By Linda Cuttriss
ONE of the best things for me about summer is plunging into the ocean. The temperature is just right. Not too warm like the tropics, cool enough to be invigorating and not too cold like in winter. Apparently, cold water swimming boosts the immune system, improves circulation and reduces stress, but it’s not for me. Most years I take my first plunge around late November and stretch it through until early April.
ONE of the best things for me about summer is plunging into the ocean. The temperature is just right. Not too warm like the tropics, cool enough to be invigorating and not too cold like in winter. Apparently, cold water swimming boosts the immune system, improves circulation and reduces stress, but it’s not for me. Most years I take my first plunge around late November and stretch it through until early April.
I try to plunge most days. Even when the wind is up or the sky is filled with clouds, I tell myself it will be worth it and head down to the beach. I throw my hat and towel on the sand, walk into the water up to my hips, stand on my tip-toes, push off and dive straight in. My soul smiles as cool water rushes over my face, draws my hair back tight against my scalp, slides over my shoulders and down my body and legs. As my face surfaces, I extend my arms forward then draw them back, continuing forward in a casual kind of breast stroke.
I duck dive a few times, loll about, and float on my back for a while, raising my shoulders and extending my legs so I can see around me. You could call it armchair floating. Often swallows circle a few metres above the sand and wheel over the water. I might hear a seagull cry or watch a Pacific gull come to rest nearby. I watch the waves roll into the bay and sometimes see a surfer riding along.
One day an extraordinary thing happened. I was half way through my breakfast coffee when I noticed the tide retreating fast. It was a little earlier than I’d prefer as the water would still be quite chilly, but it would be my only chance for a plunge with the tide being out for most of the day.
I quickly threw on my bathers and headed down to the beach. The water was only knee deep and a lot of seaweed had drifted into the bay and was floating just below the surface. It was difficult to find a clear sandy patch to take a plunge. The conditions weren’t ideal but experience told me that didn’t matter - it was always worth it.
I waded into the crisp water and took a very shallow dive. I savoured the feeling of being immersed and the strong salty taste of the sea on my lips. I lolled around and floated on the surface listening to the sounds of the sea. Not a soul around.
I duck dive a few times, loll about, and float on my back for a while, raising my shoulders and extending my legs so I can see around me. You could call it armchair floating. Often swallows circle a few metres above the sand and wheel over the water. I might hear a seagull cry or watch a Pacific gull come to rest nearby. I watch the waves roll into the bay and sometimes see a surfer riding along.
One day an extraordinary thing happened. I was half way through my breakfast coffee when I noticed the tide retreating fast. It was a little earlier than I’d prefer as the water would still be quite chilly, but it would be my only chance for a plunge with the tide being out for most of the day.
I quickly threw on my bathers and headed down to the beach. The water was only knee deep and a lot of seaweed had drifted into the bay and was floating just below the surface. It was difficult to find a clear sandy patch to take a plunge. The conditions weren’t ideal but experience told me that didn’t matter - it was always worth it.
I waded into the crisp water and took a very shallow dive. I savoured the feeling of being immersed and the strong salty taste of the sea on my lips. I lolled around and floated on the surface listening to the sounds of the sea. Not a soul around.
Cartoon: Natasha Williams-Novak From time to time, I’d get spooked as a piece of floating seaweed touched my leg but it was too divine to leave the water. I took more little shallow plunges, floated and twisted and turned with the morning sun shimmering on the water.
After floating about in the shallows for a while I got out and stood at the water’s edge, feeling the light breeze on my wet skin, watching tiny waves break on the reef at the mouth of the bay and looking out to the great blue sea.
All at once I heard a loud swooshing sound and saw a bubbling wave of water appear out of nowhere, rising up and rushing over the calm water just a few metres in front of me. As my eyes focussed I saw a large animal in the shallows. Was it a dolphin? A shark? No, it was a seal.
A large female Australian fur seal was surging through the water, twisting, turning, weaving, exactly where I had been floating only moments before. Her fur so sleek. Her face so sweet and pretty. But her muscular power would have frightened the living daylights out of me had I still been floating there. What a marvellous way to start the day.
After floating about in the shallows for a while I got out and stood at the water’s edge, feeling the light breeze on my wet skin, watching tiny waves break on the reef at the mouth of the bay and looking out to the great blue sea.
All at once I heard a loud swooshing sound and saw a bubbling wave of water appear out of nowhere, rising up and rushing over the calm water just a few metres in front of me. As my eyes focussed I saw a large animal in the shallows. Was it a dolphin? A shark? No, it was a seal.
A large female Australian fur seal was surging through the water, twisting, turning, weaving, exactly where I had been floating only moments before. Her fur so sleek. Her face so sweet and pretty. But her muscular power would have frightened the living daylights out of me had I still been floating there. What a marvellous way to start the day.