4012355273942368256_o.jpg" width="150" /></a>It's such an age since I've updated this blog. Felix's death has been so utterly life-shattering that writing about swimming just doesn't seem that important any more. But actually I think it is important to say that it is a tremendous solace and has helped keep me going in the two years since he died. Whether it's in river, lake, or sea, taking the plunge soothes my mind, distracts me and, quite simply, makes me feel better.<br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-5201729991177361352018-09-10T19:45:00.003+01:002018-09-11T10:14:25.526+01:00Euphoria at Burgh Island <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting off </td></tr>
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I haven't managed to swim around Burgh Island for a couple of years. I usually swim around it in September as a birthday celebration, but last year we were defeated by a large swell. This year's attempt was successful - if somewhat terrifying (but in a good way). We set off on a beautiful afternoon at about 5:30, the sun blinding us as we headed to the west of the island. It was high water, so we waded across before starting to swim. Massive waves slapped our faces while lifting us up and chucking us down, and foaming endlessly around the rocks. We felt we weren't getting anywhere. Ordinarily we would probably have given up at this point but we had our trusty kayakers Lucian and Rob with us so we pushed on and eventually got to the back of the island where suddenly it was easier. We were still going up and down like yoyos, but the wind was behind us and suddenly we were funnelling through the gulley at the back (universally known as Death Valley),<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around the back</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching Death Valley</td></tr>
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and into a whirlpool on the other side, watched by a chorus line of cormorants silhouetted against the setting sun. We made quite good progress around and past the Mermaid's Pool and then it was a final slog across the causeway. We staggered out (me and Catherine were last) to whoops and cheers from everyone, all on a complete high at completing the swim round the island. We just couldn't stop grinning, and I felt such love for this group who I've been swimming with for around a decade now. I was also thinking a lot about my son Felix who died last year, who had been present so often at this September tradition over the years. Of course his absence is an enormous gap, but at the same time these traditions are important for continuity and in a way help me to remember him through the pain of him not being there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Felix and Lucian on the sea tractor in 2012 </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIK1NgKZmX2bpifzHE1hpWHwlD7a_63CAwYykh65TDXV7-DClJhN0nFlu8gc2Gbh9OnAbxWY4_VTNRI434Yov95p4xvn36RRWFmGJHu_rvsLjm0jn2Da518hXfT8e_yQmb99umn0YWjoQX/s1600/IMG_7122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1214" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIK1NgKZmX2bpifzHE1hpWHwlD7a_63CAwYykh65TDXV7-DClJhN0nFlu8gc2Gbh9OnAbxWY4_VTNRI434Yov95p4xvn36RRWFmGJHu_rvsLjm0jn2Da518hXfT8e_yQmb99umn0YWjoQX/s200/IMG_7122.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a high</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-35170222008528913832018-05-10T09:12:00.000+01:002018-05-10T09:14:39.731+01:00The Darty Dozen <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnL7qK_84fT7BVd34dnU-AiK1maOgpiPemP2hF4f1r9-8dOlbK4339phfK4Gdl_Td8TYi6hcB1ddRZWHLWARsngkHwmjdrN2LWFB_yzJmsK0XeXhhONxTUFV8cG-iL53caVAk9MH4_dWG/s1600/P7250009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnL7qK_84fT7BVd34dnU-AiK1maOgpiPemP2hF4f1r9-8dOlbK4339phfK4Gdl_Td8TYi6hcB1ddRZWHLWARsngkHwmjdrN2LWFB_yzJmsK0XeXhhONxTUFV8cG-iL53caVAk9MH4_dWG/s200/P7250009.JPG" width="200" /></a>I am still on a high after last weekend, in which we ran the inaugural "Darty Dozen" - 12 wild swims across Dartmoor over 2 days, and camped at Huccaby Farm. The event was all about remembering Felix, and raising money for SUDEP Action, but in the end it was about so much more. It was about love and support and camaraderie and laughs and excitement and adventure, and sheer human solidarity in the face of tragedy. It was a stunning weekend in every way. The weather was glorious. We walked and swam in the most beautiful spots, from the High Moor to the Dart gorge, covering 15 miles in total. At the end of it we were totally exhausted but happy. As I drove home, the car stuffed with camping detritus, I shed tears, both happy and sad because ultimately of course, if Felix hadn't died the weekend would never have happened. If you would like to donate, the link is <a href="https://felix-murdin.muchloved.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilSdUeCxtYOr1viq1fBe74QuOsYTQNRxg_pJQzYC0QcTCUmWJSEsmpOIdL6tNrQre28oImvlaWafLqEELPO6ZteLXeHmWkt8rDozpxuNymSuW9mSqZLdVr-JjRj20PDYei08ALuNEhnrf/s1600/31947034_10155306460997382_6938663831560257536_n+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilSdUeCxtYOr1viq1fBe74QuOsYTQNRxg_pJQzYC0QcTCUmWJSEsmpOIdL6tNrQre28oImvlaWafLqEELPO6ZteLXeHmWkt8rDozpxuNymSuW9mSqZLdVr-JjRj20PDYei08ALuNEhnrf/s200/31947034_10155306460997382_6938663831560257536_n+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazywell Pool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg528KiXbgPOiI7cx_6y_lz6bdudytFBi7oB_pYWVFdZ9keTkufiN9sbvxOtiDxYOaJD1wOr3mMc9x9SteevaREGHgItz2uSZliQk0FGBlyPhkbZCQbjS1X5Sz_uIVpc_4lBInC-D0x_ngc/s1600/31947739_10156322243316354_4613098439897513984_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg528KiXbgPOiI7cx_6y_lz6bdudytFBi7oB_pYWVFdZ9keTkufiN9sbvxOtiDxYOaJD1wOr3mMc9x9SteevaREGHgItz2uSZliQk0FGBlyPhkbZCQbjS1X5Sz_uIVpc_4lBInC-D0x_ngc/s200/31947739_10156322243316354_4613098439897513984_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Tor Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyc4xsuCCF4YwGTJzBMljwIh9Jfwj9D9Up43B0WORufmgM1RiYuf_ZfwmXrGwB5fqCeVsZWOQe5P1rOfb-xUtLsXCVb8vqz2yufUmAXmOCY89zrLr1o78MT-O05colFtijMeifeSi9efk/s1600/31948020_10155306460102382_8515924325440684032_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyc4xsuCCF4YwGTJzBMljwIh9Jfwj9D9Up43B0WORufmgM1RiYuf_ZfwmXrGwB5fqCeVsZWOQe5P1rOfb-xUtLsXCVb8vqz2yufUmAXmOCY89zrLr1o78MT-O05colFtijMeifeSi9efk/s200/31948020_10155306460102382_8515924325440684032_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broada