The Icy Dips

To be honest, it's quite fantastically ridiculous. A group of people spanning all ages, and accents from across the globe, who choose to meet every day at 6.45ish to swim in the Indian Ocean. Days when the wind and swell are up, and there's a spring chill in the air, the rational brain says “na, no way, nope, not doing it, this it's a terrible idea”. It says, “Are you kidding!?! Swim a kilometre across the bay, ducking under tumbling sets, traversing across limestone reefs and spying seaweed thrashing below through coarse grained swirling sand!? Na-a no way!”. But before you can creep back to your car in quick retreat, a posse of friends has materialised to coax you into the surging fury that is a stormy ocean. The power in our tribe allows us to do such things. Each day is different. It can be a southerly wind whipping its way from Antarctica, or a north easterly bringing a continental chill from across the Nullarbor Plain. Rolling and crumbling swell, or a glass off so clear your visibility has no end and your heart skips a beat. See, fantastically ridiculous.

Every day, Joey says ‘Wet, very wet’, in response to the question I ask him. Which is always, ‘How was it?’. It's a question of connection, and the kind that gets a single syllable in response, i.e. hard, easy, cold, rough, wet. This all encompassing word is followed closely by a toothy smile and reference to the coffee to come. See the swim is only one part of this morning ritual. Crucially and equally as vital, is the long mac or turmeric latte fuelled post swim chats. Hands wrapped around warm mugs, amongst the sometimes frenetic pace of our spiritual home the White Ele, Gnarabup Bay. Dragons, slugs, mermaids and maybe a penguin or two. We are sprawled across leather couches nestled by the fire, clustered along wooden benches or huddled outside around white tables clad in down jackets, ugg boots and beanies.

There was a time not very long ago that I watched these people of the ocean and wondered what it would be like to be amongst them. Their smiles, their laughs, their goggles and swimming caps. Swimming like a pod of orca perfectly spaced and pacing together. I wondered what it took to be a part of the group swimming way out at sea. I wondered how you wedge your way into a collection of people who seem so relaxed, that they must have known each other for years. You can't just turn up and expect to be welcomed in, I thought. Turns out I was wrong, completely wrong. This group has a strong connection there is no doubt, but it is not exclusive and length of time within the fold is of no consequence. What is binding, is a common and unifying language, and to learn it, all you have to do is turn up and get in.

The language is one of the ocean. It’s the tones of the sea, dark moods and bright turquoise blues. It's the sky filled with rain drops and storm clouds, a setting full moon or rising sun. It's the pink, purple and green seaweeds that dance with the current, their holdfasts plugged into the limestone reefs. These reefs below providing cracks and crevices, shelter and homes for crayfish, fishes, crabs, sharks and rays. It's the tumbling waves materialising as blankets of bubbles and streams of white, the bay itself aerated and awash.

It's the crisp water as you dive and your breath catches as if it's being sucked from you. It’s the same moment you realise you are in love with being embraced by that addictive chill. It's the days when the current is so strong that you are swimming your hardest and still going backwards. It's the same days when on the return journey you feel like the fastest swimmer that has ever graced this part of the ocean, as that current carries you back at light speed. It's the peaceful swims when the water is glass and the light dances along the sandy bottom below. It's the solo swims that you begin to do once you gain in confidence. You’ve been up and down that stretch of bay often enough to know that if you aim for the tip of the headland at surfers point and stop when you get to the part of the sand dune that has a double dip, you should be somewhere near the yellow buoy. It’s the days when the experience feels spiritual and the swimming mantra in your head shifts your mood as if the ocean itself is participating in the catharsis your inner being has been craving. It’s the single focus, the breath, the catch, the kick, the pull. It's getting faster and fitter, or the contentment in staying just the same. It's moving your body. It’s being in nature. It's participating in life.

I have dear friends who started their morning ocean experience by wading only. Who would hug the shore. Who refused to wear goggles and who baulked at the idea of swimming out past the jetty. These are now the same friends who are strong and confident in the water. They are brave and they continue to be. They are brave in the ocean, and they are brave in their vulnerabilities as they share tales of life, around coffees and by the fire.

The thing about this daily migration to the buoy and back, is that in this shared experience, each of our paths is unique. The way your body feels at sea, the things the ocean speaks to you, are different to what my goggle-covered eyes see, and my tingling skin feels, each and every day. Yet amongst these rolling waves, is a perfect melting pot for shared humanity. It arises from this ocean-centred space where no matter how different we are, we can relate. We relate when people make progress, are challenged, need friends, support, help to take the steps to move forward. We relate when people feel joyful and want to celebrate. This ocean space allows us to take our own shape and come as we are. A community of swimmers who know, that one of the most important things in life, is feeling alive.

Ocean spray in the face, frozen toes, salty dripping hair, alive.

October 2021