19th-22nd April 2021 - Sea swims from the camper

It takes us until the first evening to realise that we can hold hands, hug each other, be close. We are both tearful. We live just a 10 minute cycle from each other, but because of the pandemic this is the first time we’ve touched in over a year. A mother-daughter cuddle has to be one of the best things in life.

We are spending three nights a camper van, driving from Winchester to South Devon and back. We have everything we need in the suitcases that we brought on the train from London to Winchester.

The camper van is like a space ship, not an inch is wasted. The man we hire it from explains how everything works in 20 minutes. For the next three days, we rack our brains to remember what he said, finding hidden capabilities as we explore. We give up on charging our phones because the USB ports are too modern for our chargers.

We talk nearly constantly, making up for lost time. Together, we examine our lives, past, present, and future. We get the giggles and try to contain them because we are in a campsite with nearby tents. This just makes the situation more hilarious. We laugh till we cry; I haven’t laughed like this for ages.

I swim six times over the three days: twice in the sea on the first day, once in my Aunt’s pond on the second day, two more sea swims on the third day, and a final very choppy sea swim on the last day.

Swimming in the sea feels spiritual in a different way than swimming in ponds. Especially when the sea is powerful, and especially when I am on my own. And the feeling is heightened because it is the first time I’ve been in the sea for over 6 months.

The lift and swell of the water delights me. I jump with the waves and shoot up 5 feet, effortlessly. I dive into them, feeling the rush of foamy water around me. I float on my back and watch seagulls wheeling, listening to their cries and the churn of the sea. I somersault and hear the pounding silence of the underwater world before bursting back into glittering sunlight and breathing salty air.

Each time I swim it is the sensible, aware-of-hypothermia part of me that finally calls time. My selkie side could stay in there forever, playing in the surf, eyes wide, absorbing beauty through every sense. I think the closest thing to a prayer that I ever think before I get out, and feel warm in my heart.

On the third day, my mum joins me for one of the swims. We are at a natural harbour, which appears empty but for a couple of ducks. I’ve never seen ducks in the sea before. Mum walks in to thigh deep water and does two quick plunges and then scampers out. I swim out a little further, float and admire the blue of the sky. Turning back towards the shore I suddenly see something else in the water. Standing to get a better look, I can make out a brown, hairy, bobbing thing. I watch it for a few moments until it dips below the water. It must be a seal. I feel a thrill of excitement and wait, standing, watching for several minutes, but it is gone. On the beach there is another swimmer about to get in the water. I tell him, “I think I just saw a seal!”

“Oh yes, very likely, there are a few of them around here, they often hang out in the harbour.”

On the last evening we find two traditional USBs behind my seat. We could have charged our phones after all. We are grateful that we didn’t find them sooner.

Before returning to Winchester we stop near Weymouth, in a car park practically on the beach. The wind howls around the camper, rocking it very slightly. The sky is clear and the sun strong. Gulls play just in front of our windscreen. Waves crash in the pebbles and their roaring rivals the whipping wind. This is the last swim opportunity. I walk across the pebbles, the wind in my hair, goose bumps rising. The water is wild and glacial. I play in the waves, but more timidly. I am alert to rip tides and wake waves that might crash me against the beach. This sea demands caution and respect.

We cook vegan burgers in our portable dwelling. They are delicious and warming. I am zinging with the power of the elements.

I arrive back in London ready salted, with sand in my socks, recharged by the sea and precious time with my mother.

A slight pang that this adventure is over.