Stones</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKVZmv8Z3IJ9962SuU4AW2CgYBlf71UiXu1jJbCUjD2f2cX6MNhQ0kogr5rfnEh7Bz_9qPrU0IM0sp9smTfQpEG2P6MEoEgrGZde1mpQzix7YtweU1eEbUoo37-1NftgYvC5j5rVeAIpX/s1600/31956441_10156239264608536_6389944848547315712_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKVZmv8Z3IJ9962SuU4AW2CgYBlf71UiXu1jJbCUjD2f2cX6MNhQ0kogr5rfnEh7Bz_9qPrU0IM0sp9smTfQpEG2P6MEoEgrGZde1mpQzix7YtweU1eEbUoo37-1NftgYvC5j5rVeAIpX/s200/31956441_10156239264608536_6389944848547315712_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Princetown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbcTRqOkpMF649frdMtguOB-zQZfNGNrFEy45vM1ELwPVIViWtdYjQHzYV4LbWUgjdc-_QINIrQOK4h6zbmTpVtjvltB3xxnhtLO4kc3TyY3sBM_AA9kQukuAqpqM1RGoP9d5XplU7_kq/s1600/31960582_10156441998037853_4511838272292388864_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbcTRqOkpMF649frdMtguOB-zQZfNGNrFEy45vM1ELwPVIViWtdYjQHzYV4LbWUgjdc-_QINIrQOK4h6zbmTpVtjvltB3xxnhtLO4kc3TyY3sBM_AA9kQukuAqpqM1RGoP9d5XplU7_kq/s200/31960582_10156441998037853_4511838272292388864_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venford Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9MwcqLd_x2-8BWIZnYYzbD6wMgo7I59dgQCqCBp9IZAKrRYln6NuU7i3_QRlDhJ51CEYptgiD0jtg4cZa89mBFk_2qdbevoBwdbRGB4zdvHQMTvdXgSelnIFVfX6VH05oPKQG0ufDAFyR/s1600/31960605_10155306460382382_5420366057468592128_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9MwcqLd_x2-8BWIZnYYzbD6wMgo7I59dgQCqCBp9IZAKrRYln6NuU7i3_QRlDhJ51CEYptgiD0jtg4cZa89mBFk_2qdbevoBwdbRGB4zdvHQMTvdXgSelnIFVfX6VH05oPKQG0ufDAFyR/s200/31960605_10155306460382382_5420366057468592128_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dart Gorge </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUuRzZGr62xN2e89Z7J5xrjPrDb_mkxjQDJsFqvVfB9ZyqfnU0rrmqj5FDhbI_cfMBS7ZxUm5oiIRwzeLYljm5uI2v4ClGZC2-MHMCWwP1GUjarduoCDzPMu2vE5njYcWwrqtzYgFVffO/s1600/IMG_4769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUuRzZGr62xN2e89Z7J5xrjPrDb_mkxjQDJsFqvVfB9ZyqfnU0rrmqj5FDhbI_cfMBS7ZxUm5oiIRwzeLYljm5uI2v4ClGZC2-MHMCWwP1GUjarduoCDzPMu2vE5njYcWwrqtzYgFVffO/s200/IMG_4769.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buddy's Pool on the West Dart </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1g6Lo5R0SEvneEAEc1VVI4JsOWkP8-3zgdtex30RfLZa9KLqOCvoxiUetwgxywnw4KIWsqNRPf6bEil8VmaQkk9ccLZwrrl7V1TyaFTZRju43ILe_NpB9cJFWUYv7LavSLPMCeRzqj-Hp/s1600/IMG_4792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1g6Lo5R0SEvneEAEc1VVI4JsOWkP8-3zgdtex30RfLZa9KLqOCvoxiUetwgxywnw4KIWsqNRPf6bEil8VmaQkk9ccLZwrrl7V1TyaFTZRju43ILe_NpB9cJFWUYv7LavSLPMCeRzqj-Hp/s200/IMG_4792.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Princetown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
.Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-13860010943634897612018-04-11T17:20:00.000+01:002018-04-11T17:20:05.027+01:00The solidarity of swimmers <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-X4G0O32cvZ8hZCFBnu9miSlqaOqnEuzCkWvYf4FwSAiqFFSYPjsLsxW5-FeAj9lfdlzxbDicoa2qju9hlvYDvBZ-YIGuozMM7H0sLjEQfhHNcxz1duuVbKQmiNVYtRpaf63_4mk6cr6/s1600/30414833_10155445869012039_3776781626336346112_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-X4G0O32cvZ8hZCFBnu9miSlqaOqnEuzCkWvYf4FwSAiqFFSYPjsLsxW5-FeAj9lfdlzxbDicoa2qju9hlvYDvBZ-YIGuozMM7H0sLjEQfhHNcxz1duuVbKQmiNVYtRpaf63_4mk6cr6/s200/30414833_10155445869012039_3776781626336346112_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosie- doing the selfie - with Paul, me <br />and Jackie behind </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On Sunday we had a get together of swimming friends at beautiful Meadfoot in Torquay. Helen, Rosie and Paul came up from Plymouth, and it was the first time I'd seen them since Felix died last year. Jackie's dear husband Gordon died recently, and there was a sense we just wanted to be together. We've known each other for several years; we met through swimming and have had many and varied adventures both on the coast and on Dartmoor. We've shared great joy and terrible loss. We've had magical, memorable times together in the water, but also had to deal with the deaths of our dear friends <a href="http://devondispatches.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/jonathan-joyce-free-spirit-1971-2013.html" target="_blank">Jonathan</a> and <a href="http://devondispatches.blogspot.co.uk/2018/04/my-tribute-to-lynne-roper.html" target="_blank">Lynne</a>, and of <a href="https://felix-murdin.muchloved.com/" target="_blank">Felix</a>. These experiences have created a strong bond. As we walked, laughing, into the sea I felt a sense of security and continuity with friends who are part of a sort of watery communion.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMXYiWeMWZ4pKWvr5_GLvWGsAW7ujyGpjWraRID1DPh2_NKTS2TuVfQk8t2mCOYFuK8_W5_O_UyZvI62yOFuhcbk9PTmoBU50BYzmUUnx9AkI79KWktqmefA_WpAHxH6CbhDqj3pKFTiI/s1600/30264812_10214435674380208_4032561127975026688_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="1224" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMXYiWeMWZ4pKWvr5_GLvWGsAW7ujyGpjWraRID1DPh2_NKTS2TuVfQk8t2mCOYFuK8_W5_O_UyZvI62yOFuhcbk9PTmoBU50BYzmUUnx9AkI79KWktqmefA_WpAHxH6CbhDqj3pKFTiI/s200/30264812_10214435674380208_4032561127975026688_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Helen on the slipway. Thanks to Jackie for the pic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-86976603446782568642018-04-11T14:38:00.000+01:002018-04-11T14:38:09.266+01:00My tribute to Lynne Roper My dear friend Lynne Roper died in 2016. I wrote a piece about her for H2Open Magazine but have just discovered you have to pay to read it online. So here it is for free:<br />
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Lynne Roper, wild swimming blogger and inspirational
advocate for outdoor swimming, has died at the young age of 55. Her
friend and fellow Devon swimmer Sophie Pierce pays tribute.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_6qJgZX1uAMiK34Bp7D-WunczylZXAS_DWJIGBOOrXcmOpOeiCWLv8uXehJhWaaKuFkEZ23NOBtJnR7BmTCcks-8ZVixgr3eUomeDBbj1ha5u05GUxOY8Oi7SNQKX18ZGLmR2GuMq2PX/s1600/DSC_1302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_6qJgZX1uAMiK34Bp7D-WunczylZXAS_DWJIGBOOrXcmOpOeiCWLv8uXehJhWaaKuFkEZ23NOBtJnR7BmTCcks-8ZVixgr3eUomeDBbj1ha5u05GUxOY8Oi7SNQKX18ZGLmR2GuMq2PX/s200/DSC_1302.JPG" width="200" /></a>How to sum up Lynne? When I first met her I was
fascinated by her apparent contradictions. A former RAF
servicewoman and Margaret Thatcher supporter, she was now a raving leftie (and
she’d be very proud to be described as such). She’d gone to art
school, but was now a paramedic. She had a particular interest in and
love of witches; a witch dolly always hung from the rear view mirror in her
beloved camper van. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I met her of course, through swimming. She’d turned to
