It had been a couple of years since I last went into port in Europe. After scouring Google Maps, I found a wee beach over 4 km away close to Gorinchem centrum in Holland. I managed to squeeze in a few swim runs. Brilliant. To reduce the faff I keep shorts and runners on during swim runs, this isn’t about swimming a great distance or having perfect technique, it’s to keep a smile on my coupon.

Returning from my first Dutch swim run I had to stop and make sure that my runners weren’t disintegrating, because the ice forming on them made them take a new shape. My board shorts became inflexible as they froze solid. Running in Holland isn’t as fun as Scotland, there are no hills, it’s mostly long straight roads and at the speed I run they never seem to end. During one of the massive long straights on the way to the beach my mind wandered to a wee adventure working in Kristiansund in Norway about two decades ago. I always liked the 1800hrs to 0600hrs shift in the summer, it meant getting off the boat and having an adventure. Not getting off and going straight to the pub then spending the next few days with a buckled head worrying that I might get into trouble for drunken shenanigans. (In fact saying that, one of the best nights out I have ever had was in a karaoke bar in Kristiansund.) So early doors I would jump on the ship’s bike and head off. I discovered wee notebooks at the tops of Norwegian hills to sign and leave some details, it was on one of these wee days out I first became aware of the delights of wild swimming. I cycled for a wee while then rounded a corner to face an amazing wee beach, cove type place with a small square platform about a hundred yards from the shore. There was a pretty cottage up from the shore with no signs of life. I pondered biking back with wet shorts or swimming buck naked out to the platform. Common decency and an uncomfortable bike ride in wet shorts won, it was a great decision. Half way out to the wooden destination, large patio doors pulled open and an old dude waved, I waved back, got on the box, jumped off a couple of times then swam back. We met on the shoreside as I returned and he invited me in for coffee, his wife said I was like their grandson who never drank coffee and they brought out his stash of earl grey teabags. After warming up he showed me around his garden and small jetty, he pointed out the locations of his crab pots before I headed off.

Maybe it was my supervisor’s attitude when I burst into the control room full of excitement with my take on the morning’s events. It wasn’t “That’s really cool, sharing a cup of tea with the Norwegian couple” it was more negative. “Swimming by yourself? What would happen if you got a cramp? How would we write that up you drowning? Look, I don’t mind you climbing hills but no more swimming. Right?” Nonsense like that made me not consider wild swimming for over 15 years. To be honest he might have been right. I don’t know if I had the mental ability back then to be able to stay safe in the water.

My passion for swimming outside never really surfaced until a life-changing walk into Knoydart. We will talk about that hike later.

Before we chat about that walk, let’s blether about a daunder up a hill in Africa that happened a couple of years before that Knoydart adventure. Clare wanted know what we could to do to celebrate our 40th birthdays that were a few months apart, I suggested that a wee stroll up Kilimanjaro would be memorable.

African Glacier Kilimanjaro

Clare didn’t share my enthusiasm although she did encourage me by suggesting “My friend would do it with you?”

“Yeh yeh” I replied.

A few months later her friend came up to me at a party and asked me if I was serious. “Awe yeah” thinking it was prospect chat and would be forgotten before the hangover arrived.

I was surprised a wee while later when a message indicating which route we would be taking dropped into my inbox. I didn’t get nervous or excited even when a fortune left the bank account. I stepped up my exercise and began my obsession with wool.

After researching sleeping bag liners, I discovered it would be better to sleep in merino wool baselayers including long johns and socks, which turned into a wool obsession. One of the Icebreaker tops bought for that trip has become like a security blanket, it gives a feeling of peace and comfort which is why I wear it every day when at home. Recently I took a fancy to a female companion’s cashmere cardigan in a restaurant — I think if her husband wasn’t there demanding to know why I was wearing women’s clothes I might have tried to wear it longer than a couple of minutes. The week before, I started a blether with a stranger in the Tesco fruit aisle about the thermostatic properties of her sheepskin jacket. We spoke for ages, I discovered her jacket was a hand me down from her mum. Afterwards I wondered what kind of upgrade her mum got, cause that jacket looked the warmest jacket ave ever witnessed.

Anyway back to walkin.

