Orkney during the Festival

The weather wasn't great during this year's St Magnus Festival, but that didn't dampen the music or my resolve. I managed 3 swims during the short week I was up.

Inganess Bay, Orkney

Inganess is my favourite swimming bay in Orkney: sandy beach, calm sea, picturesque wreck to swim round and not a soul in sight. Here's a photo by Craig Taylor.

I discovered that it hurts to submerge my head in such cold water without a swim-cap. As the cold seeped in through my temples and the soft portals at the base of my skull, I had the feeling that my brain was shrinking and pulling away from the edges. Had to resort to breaststroke - not too great a sacrifice given the scenery.

There's a lonely dignity to the Juniata, and a strong sense of 'thus have the mighty fallen' as I watched fish swim through its hollows.

Loch of Boardhouse

My second swim was across Loch Boardhouse, suitably swim-capped and generously escorted by Rae, who had had to ready a couple of boats for some visiting fishermen. He advised that it would be safer not to swim alone in a loch full of boats (3 at most), since nobody would be looking out for a fool swimmer.

The water was murky and claustrophobic, especially in the first few minutes while my breathing adjusted from the shock of immersion. 30 minutes into the swim and I would happily have stayed in the water forever, the prospect of crawling onto land a seemingly pointless and utterly unappealing alternative.

Back on terra firma and am all a-shiva! The tingling of restored circulation is fun but the juddering is tiring, especially as it resumed, to my surprise, after a warm shower. Not sure what to make of this transition from water-breather to land-lubber: are we still part amphibian, in part still yearning for that earlier state of evolution? Certainly, one of the appeals of swimming is the sense that re-entry into earth's atmosphere takes place at a different angle - some subtle shift has taken place with regard to the usual bearings of time, location and identity, all of which are now ever-so-fractionally recalibrated towards a greater sense of aliveness.

Harray Loch

A glowering sky for my last swim, within sight of the Ring of Brodgar. The standing stones made the split-screen view of the world which is every free-styler's blessing all the more enjoyable: breath and focus restored in one, with focus flipping between a 4,000 year-old henge, contemporary coaches and the suspended primal mud I am ploughing through.

This time I don't shiver - must be acclimatising - but after 30 minutes and once I've stopped, I feel like the orange jelly from a Jaffa-cake, chilled, has been sandwiched between the chocolate of my skin and the spongy matter of my insides. It must be my sub-cutaneous fat congealing, and it's not something I've ever experienced before. Will be looking out for the Jaffa-jelly effect with appetite henceforth ;)

Ring of Brodgar

Meanwhile, safety is becoming a concern. Rae has volunteered to be towel-bearer a second time, and I am grateful, but wonder how I can come to some arrangement without imposing. The notion of a towel  on a red-velvet cushion being rowed up and down a loch alongside me should I wish to dry my face, as if I were a Wimbledon finalist, is comically appealing, but there must be alternatives.

Perhaps the Orkney Polar Bear Club? Have just been browsing an excellent blog with lots of suggested swim-spots: 12 weeks in the life of an Orkney Polar Bear.