Cold water community

Story by Kate Le Gallez.

Above: Daily swimmers at Horseshoe Bay creating a community, encouraging courage and manifesting a sense of well-being.

The 10 o’clock swimmers are freshly showered when I meet them on a sunny Tuesday in autumn. They emerge oneby-one from the Port Elliot Surf Club and gather at the tables on the western side of Horseshoe Bay.

Everyday, no matter the weather, they set out at the eponymous time, swimming first to the The Sisters before heading for Commodore Point and then cutting across the bay, back to their entry point near the surf club.

Conditions this morning are benign and a few of the swimmers went through the gap between The Sisters, known to the 10 o’clockers as ‘Jackie’s Gap’. Jackie was the first swimmer in the group to discover the gap was swimmable. You could say she’s come to ocean swimming later in life, having taken it up the week before her 72nd birthday. Now eighty, ‘She’s the craziest of us all,’ deadpans Helen. swum for nine. Relative newcomer Kate joined two years ago. She also does her bit to lower the average age which sits at around seventy.

They mostly pre-date the recent spike in interest in ocean swimming and its benefits. Newspaper stories reported the increased interest in ocean swimming during Covid lockdowns. And while the fresh air may have been the initial attraction, many of the newcomers discovered the benefits and addictive nature of ocean swimming that the 10 o’clock swimmers already well knew.

Of course they don’t refer to any of the studies delving into the benefits of cold water swimming, from boosting immunity to lowering stress and improving mental health. They know these things intuitively. ‘None of us get really sick,’ Helen says. Adrian adds ‘It’s cheaper than a psychiatrist,’ before John off-handedly mentions, ‘Apparently we have more brown fat’ (instead of the standard white fat) which, it should be quickly pointed out, is a good thing.

One aspect that science has yet to quantify is the community that grows around these groups. The 10 o’clock swimmers are something of a motley crew – ‘Tree huggers to silver spooners’ someone quips. They don’t live in each others’ pockets, but the daily contact naturally begets a certain solidarity. They’ve seen each other through new

relationships and breakups, raised money together for the surf club and even taken swimming holidays together.

For another of the daily swimming groups – the cold gang – community has become part of their raison d’être. Most of the cold gang have been cold swimming for a year or less and although they might be newer to the daily ritual, their conversion to the practice has been swift and no less complete.

There are five women swimming when I join them at sunrise on Easter Monday. Usually there’s more, but school holidays, work and Covid have kept a few away. The routine for these swimmers is different to the 10 o’clock crew. The cold gang find their high in a much shorter route, today swimming to the pontoon and back.

It’s something of a highway on this particular morning, with another larger group also taking the plunge at the same time. Many in this other group are decades-long stalwarts of the Horseshoe Bay swim. One elderly woman is accompanied to the shoreline by her adult son. She stabs her walking stick into the stand so it remains upright, ready for her return. Even in April the water temperature takes my breath away, and I spend a couple of minutes gasping before I can relax. In contrast, cold gangers Mandy and Sarah chat away. They’re talking about a recent event they both attended, but it’s not small talk. The discussion is a deeper chat between two people who know each other and what’s important to them.

Afterwards, they tell me about the intimacy that’s quickly grown within the group. Before swimming together, they might have said hello at school pickup. Now they holiday together. I can’t linger to chat on this particular morning, as my shivering body has progressed to full on shakes. Sarah recalls their own early endeavours embracing the cold. ‘I think my body’s become cold adapted,’ she muses. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what happens this winter. Last year I’d just go in and bob around for three or four minutes.’

But just like the 10 o’clock swimmers, the cold gang are addicted to the flood of wellbeing they feel as a result of swimming each day. The dual endorphine hit from being among like-minded people and their physiological response to the water is and continues to be life altering. As I head for my car, Mandy gives me a knowing smile: ‘Once you start, you can’t stop,’ she says. And I know I’ll be back.