Charlton lido

With the waters of Brockwell lido increasingly resembling a cream of mushroom soup (complete with proverbial hair in it), fellow Icicles Sara and Noelene and I decided to skip the crowds for a calmer, more secluded spot last weekend. Cue school trip to Charlton lido in deepest darkest south east London, which reopened this spring after a £2m refurbishment. Cor.

Taxi in form of Sara's racy fiat 500 set us on Noelene's doormat in Lewisham at 8.30, where we marvelled at the charming surroundings:

No time for sight-seeing though as we jumped into Noelene's car and sped on to Charlton. The entrance to the lido is unprepossessing to say the least, and gives little away about what lies beyond:

A dark portal

And the security arrangements are very eco-friendly:

Electric fence full of water?

Arriving a good 20 mins before the 9am opening (too keen), we diligently formed an orderly queue with the two other ladies who were waiting. We soon fell to exchanging lido stories as you do, culminating in the more forthright of the two women telling us how she came to blows with a man in a wetsuit last week who insisted on swimming into and indeed over her - at which point a lone man who had now joined the queue behind us nervously piped up that he was away all last week.

 Next a life guard came roaring into work in some style, causing quite a flutter amongst the girls:

And then with a friendly greeting from the man on the door and tickets procured for six pounds sterling, we were in!

On entering you come first to the children's pool going acrossways, adjacent to the main lido beyond, which stretches away up ahead. While the pools are all redone the accompanying changing rooms etc are still works in progress, giving a pretty cool scene of the clear blue expanse of water surrounded by scaffolding and a distinct impression of hard hats. The lido is -ahem- heated but we were relieved to see the temperature display showing just over 25 degrees, so not too much over what it would be anyway in this heatwave. (We were also amused to see the temp dial didn't actually go *below* 25 degrees...incomprehensible).

Quick change in the little cabins on the poolside, and in we went - Nolene in the fast lane while Sara and I opted for the Zone of Bewilderment. It's 50 m like Brockwell, slightly narrower, and with an overcast day there was plenty of room for all. Even the water temperature was fine - I mean you're obviously not going to get the cold water buzz but it was infinitely more pleasant than any heated indoor pool. It's also filled to overflowing so you really can feel Entirely Surrounded By Water and also Not Scrape Your Knee when you turn in the shallow end. Just having the space to swim and swim without crashing into anyone or needing to sight was such a luxury.

Hot showers on the poolside, return to civilian clothes and then back to Noelene's for coffee and breakfeast to rival the finest offerings of The Lido Cafe. Here, Sara took the opportunity to demonstrate the optimal front crawl technique:

High elbow on the recovery

Firm grip on the croissant

Just time for Sara to make off with some of Noelene's bamboo and raid the neighbour's cherry tree before speedy departure in the getaway car.

A very successful and civilized trip - highly recommended if you fancy a little change of scenery and a bit more elbow room. Maybe just let Noelene know when you set off so she has time to get the pastries in.

Summer comes to Brockwell lido!

Just a quick post to commemorate the fact that it has been boiling HOT and SUNNY all weekend at the lido (and elsewhere, I'm told). Even winter swimmers like to feel the sun on their backs every now and then.

Saturday: arrived 8am, swam, coffee and chats for (somehow) 3 hours, swam. 2.5km total (woop).

Sunday: arrived 8am, swam, chatted in the water, got out of the water, chatted over coffee and cake, swam. 2km total (quieter woop).

Magnificent mustachios

We icicles take our training very seriously

...well most of us do

Gang culture

"Did I leave the gas on?"

Nothing beats a good map of wild-swim opportunities

And finally, a small cake-related clip. I recommend turning up the volume for this one.

Swimtrekking in the Lake District

After months of eager anticipation Friday 28th June finally arrived - heralding the start of a WHOLE WEEKEND of SWIMMING in the LAKE DISTRICT, organized by SwimTrek. Yes indeedy. Meeting with fellow Brockwell Icicles Sara (posts passim), Deb, Claire and Noelene, we piled abroad Richard Branson's train and before long found ourselves deposited in Penrith, Cumbria, whence the obligatory taxi (it's the Brockwell way) spirited us westwards to our destination - viz. Dalegarth guesthouse and campsite, a comfy spot in prime position for lake swims.

With time to spare before The Safety Briefing, Sara and I made a stab at unpacking in our lovely little twin room:

...before giving up and heading out to explore.

And what a place! But a mere (haha) 2 min walk down a leafy path (featuring my first ever glimpse of a red squirrel - so small! so dainty!) brought us to the shores of Lake Buttermere - about 2k by 0.5k on the surface and (according to wikipedia) 23m deep (gulp) and strictly free of motorized boats - so basically bucketloads of beautiful clean water, surrounded by green rolling hills. *swoon* At this precise moment conditions were on the blustery side, which only fanned the flames of our excitement:

Back at the guest house, the safety briefing consisted of quick introductions from all 13 swimmers, plus our guide Neil and his girlfriend Arian (also a swimtrek guide), in manner of an AA meeting: "My name is Katie, and I am addicted to swimming. It's got to the stage where sometimes I swim twice a day. You kid yourself you can stop any time..." etc. The group included three (lucky) men, and altogether we provided a refreshing though not problematic range of age and ability.

