Winter Wild Swimming Guidance in Lochs and Rivers
For many of us, inland wild swimming doesn’t stop when the temperature drops—it simply changes. Winter swimming can be deeply
Alarm blares at 6:00 am. I roll over, check the temperature. -2°C. Fantastic. My bed is warm, my Dryrobe is not. But I promised myself I’d go. I promised the group I’d go. And I know I’ll regret it if I don’t.
I drag myself up, grab my kit, and prepare for another day of wild water dipping – and the five unavoidable struggles that come with it.
The Battle Between My Brain and My Body
I arrive at the loch, and the first problem hits: my brain is yelling at me to go home. It’s freezing, my fingers are already numb, and the water looks like it belongs in an Arctic documentary. But then I see my dipping pals laughing, faffing about with their hats and gloves, and I know I can’t back out.
We strip down to swimsuits, breathing sharp as the wind cuts through. “Why do we do this again?” someone mutters. Exactly what I was thinking. But we all know why—because in a few minutes, we’ll feel like superheroes. If we survive the entry, that is.
The “Involuntary Scream” Entry & Cold Water Smackdown
First foot in, and I instantly regret my life choices. The second foot follows, then my legs are submerged, and my body is in full rebellion. I try to keep breathing steady, but the cold hits like a thousand tiny needles. Cue the uncontrollable gasping and squealing from the group.
One of the regulars is already in, looking smug. “Mind over matter! Relax into it!” they shout, as if I’m not currently questioning every decision that led me here.
I finally get my shoulders under, and the magic starts. The cold stops hurting, my body adjusts, and suddenly I feel like I could swim across the loch. (I will not. I will swim about five strokes and then get out before my toes stop working.)
The Post-Dip Changing Room Disaster
Now for the real challenge—getting dressed with frozen hands.
The changing poncho offers zero warmth as I attempt to wrestle my sports bra off without dislocating a shoulder. Socks? Not happening. Gloves? Absolutely not.
Meanwhile, the ones who planned ahead are sipping tea from flasks, looking smug in their Dryrobes. I should have prepped better. I never prep better.
The Social Pressure of Dipping
The group starts chatting about who’s going tomorrow, the next sunrise dip, the moonlight swim next week. And here’s the thing—I love this, but it’s also a lot.
Dipping can feel like a club, and sometimes, if you miss a few, you get that dreaded FOMO. And when someone casually says, “Oh, we did a 10-minute swim yesterday, the water was only 3 degrees,” I start wondering if I’m even a proper wild swimmer because I was at home in fluffy socks instead.
The After-Drop Betrayal
I’m home, wrapped in a blanket, feeling on top of the world. My skin tingles, my head is clear, and I have that smug, post-swim glow. I text the group: “Absolutely magic this morning! Best way to start the day!”
And then, 20 minutes later, the betrayal hits.
The dreaded after-drop. My body, having tricked me into thinking all is well, suddenly remembers it was in freezing water. Cue the full-body shivering, the slightly panicked tea-drinking, and the questioning of all my life choices.
Would I do it again tomorrow? Absolutely.
Would I complain about it the whole time? Without a doubt.
My Wild Swim Tribe – More Information available here
https://taketothewater.org/community-6458
For many of us, inland wild swimming doesn’t stop when the temperature drops—it simply changes. Winter swimming can be deeply
I reached out to the pals I swim with as the magic of water resonates with so many people and
I asked my swim buddy to share with me his experience of cold water dipping and what I received was