I was nervous about the weather. The BOM said that it was going to rain. Then that it wasn’t going to rain. Then it looked like it was going to. But then it didn’t. It was even quite mild – for being winter.
The process the second time was much the same as the first, except that I had all the required bits and pieces, so all I needed was to gather some nice-to-have accoutrements and I was off and running. I brought a string of lights this time to make the park feel a bit more inviting in the wintery darkness.
I should have spent a bit more time selecting better films, I think. It’s not that they weren’t good, but they didn’t feel quite as inspirational (or inspiring) as the previous screening.
The same number of people turned up – probably around 15. But this time there were people there that I’d never met before. It’s a movement! A community! A *thing*.
If you pop through a hole in the right fence in the right suburb in the right city and walk up the hill for the right amount of time, you will reach The Quarry. It’s filled with water since it’s not actively quarried any more.
Everyone assures me the water is fine. It’s beautifully blue and clear. Maybe a little bit too blue and clear.
“It’s so blue because of all the sulphates.” “It’s a lime quarry – just have a shower when you get home.” “It’s so clear because of the sulphates – it’s the same algaecide you use in a pool – it’s fine.”
Everyone assures me that it’s fine to trespass there. Everyone does it, apparently. The company that owns the place doesn’t care, apparently.
And, to be honest, I’ve not had any problems the dozen or so times I’ve been. Not from weird water or trespassing issues. So I, too, tell people that the water is fine, and that the company doesn’t care if you trespass. I call it Diet Trespass. Trespassing Lite.
If you want to come for a swim here, let me know. I’ll meet you at the hole in the right fence. We’ll walk up the hill for the right amount of time.
When someone says “English beach” you don’t really picture anything that great. Grey skies. Grey sand (at best). Grey water. A lot of people not really dressed for the beach at all. I’d been told that the Jurassic Coast was beautiful, and, along with my preconceived ideas I (internally) pffff’d and mostly dismissed the idea of swimming in the UK.
But then I remembered that I would need a July swim to complete my swim-every-month-in-2022 challenge. So, caution to the wind and those sorts of things, I decided to head to Durdle Door as early as possible to avoid the crowds. £5 to park for 4 hours – they sure know how to make it difficult for poor people to do things in the UK.
Anyway. I followed the path down, and down, and down, past the views of white chalk cliffs, down the rocky path, then down the worn wooden steps and onto the san….pebbles. They were oval, smooth pebbles. Apparently walking barefoot on pebbles is a good way of improving health (it’s called tap shek) – so consider my health improved!
There is a very striking arch in the water at Durdle Door Beach – the arch is the namesake for the beach. Durdle Door.
The water was clear and a beautiful blue. There was a slight swell, but nothing significant. No wind. The sun was out.
I dove in to the instantly deep water (the coarser the sand on the beach, the steeper the beach) and started swimming for the arch. The water was refreshing, especially after suffering through the 40℃ heatwave in London. A shower doesn’t have the same refreshing power as a swim in the ocean after a hot day.
I reached the arch, swimming through it on my back, looking up the whole time, watching the perspective change. It felt special. Magical. Like I’d gone through a portal to another land. Swimming back through the portal, I was worried I’d go back through to the place I’d come from, but I stayed in the magical place where I’d been through Durdle Door.
If you ever get to the Jurassic Coast, and the weather is Just So, I heartily recommend swimming through the portal to another land.