Safety talks and forms completed, we were all set for a short 'acclimatization' swim in the lake. With the water a comfortable 15 degrees and a manageable 600 m loop to contend with, team Brockwell Icicles opted for casual dresscode (cozzies).

As soon as I entered the water I knew we were in for something special. The feel of it is so hard to describe - soft? silky? And the colour! As though lit from below with a dark electric blue light. Magical. Seeing the stony bottom of the lake suddenly drop away to the blue depths was slightly terrifying but mostly thrilling - especially with reassuring company of the rest of the pack (shoal?) whom I hoped would look more tasty to any passing lake monsters. Admittedly the return leg of the swim was somewhat on the wavy/choppy side, but fortunately we triumphed without recourse to river taxi, and emerged with a distinct sense of achievement.

Dinner was in one of the two pubs in Buttermere village, a lovely 20-min walk along the shores of the lake, up a hill, left a bit, down a dale and through a farm. Bed early (strictly no giggling in the dorms), up for cooked breakfast and lashing of tea at 8am, then all aboard the minibus to take us for swims to commence in earnest at the far end of Crummock Water - a lake abutting Buttermere, about twice as long and another beauty. 

We were divided into three groups according to swim speed - Claire and Lucy in pink hats for scenic head-up breast-stroke sans wetsuit, the mighty Jenny, Liz and Rob in the fast orange hat brigade, and the rest of us in yellow in the medium group. Support for the day was provided by Liam and Pete in sturdy Canadian canoes to transport our things and offer a taxi service should the fancy take us, plus team leader Neil in kayak. Here we have excerpts from the morning swim, a 1.6km stretch along the length of the lake. (Thanks to Liam for remarkably steady filming from the boat in the second half):

Are you getting the picture? Is your mouth watering?

Back on land for a quick change and a cuppa...

Time for tea

Top-notch hat

Liam stokes the fires to keep the tea flowing

....before striding forth on a lovely walk along the remaining length of the lake, stopping for lunch on a hill with stunning views of where we'd covered (right), and where we would be heading (left):

"Who nicked my sandwich?"

"Hee hee yummy sandwiches"

 Arriving at the Buttermere end of Crummock water, we came to swim #2 of the day - this time across the width to two small and verdant islands on the far side:

Then back to more tea and stacks of cakes and biscuits, all served from atop the ingeniously repurposed red canoe:

Silly hat? Waterproof flares? She's got the London look

Walking back to the guesthouse via Buttermere village, entertainment was provided by a local sheep with an interesting dining stance resembling some sort of yoga pose:

Not to mention some startling parallels between visitors and local residents:

Back in our dorm after another pub dinner that night, Sara and I found ourselves succumbing to that creeping interest in mischief that a twin room and a sense of being 'under supervision' inevitably engenders. Maybe it was the pint and a half of local ale, maybe it was the cumberland sausages - but clad in pyjamas, we found ourselves heading down to lake in the last vestiges of twilight a little after 10pm, doing our best to wear our towels as scarves with all the nonchalance we could muster....

(Warning: sensitive viewers should be aware that the following video contains a distinct suggestion of nudity - all very tasteful though, promise)

I cannot recommend such activities highly enough and adjure everyone to have a go if presented with such an opportunity.

On to day #2 - a scenic walk to the far end of lake Buttermere, followed by a swim of the 2k length of the lake. And what is that hot orange bauble in the sky?! Could it be....

Sunshine at last!

Boys' changing room

Girls' changing room

Behold!

As usual we set off in reverse order of speed to reach our destination at about the same time, with Claire and Lucy blazing a trail for us in pink hats. Neil helpfully reminding us that this would be "our last swim" lent a tragicomic air to proceedings as we bid farewell, where the following film of our final adventure begins:

A quick change next to what turned our to be quite the thoroughfare for traffic, hikers and boyscouts (!), then just time for a last walk up a hill (Pike With Foot or something like that - never been good on names), including a swim tutorial on the hoof from Neil (it's all about pushing the water backwards in the middle third of the stroke, fyi) and some pleasing views of our morning's scene of triumph:

Ta-dah!

Never turn your back on Sara...

Stunning scenery + epic swims + marvellous company = happiness. QED.

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.

Swimming Windsor the Brockwell way

Saturday 2nd June dawned bright and clear, and about 45 minutes later my alarm clock went off at the ungodly hour of 5am. For yes indeed, the day had arrived for me and fellow Brockwell Icicles Sara and David to take on a swim in the Thames in Windsor, organized by Human Race.

Our support team for the day was David's unspeakably accommodating partner, Aidan, who not only drove us there and back but proved a real boon in kit carrying and generally aidin' as needed. We arrived in good time and headed straight for the little cafe kiosk by the river, installing ourselves in a prime spot to survey the terrain, scare David with talk of river monsters, and generally succumb to race nerves.