After the first day I came to the conclusion I had to snack every 15 minutes or I would get crabbit and lethargic. The next day I started the diamox tablets. You are meant to take them after food, I necked some before breakfast and within the hour I had extreme back pain, it was a struggle to walk for the next few hours and only after lunch did I think that I might complete our mission. Looking back it wasn’t the brightest move. These tablets mess about with the kidneys so yer body can handle high altitude without weeks of acclimatisation. It did not help that my kidneys were already under strain from my high protein diet.

The rest of the trip was nearly plain sailing and felt no real exertion. I had planned for the ascent from way before we arrived, a hydration pack full of big fizzing Berocca tablets and banging techno on my headphones. It was a big risk because I had been off sugar including anything sweet like fruit, chocolate cakes. It meant I was buzzin on a sugar rush even before first light and pretty much danced up into high altitude on my way to the big sign post. At one point a guide from another group asked me what I was listening to, by chance it was the Congolese singer Pepe Kallé singing about a Cameroonian football player, it’s well known through out Africa and lead to a wee mini disco with a bunch of guides and sherpas dancing about the tiny speaker of my phone while their large group of Norwegian clients struggled past us using tiny steps as they were suffering from altitude sickness.

When the sun came up over the glacier it felt pretty magical and I had tears leaking from my eyes. Maybe that was the sugar racing through my veins, and felt like the reason I pretty much sprinted off the top back to the camp.

Getting all artistic Kilimanjaro

It’s hard to explain, at the bottom it didn’t really feel as though I accomplished anything. I know it wasn’t just from feeling bummed from the sugar. This isn’t “look what I have done” nonsense, I am not trying to be blasé about the adventure, I think my walking companion found it life-changing, and went on to walk in the Atlas Mountains and complete a 24hr three British peaks challenge or maybe it was just part of her journey after proving that she could run 10km at a local charity event the year before our African tour. For me it felt like a big walk with a few laughs.

I’ve not even told you about the Knoydart walk, I am sure it’s been mentioned a few times in past posts, well anyway a quick summary. I had just returned from a big trip at work and felt selfish about asking for a free pass for the weekend. But there was something about walking into the wilds of Scotland that really got me excited. There’s no roads to our destination. It’s either walk or get a boat.

Walking into Wilderness Knoydart

I honestly could barely breathe on the run up to the walk. It was everything I could have hoped for and more. It was not following a sherpa up a well trodden path either. One friend and six strangers started hiking under the Harry Potter bridge, we were all best mates by the time we meandered into Inverie and had a slap up meal at the old Forge. At times it felt like the blind leading the blind as we broke out the compasses and maps when the trail split. Sleeping or swimming where our rucksacks fell. I dodged jellyfish after jumping into the sea from a pier, got hypothermic shakes after spending too long under a waterfall close to camp on the first night and enjoyed an early beach swim from our second camp spot. Lunches of mussels foraged from rocks close to Sourlies bothy and refueling the group with a jar of sun-dried tomatoes.

No Roads in Knoydart

The time in the wild waters surrounded by glorious hills transformed my life, made me realise that life was short with only a finite number of opportunities to getootside and have adventures. I don’t think I would have got excited heading to a hotel along the top of a narrow twisty dyke in the Netherlands late at night and discovered it was beside a canal with potential swim access. I was meant to drop off my passengers and head back to sleep on the boat, instead I organised to sleep in the spare bed in the chief mechanic’s cabin.

Tide was out Knoydart

We were greeted by keys on the front desk the previous evening so the breakfast chef was the first person I had the chance to ask about the Dutch canal’s water quality as I stood in shorts, t-shirt and towel in hand, he returned an “are you mad” face but mentioned the lady from the house on the other side of the road swam regularly in it. I was still shivering and sporting a massive smile when I returned for my breakfast a short time later. It was only an eight minute dook, you don’t need a thermometer to indicate the temperature when there’s ice on the edges. I was buzzin, full of eagerness to enjoy the day.
I think the point I am meandering to make is two massive walks, two amazing experiences. The difference between the Knoydart walk and the top of Africa was passion.

Kedichem ice Holland

I wonder how many of you would choose Knoydart over Kilimanjaro. If given the option again, Scotland would win every time, not in a paint my face blue and white nationalist way. I don’t regret the daunder up Kilimanjaro, it was amazing and memorable. Although, in hindsight I was still trying to discover that thing to be obsessed about — something that I wake up in the morning and immediately start buzzin and giggling about.

Morning Sunrise Swim Kedichem

If you have read any of my other blogs you will know my passion is swimming outside.

What’s yours?

Swim safe.