Thurlestone Rock

The hottest day of the year so far. So hot that even the air-conditioning has given up for the day as I drive down to South Devon after work. I swelter down endless country lanes until I round a corner and see it: an arch in the middle of the bay like a noble statue in the middle of a town square: Thurlestone Rock.

I meet up with the Happy Wild Swimming group with the aim of swimming out to this tiny tidal island. I've been so hot all day that I wonder about swimming without my wetsuit on. A quick reccy at the waters edge soon dissuades me. "Sod that." I go and get my wetsuit from the car.

It's been a while since I've swum in the sea and I'm nervous. I don't know what I'm scared of exactly but the rock seems a long way away, the sea feels gargantuan and intimidating at eye level as we enter the water and it's cold and smells of rotten seaweed. I get my head under the surface for a second and loose tendrils of seaweed appear in front of my goggles making me jump and splutter. Clouds begin to encroach on the sky and darken the water. Through the murk I see the shadow of a shoal of fish. They're making way for us as we swim towards the rock. The sight fills me with delight and dread in equal parts.

As I acclimatise to the cold sea, I swim with my head down in the water, surveying the crevices in the rock beneath me for creatures. I stop for a break and all of sudden the rock is right there in front of me. Now I can see the arch properly as it lies perpendicular to the beach. It's a grand sight, towering above us like a jagged slice of cathedral dome. We swim through and play on the slightly submerged rocks. Someone spots a compass jellyfish beneath them, its dirty brown crossed dome sinks into the seaweed as I float over, its tentacles sprawling menacingly. Then a blue jellyfish, neon and otherworldly. As the slight current moves the seaweed and me at the same time I have the disorienting illusion of enormous boulders on the sea floor washing around in the waves.

A group of teenagers in bikinis and shorts have swum out to the rock and start bombing each other, shouting and laughing. I feel like a wimp.

In a wave of melancholia I wonder why I've driven for two hours in a hot car just to swim to a rock. Do I like swimming as much as I convince myself? Is it worth it? Really? A gush of cold water floods down my back.

I take my time swimming back, not wanting to be in the hot car again, chatting to a swimming friend as we scull backwards to the shore, the rock towering over us with translucent clouds behind it backlit by the setting sun.

In the shallows some of us get our wetsuits off in the water to save the usual squeaky wrestling match on the beach. We throw them in a pile of neoprene and dive back into the water with just swimming costumes on. It's a fresh jolt and we whoop with the shock. It feels good.

Then, without discussion, without foresight, we swim back towards the rock. I swim with a fast pace to try and warm up, grabbing lungfuls of air as I power along, shoveling sea water behind me. The sun finally breaks free and lights up the sea beneath me as it rushes past, seaweed fronds billowing. My body feels free of restriction and I stretch my arms to the horizon with each stroke, the cold tickling my ribs, my muscles taut. I look up and my friends are doing the same, heads down, racing to the rock. Even quicker than before, we're back in the shadows of Thurlestone Rock. I swim away from the others, full of confidence now and too cold to stop and chat anyway. As I round the rock the low sun appears from behind it and blasts through the water in front of me, showing up its deep range of aqua hues.

I look around me and take it all in: the hotel on the headland bathing in the last light of the day; the crowds on the beach slowly dispersing, sticky with suncream; the multi-layered clouds above me and, framed through the arch, Burgh Island in the distance with it's magnificent Art Deco hotel. I'm buzzing with the light and the cold and the view.

On the drive home, Book at Bedtime on the radio, I know it was worth it. Swims always are.