the water to help her recover from breast cancer, and a double
mastectomy. A few years ago, when the outdoor swimming network was
in its infancy, I met her through Facebook. We met with a few others in a
windy car park in Torquay one December day, and set off to swim through a
natural arch called London Bridge. Around the back of the arch we
discovered a cave and swam in, where we got bounced up and down by the swell,
narrowly avoiding banging our heads. We laughed hysterically and there
was an immediate bond. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1vfTmqnFiNa7q9umyp_LWUKKPbG9bEer1RJOoZtNYXB4yYgUz-nDIlUrAKDqQUyraTqB9veF4yxU-BiYCwfPvyr56ZRSDUFaP1RcsgUGEKMO2AXfM0aa6k8zXomynaYHbtoz-jN1lE5U/s1600/DSCF0952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1vfTmqnFiNa7q9umyp_LWUKKPbG9bEer1RJOoZtNYXB4yYgUz-nDIlUrAKDqQUyraTqB9veF4yxU-BiYCwfPvyr56ZRSDUFaP1RcsgUGEKMO2AXfM0aa6k8zXomynaYHbtoz-jN1lE5U/s200/DSCF0952.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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The waters of Devon ran through Lynne’s blood. She grew up
swimming in both the Atlantic off the North coast and English Channel off the
South, and she was passionate about Dartmoor and the rivers Tavy and Dart in
particular. She lived in a former miner’s cottage on the Moor, which she
decorated in her flamboyant style in her favourite colours of pink and blue,
with a huge mermaid mosaic she’d made herself in the bathroom. (On her
Air BnB listing she proudly said: “I don’t do grey or beige”). <o:p></o:p></div>
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After her double mastectomy, Lynne found that swimming in
the rivers of Dartmoor and the seas of Devon gave her both physical and mental
therapy – as I think it does for the vast majority of us. What was so special
about her was her ability to translate that feeling into words and to
communicate the joy, humour, frequent silliness, camaraderie and all-round
life-enhancing qualities of swimming outdoors. She wrote a blog,
Wild Woman Swimming <a href="https://wildwomanswimming.wordpress.com/">https://wildwomanswimming.wordpress.com/</a>
which detailed her many adventures sometimes hilariously, sometimes angrily, always
thoughtfully and always articulately. She wrote beautifully, and with
originality. I remember one write-up after a particularly exciting low
tide swim, when we’d seen a range of marine wildlife including Devonshire cup
corals, breadcrumb sponge, and a very rare variety of soft coral called dead
men’s fingers which Lynne described as “the same shade of pink as Katie
Price’s jodhpurs’. It was a spot-on description too – they were indeed a
lurid shocking pink. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When she became ill with a brain tumour earlier this year,
she turned to writing about both her personal situation and the wider context
of the NHS, of which she was a passionate supporter. <a href="https://outofmybrains.org/">https://outofmybrains.org/</a> She
christened her tumour Hunt after the Health Secretary, and was furious about
what she saw as the ongoing cutbacks and the privatisation of the NHS by the
back door. She also wrote movingly about facing her own
death. Her blog is now being used to teach medical students. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lynne’s death has shocked our swimming community both here
in Devon and wider afield. Locally we have lost a wonderful, witty
friend, who made us laugh, led us on many adventures and was always keen to
share her wonderful places. Lynne also touched people who never even met
her, through her writing and blogging, and through several films and
documentaries about wild swimming in which she appeared. One of the most
moving tributes has been from a blogger in America who’s never even met her,
but felt he knew her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have so many wonderful memories of swimming with
Lynne. Sitting in a hot tub at Slapton Sands, after getting battered by
huge rollers crashing onto the shingle shore. Several New
Year’s dips followed by raucous warm-ups in the pub. Hikes over Dartmoor
followed by plunges in cool rivers and playing in waterfalls. And one
incredible dawn swim where we watched the sky gradually turn pink and then
slipped into the shining sea. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-57517260797589427012018-03-18T16:28:00.001+00:002018-03-18T16:28:42.195+00:00Mad marchIt's the 18th of March and it's snowing. Our second whiteout in a couple of weeks. Crazy weather and this month has generally felt a bit crazy. It was the first anniversary of Felix's death on the 8th/9th, and I was transported back to that horrendous week when I discovered he had died. I had gone to see him in a show in Leicester where he was at university, and he never showed up at our meeting place. I raised the alarm, and went to his halls where I arrived to find an ambulance outside. He was dead in his room.. A year has passed and in many ways I am still in shock and there are many days when I still cannot comprehend it, I still not quite believe this has happened. <br />
<br />
When I swim - and this is particularly true of swimming in the sea - I feel closer to him. In the water my body is weightless and I feel detached from the world, like a spirit, an essence, which I suppose is what he is now. I need that feeling of separation, of absence from my new life without him, and to return to a kind of state where I am with him.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V1CMeVGW4817xdmcAM1AlS2LBT8rwus2mXNqKT3jVnzK0x-Mrmql4mH9yKU1BpjGZjou7blbQk1MmRi0-34VLbqrN881-A_SPckpC2P7gL2KIixXUuEyRmYY3e60ZBWldUG9B8Ll21vV/s1600/IMG_3996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V1CMeVGW4817xdmcAM1AlS2LBT8rwus2mXNqKT3jVnzK0x-Mrmql4mH9yKU1BpjGZjou7blbQk1MmRi0-34VLbqrN881-A_SPckpC2P7gL2KIixXUuEyRmYY3e60ZBWldUG9B8Ll21vV/s200/IMG_3996.JPG" width="200" /></a>This week I have slept very badly and felt a particular urge to swim. Ju and I went down to Hopes Nose. It was low tide and we swam off a little beach packed with grey pebbles streaked with pink and white quartz The water clasped us in its coldness and I shut my eyes and felt the water, and felt my son.Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-36923767944184608392017-12-26T17:48:00.001+00:002017-12-26T17:48:57.379+00:00Getting through ChristmasIt's the end of Boxing Day and we did it. We made it through Christmas without Felix. I think I got through because a sort of numbness and disbelief set in again, like when he first died. I had a sense of disconnection from the whole thing. Perhaps it's because Christmas is all about age-old rituals and these rituals are strong and definite and bring into relief whatever is happening at the time. Here we were again doing things we always do at this time of year, getting a tree, going to Mass, eating turkey, singing carols, it just didn't seem possible that Felix wasn't there. Christmas highlighted and accentuated his absence, and I went into numb mode again. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiU93q4hzBy0W_5w4uoQI-ejua_w5jXgyZZsqRkOxBLnQOCOkCPtyeWRuDVemYEODAr0UqmpqXYbVRve7T7jNLtuC0L35S789r7yIfAIZ8pgyZSUOc6fOGHXSJuIT8IViwTUIGFCbpPVo/s1600/westdart1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="652" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiU93q4hzBy0W_5w4uoQI-ejua_w5jXgyZZsqRkOxBLnQOCOkCPtyeWRuDVemYEODAr0UqmpqXYbVRve7T7jNLtuC0L35S789r7yIfAIZ8pgyZSUOc6fOGHXSJuIT8IViwTUIGFCbpPVo/s320/westdart1.JPG" width="319" /></a>On Christmas Day we went to see him at his burial place which my brother James calls 'the green hill far away'. Alex, Lucian and I stood there in the roaring gale and opened our present to him, and left him some mince pies under his tree. Earlier I had had a morning dip with Yaara at Ladies' Pool, which was pointy-daggers cold, our limbs pricked by the icy water. Today I swam in the West Dart, in a swollen, fast moving pool. As my body entered the water I felt myself shrinking back to a sort of visceral essence of being, rewinding back to Felix when he was part of my body, part of me, grown from me. Momentarily I felt connected back to him, then there was nothing.Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-31070432786125306792017-10-28T16:41:00.000+01:002017-10-30T13:51:44.977+00:00Puppies and swimsuits <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-0K1Qb-NnmbvK_bb7XZFrAuZGwtn6KzJ8eTdaXSeTm9RvVNRmVGIbb4qA8-zR1qt3FSLZj9m_Or7NNNtw5urHiJJZC7sBfnEM_ivv4cyovSEMmtzeIvLtavdiXvOW6-CVInSukglv8aG/s1600/IMG_0798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-0K1Qb-NnmbvK_bb7XZFrAuZGwtn6KzJ8eTdaXSeTm9RvVNRmVGIbb4qA8-zR1qt3FSLZj9m_Or7NNNtw5urHiJJZC7sBfnEM_ivv4cyovSEMmtzeIvLtavdiXvOW6-CVInSukglv8aG/s200/IMG_0798.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above Butcher's Cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We've recently got a puppy, who is of course, totes adorbs. She's a black woolly bundle of joy called Tarka. This week she was allowed to be taken out properly for the first time, so I decided to introduce her to the joys of the Devon coast. It all fitted in rather well, because the lovely people at <a href="https://www.ukswimwear.com/" target="_blank">UK Swimwear</a> (link <a href="https://www.ukswimwear.com/" target="_blank">here</a>) had asked me to review a swimming costume for them, so it was the perfect chance to get out and head to the sea. We headed for Mothecombe and followed the coast path west, with Tarka sniffing at pretty much every blade of grass, and also annoying Buddy, Yaara's endlessly patient black labrador. We climbed down to Butcher's Cove where we immediately found about 10 Portugese men of war jellyfish stranded on the beach which we we buried because we were worried about the dogs picking them up. I then got into my <a href="https://www.ukswimwear.com/product/2878/gottex-profile-new-tutti-frutti-swimsuit-" target="_blank">costume</a> (link <a href="https://www.ukswimwear.com/product/2878/gottex-profile-new-tutti-frutti-swimsuit-" target="_blank">here</a>), which was beautifully made, with fabulous ruching, and lined with lovely soft material. As someone with a full figure, I'm always looking for a costume that both supports and flatters, and this did both. It was very comfortable to swim in. Yaara also tried it out, and she is at least two sizes smaller than me, but it looked great on her too! At a touch under £90 it is not cheap, but in my experience, with swimsuits, you get what you pay for, and if you pay more you get better quality, which was the case here. It felt like a very well made suit. We swam out towards the mouth of the cove and then back and around the rocks, keeping an eye out for the dreaded PMOWs but there weren't any. Buddy joined us in the water but Tarka was far too tired and flopped out on the beach in order to regain energy for more pestering of her fellow canine on the return walk.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QBg6n9wwSMuJuOQr7wVuAG2sUX0PR8AMDh-fNkzNCWa3f9GOsjbmSZFL3y6tF6RqCHeHt3gkUu8-6W_H4HgMZBMsz70IeyCEa7OgutMqPIdWzogv25uyk1etfweCxqC7LV0LLe7Mu20k/s1600/IMG_0802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QBg6n9wwSMuJuOQr7wVuAG2sUX0PR8AMDh-fNkzNCWa3f9GOsjbmSZFL3y6tF6RqCHeHt3gkUu8-6W_H4HgMZBMsz70IeyCEa7OgutMqPIdWzogv25uyk1etfweCxqC7LV0LLe7Mu20k/s200/IMG_0802.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying out the costume </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rn0KR_CqGElKVrgCuljRS5m2nRfje1Sx3E4asfzAG2RCAgJ9PukECvxIdn_a6s3qgppqnFRHJ5cel9IFgmw-rOuYfEan_cPVPkE-OuJ7VLP6JPCZXa_wFQfytML8yJP8amF-alxk6ViI/s1600/IMG_1475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rn0KR_CqGElKVrgCuljRS5m2nRfje1Sx3E4asfzAG2RCAgJ9PukECvxIdn_a6s3qgppqnFRHJ5cel9IFgmw-rOuYfEan_cPVPkE-OuJ7VLP6JPCZXa_wFQfytML8yJP8amF-alxk6ViI/s200/IMG_1475.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting off </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEZtSpo2CMRlp7sAWwZxIdFOhFwvHgjrvfIKpIhXsh5sDsqLKG_ORJvHZhqe18aAEs-xODbq4lbYrfNI9OMEYKJdyUHv39VALpedH-0bKArpfhapGtrZidA3HzgWyyxWmwQ-9l0HMXKOg/s1600/IMG_0822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEZtSpo2CMRlp7sAWwZxIdFOhFwvHgjrvfIKpIhXsh5sDsqLKG_ORJvHZhqe18aAEs-xODbq4lbYrfNI9OMEYKJdyUHv39VALpedH-0bKArpfhapGtrZidA3HzgWyyxWmwQ-9l0HMXKOg/s200/IMG_0822.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It looks fab on Yaara too</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn75y2BLo0vokMwomT5q_CaDOEVMZyk6IXoDW-Q39kZ0sEYtArheeZxU6yhLetxTM0x9bxdwWJPb3OL3DJQMltkeS846KXzN1GJXYuUVQLhRfqiYAsJfHfdPdru2EiQFsd3NyypGoiQZdr/s1600/IMG_1134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1433" data-original-width="1600" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn75y2BLo0vokMwomT5q_CaDOEVMZyk6IXoDW-Q39kZ0sEYtArheeZxU6yhLetxTM0x9bxdwWJPb3OL3DJQMltkeS846KXzN1GJXYuUVQLhRfqiYAsJfHfdPdru2EiQFsd3NyypGoiQZdr/s200/IMG_1134.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a gratuitous pic of Tarka </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-45657053744499544562017-10-19T14:24:00.002+01:002017-10-19T14:24:25.783+01:00Yikes!