Lessons from Lake Ainsworth

Greetings from The Land Down Under where I am currently enjoying life as one of those ‘Digital Nomads’ we hear of, writing my new book on walking The Way- the Portuguese Coastal Camino route to Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain.

But this blog is not about walking, it’s about swimming, specifically the wonderfully intoxicating, therapeutic, health-boosting, immersive beauty of swimming outdoors in nature- a topic I have been interviewed by the media about in the past. Here’s one article from Woman Alive magazine if you’d like to read more about how my last adventure Down Under nine years ago has created a life-long passion since.

And credit should go to my dear friend and original sea swimming coach during lockdown, Debbie Thompson, without whom I would never have had the confidence to develop this life- giving activity of mine...

My charming Australian host- thoughtfully anticipating my predilection for the deeply immersive experience of nature swimming anywhere at any temperature- was quick to introduce me to the beauties of Lake Ainsworth in the Northern Rivers area of New South Wales which borders Queensland. It was the first day I had felt more recovered after the sedentary and time- changed challenges of my two day journey to the other side of the world.

My first glimpse of the much-anticipated tea tree lake, darkened to an almost impenetrable peaty brown by the surrounding paperbark trees, was breath-taking as the sunlight glittered on the surface like diamond confetti from a deep cerulean blue sky.

Looking down into the swirling toffee, caramel and amber coloured water, I could see tiny inch-long fish darting around my toes.

A pleasant rich earthy scent filled my nostrils, while a dozen alien bird cries begged to be identified.

And in the background, the gently persistent, low ever-present roar of the Pacific ocean, just 100 meters away.

With the encouragement of my host, I made some tentative first steps into the impenetrable chocolate water, through the squelchy hummus-rich earthy floor of the lake. Breathing deeply to keep calmly centred, relying on his local experience that I was not going to be fighting through seasonal algal bloom or meeting any scary biting slithering creatures I shuffled forward, feeling my way for sudden drops in the lake bed.

Glancing around, I could see teens larking about, paddle boarders, even families with toddlers playing and splashing in the shallows a few feet into the lake.

But no evidence of anyone venturing any further into the bath- warm waters.

Pushing off from the bank for the first time I experienced the usual euphoric feeling of deep nature connection. Along the shore I swam, just far enough outside the locals' radius as birds plummetted into the water for tiny fish around me, gaining confidence to float on my back and do a few strokes underwater back towards the shore.

The next day I was back. Swimming on my own this time I ventured a few more metres away, stroking parallel to the shore. One lone man swimming into the lake's centre. Everyone else at the edge. What did they know that I didn't about what may lie beneath the surface?

And the next day, now having discovered my goggles, I decided this was it. My host had told me he had once swum right across the lake and back. Could I do that too? How far was it anyway? Did I have the strength? Was I confident enough on my own?

I had swum a mile in the channel during a Kent coastal summer in colder water than this. Surely I could manage if I took it slowly, focused on my breathing and remembered I could turn back at any point?

And there were quite a few locals around if I got into a fix... float and wave, said the sign at the Surf School at the beach opposite.

I approached the lake edge, picking up a stick to release a beautiful dragonfly I just that moment spotted struggling, trapped in a web between branches, depriving the hungry spider scuttling along the silken threads of her generous lunch with an insincere apology.

Inching forward over the paperbark roots, off I pushed with a splash. A first few strokes to assess direction then head under, goggles only helping me see the impenetrable darkness below, the sunlight dancing in golden waves across my arms and hands in the top six inches of the lake visible. Arms morphed into a Hawaiin Tropic tan colour circa 1980, by the stewed tea- coloured water.

Stroke, breathe, stay calm: don't think about what creatures or depths could lie beneath.

Stroke, breathe, stay calm: enjoy the rare sensation of bath-warm water on skin, cooler below the few sun- heated surface inches.

Stroke, breathe, stay calm: check for paddleboarders and canoeists, centre on the tree stump which marks your destination on the other bank.

You made it. Deep joy. Triumph. Elation. Pride. You felt the fear and did it anyway. Just a few minutes to cross. Far quicker than it looked. Feet down on the squelchy hummus layer of the lake bed on the other side. Be studiously ignored by the two birds of prey ostentatiously preening themselves despite your presence from the branches above. Turn and see how far you've come.

And from yesterday's swim by the shore comes today's achievement. And from today's crossing comes every lake crossing I made this week, each a bit longer than the last. Fear diminishing. Joy and peace increasing.

And from these lake crossings comes more confidence in nature swimming, in fitness, in facing other life challenges. And in a week I have still only seen that one lone man swim across the lake...