Sara the river monster

Fear of the above

Plain ol' race nerves for me

And for a different perspective, here's David's take on proceedings thus far:

Not altogether sure if I'm guest blogging or blagging but who cares it's a day for firsts or thirsts more like. So the Windsor swim what an adventure from start to finish the car journey the giggling girls, reminiscent of the giggling you hear through the changing room walls, but this time you could hear what they were saying. Fear not lads we have nothing to fear. The boot dully packed with swimming togs, cans of coke and best of all rhubarb and custard cake. Arrived with loads of time to spare which meant we could have a good olde English cup of splosh to fortify us before the plunge, looking back now we should of had something far far stronger and probably illegal.

There were three racing distances on offer: 750m, 1.5km and 3km. David and Sara had wisely opted for the 750 given they were going sans wetsuit, and were the first wave to go off. So after a quick change we headed down to the start line as the arednaline started to flow...

The race route followed a loop for all three distances - first upstream (yes upstream) then back downstream, with a larger loop for 1.5km and two large loops for 3 km. This whole upstream motif was a new one on me, but I assumed it must be a gentle -surely even negligible- current, right? Wrong! As soon as David and Sara entered the water I knew things were going to be tricky:

Whereas Sara managed to settle into a front crawl rhythm and make some headway, David's breastroke was unfortunately getting him nowhere fast:

At this point I nipped off to change and drop off my bag, returning 10 minutes later to find David more or less where I left him, and being towed by a kayak to the river taxi - I mean safety boat.

Taxi to go

David says:

So to the race 750 felt so much more do able and without wetsuits Sara and I looked like we were unstoppable, I of course was stoppable. Huddle like lemmings by the side everyone plopped in on command and then we were off, well the masses were off. Current no one warned us about the strength of it. For me it was like being on a treadmill going nowhere, I thought I would swim down taking in the sights, wildlife and the castle were just distant memory's as I splashed around wondering if I was ever going to move forward. And then out of the corner of my eye I spied kayaks seemed like the perfect floaty thing to hold onto so I splashed my way toward it and grabbed on. Perfect opportunity to catch my breath and convince myself that I could carry on, and on I went until I spied another Kayak. I have to say Sara the star that she is was nowhere to be seen, off in her stride of river swimming. By this time any fear I may of had about river monsters was replaced by the real fear of drowning,I'd had enough nothing for it but to call a river taxi. Splash splash splash to the nearest kayak and then it was an easy ask, and lets face it I've got form the Swimmer springs to mind. Dragged into the motorised launch by my arms I thought they were going to come out of their sockets but what a relief. I think they were more concerned about me being cold seeing as I didn't have a wet suit but we all know 13c ain't cold. So there you have it the Windsor River swim lite the Brockwell way, oh and I even blagged a medal.

 

For my part I was just relieved to find him smiling on land and bearing no ill will against me for having started this whole hairbrained plan.



My penance was in the offing though as I took my place to join the women's 3k wave. While this might make me sound experienced and athletic, optimistic and deluded might be more accurate. I'm not a particularly fast swimmer and have quite puny arms, but will happily plod along with a fairly efficient (efishient?) front crawl. At the lido I usually start with a few laps of breast-stroke to get my breathing nice and settled, but something told me this might not be an option today.

Frankly, the start was hell! Battling amongst a seething mass of arms and legs, I took on board several quarts of murky, slightly crunchy water within minutes.

The current was even stronger that I'd feared, keeping me at a snail's pace and allowing no opportunity for a quick rest and look about for fear of retuning to the startline. It was a bit like turning up to a running race and being told the first half would be up a down escalator. Fortunately I was buoyed up by my trusty wetsuit, Betty, or I think I might have been a gonner.

Eventually I found my rhythm and even quite enjoyed some bits, but what a slog - could have sworn we were swimming uphill. Breathing became a lesson in demoralization because you'd keep looking up to see the same damn spot on the rivebank, mocking you as only a bit of earthy grass can. And I even got a bonus kick in the teeth from a fellow swimmer at the turning point, but at least I had a gloriously fast downstream stretch to console myself with now.

Zoom zoom zoom and before I knew it I was at the end of the 1.5km lap, ready to throw in the metaphorical towel in favour of a real one. Following David's excellent example, I hailed down a kayak for a cheeky lift to the exit, although as you will see the kayaker is clearly having a joke on me and making me push him along. Listen carefully and you'll hear David calling 'taxi' from the riverbank.

At last, the end was nigh and I could almost taste the rhubarb cake already. With Sara to cheer me on I dragged my sorry carcass across the finishing line. My expression at the end here sums it up nicely:

At least the medal is pretty cool - it has a funny shape and everything. Just time for cake and coke (the latter to kill off any nasty tummy bugs) before beetling back to our respective homesteads.

Big ears

Doing the okey cokey

We may not have swum far, we may not have swum fast, but by jove do we know how to hail a taxi - it's the Brockwell way.