The Swimmer Cambridge

After a successful winter of monthly swim-run adventures from London's head to toe with The Swimmer, the latest installment heralded the start of the summer school trips - this time to the pleasant environs of Cambridge, where we'd had a most jolly of jollies almost exactly a year ago.

In contrast to the increasingly large London contingents, this was a more intimate affair of 12, made up almost entirely of Brockwell Icicles - hooray - including a rare appearance from chief mischief maker Sara, plus of course the inimitable John of The North - hoorah!

All aboard the 08h15 from Kings X platform 4...

Alighting in Cam we were greeted by Swimmer regular (not to mention PHISH relayer) Simon, kindly providing support car services for the day. So bags in the boot and off we trot for a mile or so to the hallowed river spot of Newnham Riverbank Club, a NAKED swimming club <prudish gasp> which you access by an unobtrusive wooden door at the end of a grassy path tucked away at the side of a field.

Emerging into a little wooded area just within the door, we were relieved to see the blackboard proclaiming balmy water temps (in view of the long swim we had planned for later).

Phewf

Past a little shed and out to the verdant river bank, handily divided into sort of changing areas by a series of low (and not particularly dense) hedges, the grass cool and springy underfoot like a carpet. As the five of us girls retired to a secluded spot to change for the first swim, we seemed to arrive as if with one mind upon the excellent idea of embracing the club values and leaving swimming costumes behind.

Hee hee

Barely (haha) able to contain our glee, we threw caution and clothes to the wind and made a dash for the river bearing only our Swimmer hats, entering the water by a handy set of steps a little along from where the boys were changing and partially screened by some nearby foliage. You could almost hear the gasp from the boys' camp as they realised "the girls are naked!" and then rapid retreat and conferring about how they would respond to this opening gambit. By this time we were safely submerged and having the highest of high times among the gorgeous silky water.

20 seconds later we were treated to the most hilarious nude dive show in single file (us girls raising a hearty cheer each time a luminous white buttock arced across the sky), followed by some truly shameless but commendably synchronous surface dives with inevitable effect of new potatoes bobbing to the surface of the pan. Such madness, such joy - a swim I will never forget.

Those of a prudish disposition look away now... Otherwise guess who?!

Ne tush pas

After all this excitement we were clearly in need of sustenance. So with clothes (sadly) back on and a spring in the step of one and all, we set off for the 1.5 miles along the river to Grantchester Orchard tea garden for enormous warm scones and a pot of the good stuff.

We discussed optimal methods for dealing with irate swans having spotted a nesting pair on the way down, who can apparently get a bit touchy this time of year. Will advocated the waving-arms-in-the-air and making-yourself-look-as-big-as-possible method, but Sara and I decided keeping your arms out of sight would probably be prudent, as that's what they like to break isn't it? 

Mad as a hatter

With light rain falling outside and a somewhat autumnal feel to the air, an element of collective procrastination set in as were contemplated the 45-minute swim back downstream to the swimming club, which last year had proved rather challenging in the final minutes as shivers set in.

Nothing for it but to man up and get changed in the gravelly carpark (naturally) - all of us coveting the one wetsuit of the party, brought by prudent Sarah (not to be confused with miscreant Sara) - before a quick dash across a cricket pitch and to the river once me we go. Marcus was very, very keen to enter at precisely the same spot as last year but an inopportunely placed swan had other ideas, and soon made it clear that we would just have to settle for a few yards downstream.

Off we go, the intrepid 12, the river and surroundings mostly empty of people on this grey Saturday morning, beautifully peaceful and sort of conspirationally cosy down here below land level. I settle into a steady front crawl, admiring and occasionally crashing into the surroundings, smiling to myself when I turn to breathe and find a cow perfectly silhouetted on the bank. Magic.

I'm somewhere in the middle of the pack. Rounding a bend I sense something is amiss and look up. Shock horror! For as we had feared the male swan is seething mad, puffed up as big as a house, gigantic and terrible, bearing down like a thunderbolt on little wetsuit-clad Sarah even as she tries to swim away. Panic and mayhem! Jonathan is already on the riverbank having encountered the swan before the rest of us caught up, Liz is trying to extract herself from the feathery fray and god bless Will as he takes on the adversary and puts his arm-waving theory to the test. The swan, while not exactly cowed, is given pause - time enough for all of us to make a speedy exit and regroup on the bank, shaken but no arms broken. Yowzers!

Knowing when to admit defeat, we scampered along the path in dripping togs and sploshed back in at a safe distance, soon arriving at our destination with a (misplaced?) sense of triumph.

Another gentle jog for a couple of miles along the scenic 'backs', then last swim at the rather excellent Jesus Green Lido, which is long (100 yards) and narrow to mimic the nearby river, swan-free and sunny. Result!

  

DING DING - LUNCHTIME! Here comes the sun, here comes the beer...
Epic scotch egg for Marcus - good enough to make a grown man weep apparently:

John and Marc share a special moment

And good god but if it isn't WORLD GIN DAY!! I'll drink to that:

After all of which you could have knocked me down with a feather.

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.