Wild Swimming in Scotland

Scotland: a land of water. Lochs and rivers of all sizes, secret pools, fairy waterfalls, high silent mountain lochans, inky dark salmon streams, broad expanses of beach with nothing but you and the oystercatchers, the wind in your hair and the surf rolling in; jewel-like island paradises of white sand and turquoise sea.

And hardly any swimmers in them: until lockdown. The covid lockdown brought the wild swimmers out in force. We couldn't travel far, yet near to hand everywhere is some water. Swimmers went in the water to aid their mental health, boost their immunity, and enjoy a gentle community activity in the outdoors.  

Confession time: I don't like swimming. You don't know whats lurking in the water and I hate sand up my arse. And I am definitely more of a sinker than a floater. On holidays as a child I went in the water, off the beach at St Andrews, or in Craigs Pool in Glen Fruin. But my teens saw me out on my bike, up the hills, and away from the water, and that's how it has been ever since.

But even then there were exceptions. Sleeping on top of Ben Nevis to catch sunrise, climbing the Aonachs, then an invigorating skinny dip in the pools cascading down towards Glen Nevis with nobody about.

Or catching sight of the beaches whilst cycling through the Western Isles and dashing down to the shore, stripping off, and wading in to take a few strokes and marvel at the unusual warmth of the shallow water. I mean you would, wouldn't you?

But let's face it, the real reason there aren't more swimmers in Scotland is the water is usually COLD!!! Some people deal with it by wearing wetsuits, bobble hats, and neoprene gloves and socks. My sister, by contrast, considers wetsuits the mark of a jessie. She adores wild swimming, and goes out whenever she can. "It's alright for you," I said to her once, "you don't feel the cold."

"I do," she replied, "but it's worth it."

And then I understood. Climbing hills is hard work, but I love the upsides. Maybe I should give swimming a go? So one sunny day, I joined her at Burntisland.

The day was sunny, but the water still COLD!!! I let off unmanful shouts and shrieks as my body slowly encountered more of the water. I hadn't bothered changing, so was still wearing shoes, shorts, t-shirt and sunhat. I looked at my dog on the seawall. Did she want to come in? Not a chance. She watched us from dry land and I cautiously took a few strokes, never in more than a metre and a half depth of water.

"I'm swimming! Does this count?"

"Yes!" replied my sister. "You're wild swimming!"

Eventually I had acclimatised and I got out, went back in, got out again, expecting to dry off in the sunshine.

"Did you bring a change of clothes, a dry robe?" asked my sister. Why would I need that? I expected to just dry off naturally. Big mistake. I was soon shivering, as it was explained to me the body continues to cool for a further half hour after coming out the water.

I will swim again: perhaps with the Glencorse Reservoir swimmers, who looked high as a kite at Flotterstone car park one evening when they invited me to join them. Perhaps at Pittenweem lido, a tidal pool with colourful pegs attached to the sea wall to hang your clothes, and memorial plaques to the likes of James Purcell, 'the only man ever who tried to droon a crab':

Or if I am really up for the challenge, perhaps in Loch Lomond at Duck Bay on a torrential December morning, hands so cold I can't do up any zips or operate the car?

The one thing that is sure is, anyone avoiding swimming completely, is missing out on a whole extra dimension of enjoying and experience Scotland.