The quoted remark was made by Dublin's oldest bather - as far as anyone knew - after every daily dip up to his death at the age of 93. I heard it from two senior folk while changing for a swim in Sandycove. One of the beauties of these swimming locations is the friendliness and ease all around, and the fact that you meet all ages, sizes, shapes...a far cry from the time when the Forty Foot was men-only (nude bathing early in the morning), though the jumping from the rocks remains the same.
This was the Dublin fortnight in which I found the value of the immersion reaching an almost metaphysical level. It was a big thing for me since, apart from a trial run in the Estonia Resort Hotel's spa back in July, I hadn't really taken the plunge since the consequences of my big op a year ago: namely could I, should I, swim with a stoma? Reassurances didn't banish nagging doubts. And so on my first day back at the Forty Foot, trunks hoiked up over the bag, I stayed in very cold water for a short time, anxious about the aftermath though having already enjoyed the social scene before immersion.
But it was fine: no change needed (though I'd brought supplies), and time for a snack and a coffee just up the hill at an old furniture salesroom turned into a wacky cafe.
It was important that I did this with my wonderful bathing pal in Dublin, Catherine Bunyan, a convert to daily sea swimming, and also with one of our recent guests, dear friend Ashley from Australia (on the left in the selfie she took above). Not every visitor would want to indulge in so-called 'wild swimming' - the wild bit about it, I'd say, would be the sea temperature - but both Ashley and our next arrival, Cally, were delighted to do so. Both swam around for longer than I did.
The options at Sandycove are the Forty Foot itself - still no clarity on the naming, since the Fortieth Foot Brigade turns out NOT to have been stationed at the Martello Tower here, though the rumour may have stuck - or, if the sea is too turbulent, in the sheltered bay, where the white wall is lovely to lean against in full sun. Swim Two was another good one at the Forty Foot
and in fact Sandycove was more blustery, with a wind from the west.
Do look at the names given to the jellyfish on the noticeboard. We actually met a friend of Catherine's here who'd been stung the previous week, but was happy to get back in the water.
The sun didn't properly materialise until my big day out with Cally (swimming below at a highish tide when the colour of the water shows that Joyce's 'snot-green' wasn't necessarily a negative).
We repeated part of the route on which I'd taken Ashley, walking from Dalkey Station to Coliemore Harbour, scene of my near-fatal swim out into the straits. Here are shots from two days - one blustery and sea-swelly but exhilarating, with seals swimming and fish to be caught, the other on a golden Saturday).
Then up to the panorama in Sorrento Point (wider view taken by Cally - you'd best click to enlarge),
in this case back round down Sorrento Road to catch the lobster festival in town (though not to eat there, since 3pm lunch called at the fabulous Andhra Bhavan),
then on to Sandycove for the swim, enhanced by the pleasant company of two turnstones,
and back to Dun Laoghaire for the DART back into town. That was livelier on the previous Saturday, when a zumba class taking place where the much-missed sea baths used to be enlivened the scene. Casement's statue (another bathing-place) beyond.
Sadly our excursion south to the coastal cottage of mutual friends Rosanna and Anthony found the sea too rough. But paddling proved good enough, especially on this lovely, deserted bay which may be sandy one year and shingly the next.
My last discovery has embedded the top image deep in my heart. Seapoint is closest, from home in central Dublin via the DART, and as time was limited I used the train - Catherine so often drives - to enjoy two last swims with her.
The first day was grey but with fascinating lights, especially looking over to the Poolbeg Towers with cormorant-surmounted rocks (a small group of terns were further along),
the second a dream late afternoon after a morning of rain.
At last it was possible to swim with the sun on one's face, and to walk back to Seapoint DART station looking at the sun on the rocks and Howth magical behind.
It's given rise to so many images, not just in the first chapter of Ulysses but also in another Irish masterpiece, Jamie O'Neill's At Swim, Two Boys. I haven't finished it yet; when I do, I hope I'll return to enlarge on its infinite richness here.
Posts
