A Swim in the North Sea

It was 7:45am when I met the St Andrews Wild Swimming Society for the first time. I stood on West Sands Beach, shivering and shielding my eyes against the gritty wind. The beach was deserted except for two figures who I thought were seals, but who turned out to be paddleboarders.

An eager group of wild swimmers has been growing over the last few years. Luke Campbell, the society’s Wellbeing Officer, motioned for us to find a spot on the beach to place our things.

“The morning swims are quieter,” Campbell said as we positioned our towels and coats in a way that kept them dry and free of sand. The society runs three open swims a week, one on each beach.

“My friends enjoyed going in [the sea], so we made a group chat,” Campbell explained the origins of the society. “People kept getting added, and it just kept growing.” He stooped to pick up some rubbish left on the beach. “It’s only going to be a quick dunk for me today.”

There was one wetsuit between us, one knock-off Dryrobe, and lots of chattering teeth. The swimmers were very apologetic, as if there was anything they could do to stop the rain and clear the grey clouds.

“Usually you get to see a beautiful sunrise,” Kitty Harland, a dedicated member of the Wild Swimming Society, added. A few minutes later, another blast of wind reminded me just how cold St Andrews can get.

The group was eager as they reminisced about past swims. I only had to endure one dip; surely it was doable.

“Let’s go, swimmers,” Campbell said tiredly. He looked over at me, remembering I was noting down his every word. He laughed, mustering up some enthusiasm for a second attempt. “Let’s go, swimmers!”

We took off towards the lashing, grey waves. The tide was far out, giving me a minute to warm up on the way over. But this warmth faded as soon as we hit the sea.

A flock of confused seagulls watched over us, likely wondering why anyone would put themselves through such an ordeal. A chorus of whoops and winces switched to a show of faux-bravado. “This is easy,” someone exclaimed, “I’m not even cold.”

As the waves reached my shoulders, I lost sensation below the knees. I was almost certain my feet had fallen off and floated away. The Wild Saints were right, though. The cold is invigorating, and I soon found myself cheering alongside the other swimmers as another wave struck. Perhaps my face had frozen too, because I could not stop grinning.

“This one!” someone shouted, and we formed a rough line, watching the tallest wave yet crash towards us. Before I could second-guess myself, I dived into it, resurfacing in triumph. Almost everyone joined for the next wave, even those who claimed they were keeping their hair dry. The delight was truly intoxicating.

“It’s euphoric,” Harland said as we hurried back to shore. “But I want to get a wetsuit, it’s even more fun when you can stay and swim around.”

Despite my best efforts, my clothes were sandy and wet, but the dopamine spike sustained me long enough to dry off.

“We’ve seen dolphins and rainbows before,” Harland told me as we trudged along the beach. “But not today, sadly.”

I suppose I’ll just have to join them again!

Illustration by Ramona Kirkham