#MyTresco PHOEBE HUNT

Travel writer Phoebe Hunt returns to childhood summer spots and discovers that no amount of far-flung beaches can compete with the icy waters of Tresco.

It was on a family holiday to Tresco – around ten or 12 years ago I think – that I first came across the word ‘curglaff’. We were spending a happy, rainy afternoon playing a game of Absolute Balderdash over at the Fraggle Rock on Bryher, probably a few Rattlers down, laughing at each others’ ridiculous attempts to make up words for niche definitions. “The physical shock felt when one first plunges into cold water,” was the card, and we all tried to create a believable word. I can’t remember our inventions, but ‘curglaff’ – the correct answer – stuck in the family lexicon.

It’s a useful word in the Isles of Scilly, where the cold yet turquoise sea is deliciously curglaff-inducing. I’m told Scilly seas are colder than those off the English mainland, despite being further south, as temperatures range between eight and 16ºC all year round. Luckily, our parents trained my two brothers and I to be hardy sea-swimmers from a young age. Since long before we knew the word for it, the five of us have been addicted to the tingly endorphin rush awarded to those who brave a cold morning swim.

This family obsession causes horror to plus ones and houseguests, when on a drizzly morning one of us might declare on a whim that it’s time for a sea swim, egged on by other family members. Not wanting to seem churlish, they can invariably be tempted to join, and are usually converted to the cold water cult. This was the case with

my warm-blooded Turkish boyfriend, who declared before coming to Tresco that he wouldn’t even dip his feet in the sea. After a bit of peer pressure from my mum he saw the light, rallying the rest of us to swim every day without fail.

The secret is to start off warm – a brisk walk down to the beach should do, or a few star jumps – get into the water quickly, and not to stay in too long. Once you’re out, charged with boundless energy and zest for life, it’s a hot shower before a cooked breakfast over at the New Inn. When I was little, my favourite beach on Tresco was Blockhouse Point, a stretch of gentle white sand between Old Grimsby and the more famous Pentle Bay. It’s especially magical on a gloomy day, when the aquamarine sea and pale sand seem to glow luminous against a darkened sky. This year, however, we stayed at Puffin, overlooking Bryher, and New Grimsby Beach has never seemed lovelier.

Since my last trip here, I’ve spent three years living in Italy, where the sea is decidedly less chilly. Through working as a travel writer, I’ve also had the luxury of numerous five-star hotels around the world. If I’d feared this would have spoiled my love for Tresco, it has done quite the opposite. Not only was the magic of the island as alive as ever, with quiz night down at the New Inn and BBQs on the sandbar at low tide, the sea swims were even more life-affirming than I’d remembered.