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBl10qfisivnCHQn0Jt-PApDAWYK96JLrqWEeaB9tY4JOP-tbXdSUoKI1n9p5FSlTeWB-kM6efpC2_CV2RFroHALW-fpBySYL-EVFD-RdFIQxMZLFrld2Nazqvc1SK4QV2g-_0xqXuSKW/s1600/IMG_1232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBl10qfisivnCHQn0Jt-PApDAWYK96JLrqWEeaB9tY4JOP-tbXdSUoKI1n9p5FSlTeWB-kM6efpC2_CV2RFroHALW-fpBySYL-EVFD-RdFIQxMZLFrld2Nazqvc1SK4QV2g-_0xqXuSKW/s200/IMG_1232.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUrATiBQgH-isAb_AvU8T-h2bAvgDfkbTQodv3jam92ORGf_9FPPbRYgPneh0OKxTW2a3mZv4GqpJ43PUUpirk13XCAO84FmYHYnQPXNIQ-cahx6pdMH7s5jojWipkbemKKGW3QD6hTGYB/s1600/IMG_1432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUrATiBQgH-isAb_AvU8T-h2bAvgDfkbTQodv3jam92ORGf_9FPPbRYgPneh0OKxTW2a3mZv4GqpJ43PUUpirk13XCAO84FmYHYnQPXNIQ-cahx6pdMH7s5jojWipkbemKKGW3QD6hTGYB/s200/IMG_1432.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Are those what I think they are?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Rachel and I set off from Little Dartmouth, following the coast path around towards Sugary Cove. As we approached the headland we followed a track towards the edge that we hadn't gone down before. We spotted a path winding down to an intriguing-looking little cove, and could see steps at the bottom. The water below was enticingly blue and we scrambled down the path and made camp on some big rocks. The cove was perfect (it is called Western Combe Cove). About 50 yards offshore was a double island, with a cave in the middle, and to the right and left, whole processions of gullies and shark fin rocks. I felt really excited about exploring this new territory, and we swam enthusiastically off towards the island. Suddenly, Rachel stopped in her tracks. "Those aren't Portugese Men of War are they?" She pointed towards some bubbles on the surface between us and the island. My immediate reaction was "of course they're not" but on closer inspection, yes, indeed that's what they were. Reluctantly we got out, and continued on our walk. The sun came out, and it was very warm, and it felt like summer with the sunshine glinting on the rocks and on our faces. We stopped at a rock platform near Blackstone Point and had another, more successful swim, with the sun low in the sky. It was only afterwards when we were getting changed that Rachel revealed she'd spotted the most enormous seal approaching me in the water. When we were both safely on shore it popped up again, raising its neck high out of the water. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSpeVky5HV5mXPUcpfvrcE3VKiC8Z8rgqALTAYmIR0s8d6sB1NaK1rR5MBJ_LL0T0ks7o0L31EzI9W2Sm6qPh82QFYAFPev0PUN00fz3PiIHyKyNbtSYg76H2CBeBijviJm5xL8uggtmD/s1600/IMG_1438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSpeVky5HV5mXPUcpfvrcE3VKiC8Z8rgqALTAYmIR0s8d6sB1NaK1rR5MBJ_LL0T0ks7o0L31EzI9W2Sm6qPh82QFYAFPev0PUN00fz3PiIHyKyNbtSYg76H2CBeBijviJm5xL8uggtmD/s200/IMG_1438.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remarkably well camouflaged PMOWs -just like bubbles</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqyQCJnFMPpRw1OeYB2F0RKt2YXkaNAfR7J8pPF1bN91N70i70QOX0-KuTsujsZqColknOF9RSy012Nt_jIhy7eki_myzeUc2r7Xqfq0TRmWv8neNUeIeskIXukAbVEqyg_2aUVRh1mM26/s1600/IMG_1455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqyQCJnFMPpRw1OeYB2F0RKt2YXkaNAfR7J8pPF1bN91N70i70QOX0-KuTsujsZqColknOF9RSy012Nt_jIhy7eki_myzeUc2r7Xqfq0TRmWv8neNUeIeskIXukAbVEqyg_2aUVRh1mM26/s200/IMG_1455.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only thing we need to worry about now is seals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-3747589365293000832017-09-14T12:04:00.002+01:002017-09-14T12:04:27.238+01:00Some amazing news My niece Ruby Pierce, who is 17, has been awarded the Budleigh Salterton Literary Festival Creative Writing prize, beating off competition from hundreds of others, most of whom were adults. She won it for a poem she wrote about remembering Felix. She came down to Devon for the award ceremony, not knowing if she had won, and we were totally overwhelmed, not just at her brilliant achievement but because something beautiful had come out of his death. Afterwards we walked along the seashore in the fading light, and remembered him. Here is the poem.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Being There </span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">(One Summer's Day)</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">There’s a sudden shift in the air.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The first note prises open a crack in time and all
in a moment I’m standing in the heat of one summer’s day.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">A searing warmth nearly as deep as the red in my
cheeks.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">There’s an August feeling.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Stepping onto the balcony, eyes skim and stop on
the horizon, sinking slate.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Buddleia, heavy with a scent so sickly sweet the
layers of butterflies become tacky like our fingers, doused in a honey glaze.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">In the shallows of the sea we dive for oddities
uncovered with such an instantaneous glee shown in the arcs of our mouths as we
swim back home.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">To escape the chill we fumble with the showers
until the hot pellets graze in burning streaks.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">There’s a sudden shift in the summer.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The boundaries have fallen on the shoreline.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Waist deep we wade, rigid as the sea frigid</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But he stops and sits on the sand.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">This is how it would normally be but something is
different.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">We retreat, pack up, drive off, move forwards</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But he just sits and looks, then picks up his daily
book.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And then I’m back again.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Standing on top of the hill where the wind cuts
sharp, like the stark black keys on white</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Their contrast a jarring battle waging war with our
emotions.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But his brother tames them softly.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">He unwrinkles them in a tune so smooth it pierces
