Coming Up for Air
by ‘SC’
Needles were pricking my skin … ankles, calves, knees … come on, you can do this … thighs, the most sensitive part … I leant down and swished my arms around, splashing up to my shoulders … keep going …
I couldn’t complain, it was a perfect morning, calm, flat, the sun just peeping up behind the pier into a peachy sky. Although a recent convert to all-year-round sea swimming, I had been doing this enough not to be such a wimp but still, I hesitated, taking a moment to look around and enjoy being in the world, freezing gentle waves sloshing my stomach.
Then, after a slow intake of air through my nostrils, I plunged and, with a spasm I seemed to lose the ability to breathe at all and just crawled as fast as I could, out and out until I could turn on my back and calm my inspiration.
I had worked my way up to over ten minutes, and could now swim without screaming. Not aloud, of course, although there were few to hear this early. Just inside.
I starfished and looked up at the sky, lightening and pinking. This is my best time of day but the rest will be okay too. I’ll count to thirty then swim back.
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one … that’s when I saw it, coming so gently, no drama, just a head, a friendly whiskery head, about ten feet away. Black nose, white whiskers, black eyes set in grey fur.
We had a David Attenborough-gorilla moment, the seal and I, both of us enjoying bobbing up and down with the gentle swell, welcoming the new day, a moment of fellowship, except it wasn’t shivering like me. Then, with a playful blink of those dark shiny eyes, it slipped below the surface and was gone.
I swam back to shore, wrapped myself in my towel and sat gazing out over the Solent.
Common seals are not common, nor are harbour seals. People have told me they are around, in the harbours and rivers, a special blessing to this part of the south coast. Despite the sewage discharges and plastic pollution, despite the noise from all those marine engines battering their ears, giant aircraft carriers churning up the waters and seabed, despite the whizzing jet skis, the overfishing, they survive.
I know it’s not so rare, but it was a first for me. I know there’s so much I don’t know, can’t see, like Solent seahorses. It’s enough to know they are there, a special community in the seagrass. I shan’t grumble about seaweed threading my fingers in future, it’s all part of this amazing ecosystem.
And today I felt really special, like I had been chosen.
Inspiration: This is a true story, but not mine.
Image by Alicia_Chan from Pixabay
SC lives and works in Portsmouth.