River

Water baby.

We found a less busy spot along the River Wey. It was baking hot. We had planned for a walk and a cider; a bit of shade and a steady breeze from the soaring temperatures. We hadn’t planned to swim. Neither of us had brought anything water-appropriate; no towels, no trunks, no swimming costume. But the allure of the cold water on one of the hottest days of the year was too difficult to resist.

We dumped our stuff on the gritty bank, stripped off to our undies and tip-toed into the water with sharp intakes of breath despite the heatstroke-inducing air temperature smothering us.

Further up the river, 10 minutes earlier, groups of teenagers were jumping off the bridge into deeper water. As we walked past them, I marvelled at their bravery/stupidity and I felt like an old codger. I wondered where my sense of adventure had disappeared to. Twenty years ago I would have been doing the same thing, consequence not even entering my consciousness. I felt a little envy at their fearlessness. It’s not that I wanted to jump off a bridge, but I did want to feel the joy of the cool water on my skin, and the relief it offered.

That’s how we ended up in our underwear at the side of the River Wey, not giving a shit.

The water banks were shallow, calf deep. A couple of steps further in and we found a sudden drop with the gravel sliding from under our feet and suddenly we were pelvis deep. Nothing left to do except dive and submerge!

After about two minutes of heavy breathing and acclimatisation, the water felt soothing and silky against angry, sunburnt skin. The intense heat and sweat was replaced by sweet relief and cool succour.

In my mind, I silently thanked my parents for making sure I attended every weekly swimming lesson whilst at primary school. I hated the chlorinated water and the self-conscious, pre-pubescent walks from the changing room to the pool-side. But once in, I loved the feeling of being in the water, staying afloat and being able to move from one end of the pool to the other, via my own muscles. Not with any expertise, but with some sense of skill that I could avoid drowning.

Breast stroke is my default. Slow and steady. Whenever I’ve tried front crawl, I just look like I need rescuing.

The water is deep enough in the middle of the river that when I position my body upright, I can’t feel the bottom. Occasionally we hear leisure boats a fair distance away, puttering lazily behind us, and we have plenty of time to glide out of the way.

The oak trees lining the river banks provide shade. We tread water and natter, then swim a little further and repeat our newly established micro-routine - several times. Chris jumps out to dry off. I can’t be lured out, I want to stay in. I love the water.

Chris takes a few snaps. I still want to stay in and carry on swimming up and down our little section of un-populated river. The water feels too good to leave.