Wham, bam, thank you Cam

The second Saturday of each month I take part in The Swimmer - a swim-run adventure from Hampstead ponds to Brockwell lido via Parliament Hill lido and the Serpentine (see also my first post for a lite version of the above). Last Saturday saw a slight change to the usual billing with a school trip to Cambridge, for which the Brockwell Icicles fielded a six-strong team of Sara, Liz, Nolene and me for the girls, and Peter and Marcus for the boys (David was still recovering from the trauma of Windsor the week before). With malt loaf and lashings of ginger beer <slaps thigh enthusiastically> we lined up in twos and made our way to Kings Cross to catch the 8h45 train.

Brockwell Icicles Sara and Liz

Markus bossing the Kings X area

Arriving in Cambridge, we were greeted by Will and Jonathan, the masterminds behind the Swimmer, as well as various other familiar faces from previous Swimmer instalments, 'our man in Cambridge' Simon, and Bryn - our wonderful support team for the day, complete with bicycle cart for transporting our things (cue gleeful stow-away attempt by Sara):

Taxi to go

 
(Picture courtesy of Peter 'fast as a cheetah' Springett, as are some of the ones below - cheers Peter!)

A brief jog through the town brought us to our first stop - Jesus Green lido: a 1920s classic, 100 yards long like Tooting bec but only 15 yards wide, apparently to mimic the nearby river:

Looks inviting don't it? Unfort it wouldn't open for another half an hour. Bother. So we opted to head for our next stop (the river!) and return here later.

The next leg took us along the 'Backs', the scenic stretch of the Cam where the colleges meet the river. Very nice, very nice indeed.

From Kings X to Kings College

Gaggles versus goggles

Through some small side streets and a track leading to a field, we passed through an unobtrusive wooden door into a quiet, shady area with a distinct 'secret garden' air. Yes, here we were at the Grantchester Swimming Club which, we were informed in hushed tones, is of the nudist variety. <Gasp>

Emerging through the trees to the riverside, you come upon a little grassy area neatly divided into two and enclosed by low hedges, and served by a shed that was evidently the swim club GHQ. At this time there didn't seem to be anyone around, clothed or otherwise, and we got on with donning our prudish, unenlightened swimming togs. We the girls were even able to commandeer a secluded area screened by conveniently arranged trees and bushes. Quite a step up from changing behind a tree at the Serpentine in full view of all of Hyde Park bar the narrow strip on the other side of the tree.

Convening with the boys by the wooden steps down to the water, we discovered Markus had jumped the green light and taken the plunge already, and was now enacting the Stevie Smith poem 'Not waving but drowning'.

With everyone now assembled it was time for a diving set piece. Here we have Sara stealing the show with a 9.5/10 performance, together with some more contemporary interpretations from Liz and Nolene:

Didn't film my own dive obvi, but here's a still courtesy of Peter:

Looks quite convincing I'd say. Didn't know I had it in me.

So here we all are in the beautiful water, a refreshing 13-14 degrees, surrounded by lush greenery, tree fronds trailing the surface of the water, coots ambling along - and of course the obligatory punts and kayaks.

We set off for a brief paddle downstream and, ever on the lookout for a new thrill, Sara soon hit upon the brilliant idea of climbing the invitingly low branches of a nearby tree. Before long everyone was shinnying up it like a troupe of drunken monkeys:

Did you spot Will whipping his camera out of his trunks for the final jump?

Further on the river narrowed slightly and the canopy came in closer, making for some enchanting swimming. We were even treated to the dazzling blue flash of a kingfisher skimming the surface.

Back to the swimming club (against my nemesis, the current), for a quick change into swimming costume #2 (avoid getting into wet cozzie at all costs), before a short run along the river to our next destination...

Me and Sara burning up the miles in Grantchester Meadow

Nolene and Will (in matching outfits?!)

And what a destination - the quintessentially English Grantchester Tea Rooms, set in a beautiful apple orchard scattered with green deck chairs. Following in the footsteps of such intelligentsia as Virginia Woolf, John Maynard Keynes and other lights of the Bloomsbury Group, we wasted no time in procuring a pot of tea and giant scone to fortify the sinews for the Long Swim to come.

Dusting crumbs from our chops, we made our way to our next changing room - to whit, the tearoom carpark, something of a step down from the tree-lined glade of before. Feeling just a little ridiculous as we crossed a cricket pitch in our togs and trainers, we headed down to the river to swim the mile back (downstream - yes!!) to the swim club.

As a 'scenic' (read 'slow') swimmer I was one of the first to plop in (squelchy riverbed, not unpleasant) and settled into a steady breast-stroke with Liz at the head of the pack. Here we had the advantage of a clear river ahead, with option of occasional backward sculling for reassuring sight of the rest of the team. Being at the front also meant we were the first to encounter oncoming punts, kayakers and walkers on the tow-path, whose reaction ranged from amusement to sheer astonishment. I even received an invitation to join a picnic party for lunch (which I politely declined).

At one point I encountered a swan, regarding me with a gimlet eye. Anxious he was going to give me the good cob bad cob treatment, I hunkered down in the water so that only my snout broke the surface, like an otter, and advanced as silently as I could. This tactic seemed to do the trick and he let me pass unscathed.

The river had a fair few twists and turns, so that every bend rounded revealed new scenery - sometimes with trees and bushes coming in close, at others with Grantchester Meadow clearly stretching away on the left. The joy of a long, uninterrupted swim in the heart of such beautiful nature and in the company of those in similar ecstasies is hard to convey in a blog, so I'll just say it was WONDERFUL.

As an antidote to such gushings, the cold started to set in for the last 10 mins to the extent that I started to shiver in the water (a new and faintly alarming experience). I'd settled into a comfortable front crawl rhythm early on and now set myself to swimming as fast as I could to avoid the indignity of hypothermia.

As soon as I spied the welcome wooden steps of the swim club I zoomed up and exited as though bitten by a pike. By now the regular (read 'naked') swimmers had arrived and were sitting around convivially drinking red wine from glass tumblers in the further section of the hedged in area, and gave us a friendly wave and hello. We opted for smiles aimed in their general direction and a sudden keen interst in the sky. I won't judge as that will clearly be me in 30 years.What's more, when they noticed my rather violent shivers (which for the record is a legitimate way to get warm) a tanned and toothy face appeared over the hedge asking "Do you need tea?" A godsend! This kind old man then took me to the swimmers' shed (having sympathetically donned a long jumper, and perhaps even undergarments - I didn't investigate) and got the gas stove going. While I warmed my hands over the kettle he even went so far as to make the powdered milk into a paste with water in a separate cup ("stops it clumping") before leaving me to it. I made three cups which we shared among us - apparently most had found the last 10 mins a bit of a challenge - and were soon restored to our former normothermic glory.

With the train station close at hand and all of us rather pooped from the long swim, we reached a unanimous decision to leave Jesus Green lido to another day, and Sara, Nolene and I even managed to sneak a lift in Bryn's car:

A common sighting

Well, it wouldn't be a true Brockwell outing without a taxi now would it?

Dove-tailing with the runners at the station, we reluctantly gave up Bryn and his comfy car and piled onto the train, doing our best not to disturb the sombre hush in the carriage.

Tickets please

We Cam, we saw, we swam.