you in an unwarranted mix of beauty and sadness.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I think about where he is now,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Both below in the earth and skywards above</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">An encapsulation, safe with the strength of his
hug.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I’ve felt this before.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">In the cool of the summer night we slipped
ourselves into the water.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The world ushered into a drawling darkness, disturbed
only by gentle baptism.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Our fingers set the sea alight in tiny fragments
like sprightly iron filings.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">We carved our way through liquid starlight </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">a rippling mirror</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And as the elements lost all definition the
lucidity intensified with a scintillation all around us.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The merging of the sea and sky and he’s with us
again, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">in the brilliance of one summer’s night. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-42642208387324463292017-07-31T12:10:00.003+01:002017-07-31T12:10:50.508+01:00Finding new territory<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k9Xq65lbUK0pXP32ugKXeTFQWieiAqjK3QsHTMvZyJqPGkYx1CL1m01H_jgtLM5_1r6O8agVd7cP0vcAgi6jRkMxf4TDZZzOug-O-91qWb6aZqsxbpqcgxtWqTijCN-UQFMk7WYSRzzV/s1600/IMG_3878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k9Xq65lbUK0pXP32ugKXeTFQWieiAqjK3QsHTMvZyJqPGkYx1CL1m01H_jgtLM5_1r6O8agVd7cP0vcAgi6jRkMxf4TDZZzOug-O-91qWb6aZqsxbpqcgxtWqTijCN-UQFMk7WYSRzzV/s200/IMG_3878.JPG" width="200" /></a>Since Felix died I find it helps to find new places to go. All the old places are full of memories of him, and it's good to visit them, but not all the time. About two weeks after he died Alex and I went for a walk along the coast path west of Heybrook Bay, a stretch we hadn't walked before, and found a stunning lagoon. It was the period in between Felix's death and his funeral, a surreal and unreal time. The magic of swimming in that lagoon was a moment of sanity in a miasma of madness. I've had the urge to go back there many times since.<br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-33745778171639149492017-07-20T11:32:00.001+01:002017-07-20T11:32:32.799+01:00Visiting the dawn<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TWTh1ZiyLrHZk430iMKg9dXC54yQJa6jiN4-esTB5iqo2TMDSUUYTiFYvbTIr8Juje9xS-ws9ga8r9FMBBKYXoh9nSGTmr-srrYSnMfQKAdyFkcyf3FfSspoxIqPMdJPO0v8YadBeIl_/s1600/IMG_4451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TWTh1ZiyLrHZk430iMKg9dXC54yQJa6jiN4-esTB5iqo2TMDSUUYTiFYvbTIr8Juje9xS-ws9ga8r9FMBBKYXoh9nSGTmr-srrYSnMfQKAdyFkcyf3FfSspoxIqPMdJPO0v8YadBeIl_/s200/IMG_4451.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1W0q23CxBa1QsGBVxatTnEMInOG-2ggtgdRGvXXwSGfk5iCoWo01IDLyLUebVcwvRqq9XOJB0sySgTwoVSFYRNN_lBHA9-LyzbX1Q0t7cpVoqXHjgUQR6CVoMMcqJtvEn2fRGHcOsg1t_/s1600/IMG_0890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1W0q23CxBa1QsGBVxatTnEMInOG-2ggtgdRGvXXwSGfk5iCoWo01IDLyLUebVcwvRqq9XOJB0sySgTwoVSFYRNN_lBHA9-LyzbX1Q0t7cpVoqXHjgUQR6CVoMMcqJtvEn2fRGHcOsg1t_/s200/IMG_0890.JPG" width="200" /></a>Watching the sun rise is both magical and therapeutic. You are drenched in beauty, and the inevitability of the sun rising and setting every day, whatever happens in our little lives, somehow puts things in perspective. A couple of months ago I got up early to watch the sun rise on Dartmoor; it's something I've been doing on the anniversary of my mother's death for a few years, and now of course I've lost Felix it is even more important I do it, as a little act of remembrance and worship. Then a few weeks ago I went for an early morning swim with Amanda in Torquay (ok it wasn't dawn, we were a bit too tired for that) but there was such a sense of serenity out there, it was quiet and otherworldly and the sea held us in its gentle grasp.<br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-71455957825980487022017-07-03T14:29:00.001+01:002017-07-03T14:29:36.129+01:00The balm of the Dart <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2B10RqvrXC4cJszHxx-ITf7CI8Q_DJNBynx_IvoY5UsTrYZyNcBGcPvPd-1LnYTrd87qlxNWaGiQpjpndjEi2rGVkJgCTsnOVslxq5TaJEAJqm7Z3Go59IVB1ECFgeZGer1aLr6Hi_KTo/s1600/IMG_5043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2B10RqvrXC4cJszHxx-ITf7CI8Q_DJNBynx_IvoY5UsTrYZyNcBGcPvPd-1LnYTrd87qlxNWaGiQpjpndjEi2rGVkJgCTsnOVslxq5TaJEAJqm7Z3Go59IVB1ECFgeZGer1aLr6Hi_KTo/s200/IMG_5043.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyNNByFMhyGUnm7S2o6MFY65ocMnAY3qbIIj3cUMnrEPNKpW3lmGVHSL7ZUSLGso2zgUL0GGnvp9GMlswYBZSDYJbnCGafnekwTm-92Kvy1EgDWCtpo_CqDMqNY-D-H28QsMyNchNoqX9/s1600/IMG_4503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="348" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyNNByFMhyGUnm7S2o6MFY65ocMnAY3qbIIj3cUMnrEPNKpW3lmGVHSL7ZUSLGso2zgUL0GGnvp9GMlswYBZSDYJbnCGafnekwTm-92Kvy1EgDWCtpo_CqDMqNY-D-H28QsMyNchNoqX9/s200/IMG_4503.JPG" width="138" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRjmtE0kMK_-4XmpHrtXu5H7gbqxOEIwDQMugW2Kzr4Ts_GGGWnu7zwcX2x7_Rc_2PqIFOkpDvRaClIk6QSMSiKSbn1FjCwlaazftPtS4oKmaWLcOWcQtRQP_MgonFh6pJ7G0h7qPZetS/s1600/IMG_4514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRjmtE0kMK_-4XmpHrtXu5H7gbqxOEIwDQMugW2Kzr4Ts_GGGWnu7zwcX2x7_Rc_2PqIFOkpDvRaClIk6QSMSiKSbn1FjCwlaazftPtS4oKmaWLcOWcQtRQP_MgonFh6pJ7G0h7qPZetS/s200/IMG_4514.JPG" width="150" /></a>The River Dart upstream of Ashburton is so well known to me now it is like an old friend, and old friends provide comfort. During the last three months I have been compelled more than ever to swim in its silky clear water, sit in its cascades and explore its beautiful rocky depths. The Dart estuary, below Totnes, I know less well. It is a different personality, though of course related to its cousin upstream. It slips in serpentine langour through the folding fields of the South Hams, gradually widening and becoming more saline as it gets to Dartmouth and the sea. And now of course this bit of the Dart has even more relevance to me, as Felix is buried in Sharpham Meadow, one of those fields above the estuary. When I visit his grave I often now go down to the river afterwards and swim below the meadow, looking up at where he lies.<br />
Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-4106841733844318122017-05-12T11:32:00.000+01:002017-05-12T11:32:01.609+01:00Loss<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgI854pjI8u80t-m8FRrinKSj9WkUwE9zf2G5VspT9RCII0JmLpDUaNAZ0hiyIbyUR-SERg_FFRPycBZ0nMtY2HQY1jeJRWyIivc5PvEJrhO98NheATslXG-onWEKKl8L3AUm-YACA7kWk/s1600/IMG_4146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgI854pjI8u80t-m8FRrinKSj9WkUwE9zf2G5VspT9RCII0JmLpDUaNAZ0hiyIbyUR-SERg_FFRPycBZ0nMtY2HQY1jeJRWyIivc5PvEJrhO98NheATslXG-onWEKKl8L3AUm-YACA7kWk/s200/IMG_4146.JPG" width="200" /></a>Swimming is a way of losing yourself in the vastness of the landscape. On Sunday I swam at Slapton where everything is enormous - the sky is huge, the sea stretches as far as the eye can see and the shingle is an endless line. It's a very abstract place, in three colours, three stripes ahead of blue, dark blue and brown, the sky, the sea and the shingle. The water was clear and I let it move me up and down the shore. Then I floated and looked up at the sky. It's that Hardy-esque feeling of being microscopic in the immensity of the world, and it's a feeling I crave at the moment, perhaps to try and make my loss less. In the last few days I've been in Snowdonia where I climbed a large part of Cadair Idris in a quest to reach a glacial lake called Llyn y Gadair which lies in a bowl under the towering cliffs of the mountain. It was breathtaking, and I felt a sense of relief on getting there and plunging myself into its icy waters. <br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-896393214569817502017-05-05T10:40:00.002+01:002017-05-05T10:40:40.758+01:00Why I've been silent<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Leftlake, Dartmoor</td></tr>
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On March 9th my darling, beautiful son Felix died, aged 20. He had epilepsy and his death has been put down to SUDEP - Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy, something which is little understood. His death has been like an earthquake through our family and although I have found swimming helpful in the aftermath I have not had any desire to blog about it. Since March 9th everything in my life has been, and will continue to be, refracted through the prism of his death. I will certainly blog about wild swimming again but my posts will probably, for some time at least, be preoccupied with swimming and how it aids the grieving process. I have been trying to get in the water as often as possible and it definitely helps. You can find out more about Felix and donate to SUDEP Action <a href="http://felix.murdin.muchloved.com/frame.aspx?" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By the River Dart</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Greece (Felix was never a fan of cold water!)</td></tr>
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-67011394782773063532017-02-19T16:57:00.001+00:002017-02-19T16:57:21.601+00:00Up the creek <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Judy has just moved, albeit temporarily, to Tuckenhay, a gorgeous village nestling by Bow Creek, off the Dart estuary, so it seemed only right to go and test out the water. We walked along the bank admiring the elegant Jane Austen style houses on the hill on the other side, everything in muted February tones: greys, browns and dull greens. The water seemed to be heading out fast but when we got in there was actually not a very strong current (apart from in the middle) and we enjoyed swimming upstream and then floating back down. The friendly curves of the hillsides down to the creek created a sort of secure feeling as we bobbed around in the middle. It was chilly, at 8 degrees, though warmer than the Dart further upstream, on Dartmoor. Afterwards Anna tested out her new rucksack, inherited from her father, which ingeniously combines a seat.<br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-17849163090070065862017-01-17T17:56:00.002+00:002017-01-17T17:56:38.548+00:00Swimming the stacks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Looking at a friend's pictures on Facebook I could see the sea was flat calm and gleaming like a mirror: perfect conditions for a swim around the weird and wonderful sandstone stacks of Ladram Bay. An impromptu plan was hatched, and a group of us met up in the car park of the local holiday camp and sauntered down to the beach, where it was indeed lovely, the sea was shiny and inviting and there was even some January sun. We plunged into the beautiful clear water and swam round the headland into Wonderland. The stacks stand like sentinels off the coast, rocky remainders of small promontories. One had a hole through the middle, through which we climbed and then jumped out the other side. After about 15 minutes we started to get cold and swam back to the beach, leaving the magical kingdom behind. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic: Ron Kahana</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic: Ron Kahana</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic: Ron Kahana</td></tr>
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-37207066627622760102016-12-27T16:25:00.003+00:002016-12-27T16:25:49.531+00:00The Twelve Swims of Christmas<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJ0fdKGGY2ZzgoBuWegUadL3xxuea3BsqyQuL6ojPy6cEUB4R3iWobRz_xPBN4UHaBHjDyNU3gWZ3K9qHKv1uiSTbvdQpHsW5Cl6rEH-QjKGBfR-_Cc48nIcOrBT2s-N_zNRaV49E9SWS/s1600/IMG_2065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJ0fdKGGY2ZzgoBuWegUadL3xxuea3BsqyQuL6ojPy6cEUB4R3iWobRz_xPBN4UHaBHjDyNU3gWZ3K9qHKv1uiSTbvdQpHsW5Cl6rEH-QjKGBfR-_Cc48nIcOrBT2s-N_zNRaV49E9SWS/s320/IMG_2065.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDOvqSCmATVHFZ1sE_JeMzXicCz07NGX6hOR4-oYe0EOht6SbEfFCG1OMbuRhZ898cUXoSz_VBf8TcsCtzsP1EE1xSvyvdVR8YGP6HWmtBzz8iaBWO8HNqS9XU_w3osZD8uoC6jVlXrGx/s1600/IMG_2054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDOvqSCmATVHFZ1sE_JeMzXicCz07NGX6hOR4-oYe0EOht6SbEfFCG1OMbuRhZ898cUXoSz_VBf8TcsCtzsP1EE1xSvyvdVR8YGP6HWmtBzz8iaBWO8HNqS9XU_w3osZD8uoC6jVlXrGx/s200/IMG_2054.JPG" width="200" /></a>So far I have swum on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, and now today (the 27th)...so I reckon I'm well placed to aim for the Twelve Swims of Christmas. So far all the dips have been freshwater and, ahem, very fresh, at around 7 degrees...but today we went to Westcombe Beach, where the sea was a much more forgiving 11 degrees. It's one of my favourite coves, with pink and grey striped rocks in all sorts of sinuous shapes, and all manner of caves and rock pools. It's a wonderful place to wander around and explore, especially at low tide, and you lose yourself in a weird world of rock. After a good explore I then had a swim, saying hello to a seagull which was bobbing about nearby, and looking over to Burgh Island in the distance. Pix by Alex Murdin.<br />
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-47531366072658580502016-12-21T11:37:00.000+00:002016-12-21T11:37:07.460+00:00Another trip to the Hindu Temples <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the first cave (photo Aaron Kitts) </td></tr>
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I never tire of swimming at the Hindu Temples in Torquay. They are a set of interlinking caves in the sandstone cliffs at Livermead; the writer Charles Kingsley described them thus: "the fantastic rocks of Livermead, scooped by the waves into a labyrinth of double and triple caves, like Hindu Temples..." They are an extraordinary natural feature. On Saturday morning we arrived to find the sea calm and a stunning petrol blue. The dark entrances of the caves beckoned us in and rock doves cooed above, roosting in the crevices, as we swam into the gurgling depths of the first cave. The water swirled around in the second cave and I got a bruised knee, but I never mind a few bruises after a swim like that. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart and Olivia </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark inside the caves</td></tr>
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Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-85644039279559258062016-11-28T15:42:00.001+00:002016-11-28T15:43:18.607+00:00Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-24036778323709443392016-11-28T15:42:00.000+00:002016-11-28T15:43:13.443+00:00Pottering around at Heybrook Bay<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6qdvi14wrXOqYimZNAfzi7WkUwU1ZEFgFTVpxxUKRv0BsS235PmuUo70FGHykeNHyGwNos1UdMTvG4PsZhlumxhJiNNF0V8bupYMEp4N1I5y2eMhCaMpvG-1LTbssmi5hnK2yZiKbff4/s1600/IMG_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6qdvi14wrXOqYimZNAfzi7WkUwU1ZEFgFTVpxxUKRv0BsS235PmuUo70FGHykeNHyGwNos1UdMTvG4PsZhlumxhJiNNF0V8bupYMEp4N1I5y2eMhCaMpvG-1LTbssmi5hnK2yZiKbff4/s200/IMG_0154.JPG" width="200" /></a>We set off to explore the coastline between Wembury and Heybrook Bay. It's a bit of the South Devon coastpath I've never explored before, and what a revelation. The path is pretty much at sea level, and you walk along marvelling at the beautifully intricate pattern of rocky outcrops and numerous little bays, like natural lidos . At Wembury Point, we saw a display board which said there was a holiday camp here in the 30s - complete with a man-made lido, the remains of which we could see. The sky changed constantly, as it does on winter afternoons, with the 'eye of God' - the sun's rays - giving a dramatic appearance to the Mewstone offshore. In Heybrook Bay, the water was incredibly clear and we had a deliciously refreshing swim, in which we explored in and around the numerous channels and pools. A lovely afternoon out.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old lido</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The remains of the old lido today</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natural lido</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heybrook Bay from coastpath</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCg54nvlamOsKEeL70Ovztjcjln9UaOQw3WLwhPSYij4IYZoFrh5WYAQGRZh7A7nzj3V62naoSDmLvUBpgYqo4E7NplohN-6gp0RZsuJv_ZySBG9QB1TFVn_Dly12wm87rXVoaFrLkvmE/s1600/IMG_0175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCg54nvlamOsKEeL70Ovztjcjln9UaOQw3WLwhPSYij4IYZoFrh5WYAQGRZh7A7nzj3V62naoSDmLvUBpgYqo4E7NplohN-6gp0RZsuJv_ZySBG9QB1TFVn_Dly12wm87rXVoaFrLkvmE/s200/IMG_0175.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjhyphenhyphenx80TevEzQnTuuHwO9kK_lUWJqTQ6-VzDam8iXfNfxdGycWhaKpE_A8TeD12SP8o3IFQFiNiq-DCzfpAgx93IAevMrdualwTZsscvU2k4b_cYW2mJ0maa6BvX9VKexqmlbKEVeVCml/s1600/IMG_0177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjhyphenhyphenx80TevEzQnTuuHwO9kK_lUWJqTQ6-VzDam8iXfNfxdGycWhaKpE_A8TeD12SP8o3IFQFiNiq-DCzfpAgx93IAevMrdualwTZsscvU2k4b_cYW2mJ0maa6BvX9VKexqmlbKEVeVCml/s200/IMG_0177.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7844976896191847389.post-12770986694082712172016-10-26T19:14:00.006+01:002016-10-26T19:14:59.982+01:00Seal Adventure<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum - pic by Ju Lewis</td></tr>
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When I was a teenager I absolutely loved the Willard Price books. They were all called Something Adventure, eg Whale Adventure, Volcano Adventure, and South Sea Adventure (to name but three). They were about two teenage brothers who travelled the world collecting exotic animals for their father's zoo, having exciting exploits and encountering loathsome villains on the way. Well today (Saturday 15 October) we had our own animal adventure. It all started as we were walking down to a remote beach in Torquay. As we slipped and slid down the uneven path, we heard an eerie wail/howl which echoed around the cliffs. Ju thought it might be a seal, and sure enough, as we got closer to the beach, we saw two in the shallows. Down in the cove, we sat down at a distance to watch them. One of the seals started to hightail it up the beach (as far as a seal can high tail it - it was rather a slow and inelegant process), with, it seemed, quite a sense of urgency. As she neared the high water mark we suddenly realised there was a white fluffy pup up there. It was brilliantly camouflaged. Later, when we returned after exploring the rest of the beach, the mum and the pup had come down to the water's edge. The pup hauled itself into a rock pool where it repeatedly dipped its head in and out - I guess it was experimenting with the water. We felt so privileged to have seen this seal family.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pup - pic by Ju Lewis</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4EqQlsmRSZMd6viWQguNwMyQYn91yOMidPLpOgXIs_z4ZiVjkrrdEiiLkbKz_Ixckd2ws60Lx5TA5Ibfjcq9Eb_6HdNvhAbnfoHzFDkME5vZCg6KKfyXmb1Vxuom8llmLlWwnkVLNv8K/s1600/IMG_2615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4EqQlsmRSZMd6viWQguNwMyQYn91yOMidPLpOgXIs_z4ZiVjkrrdEiiLkbKz_Ixckd2ws60Lx5TA5Ibfjcq9Eb_6HdNvhAbnfoHzFDkME5vZCg6KKfyXmb1Vxuom8llmLlWwnkVLNv8K/s200/IMG_2615.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;">Can you spot the 3 seals?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6B54uigu00thtoAQ9rmHcRmvmQkTYx0cTjf7zL6PfpnTG_Q0i9PH2pKjNYNlJjj_I5dVNoPPI_OynY45fTHgBRSa7nXM1BP9rybNZ41sMeakDdlnz7fbZ_rGpXDFXWjemRB5Ov5Zbo-YT/s1600/IMG_2616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6B54uigu00thtoAQ9rmHcRmvmQkTYx0cTjf7zL6PfpnTG_Q0i9PH2pKjNYNlJjj_I5dVNoPPI_OynY45fTHgBRSa7nXM1BP9rybNZ41sMeakDdlnz7fbZ_rGpXDFXWjemRB5Ov5Zbo-YT/s200/IMG_2616.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160632008374233740noreply@blogger.com0