It's the end of the year as we know it, Jim...

 Apologies to all my reader, for ignoring you since the end of October when I stopped swimming in our local lake, and noting it here in all my enthusiasm...

I have instead dug out my Movement skis, my Gecko skins and my Black Diamond ski poles and dusted them off and warmed up my Salomon rando boots and in an attempt to keep fit in mind as well as body, I have turned once again as the snow has arrived, to ski touring - not too far; but at least walking uphill for an hour or two. Once a small peaceful break, and perhaps a sandwich of home made bread with local cheese or ham and maybe a small glass of chilly white wine has been enjoyed, I ski down in just a few minutes...

Wonderful. Freedom, peace and tranquillity.

To anyone who passes this way, I wish a very happy and healthy New Year - 2013

A Painfully Glorious Swim...

... and no doubt the last this season although only a day or so ago. Very cool water; clear and slowly moving, with the lapping waves corkscrewing along the pebbled beach.

The sensation of cool water awakening after the perspiring strimming of steep Arab gardens up the mountain slope. Was I getting more numb or just becoming used to the low temperature?

I parked the van, and with bag in hand walked down to the lake edge, through the trees and along the path above the beach, the sunshine of mid-afternoon October autumn glinting on the soft water. One or two yachts could be seen out towards the middle of the lake; a sailing school of small dinghies being towed by an instructor in inflatable boat and a rushing Navibus commuting across the water from Thonon-les-Bains towards Lausanne in a streak.

Further up the beach a white board sign announces or warns, the plage thereafter is given over to naturist bathers, one or two of who I could see in the distance, all men, standing strategically behind low bushes. In the height of summer this must be rather nice but I felt this was neither the time nor the place for me. I was here to swim and not to lie naked in the low sun of late afternoon. I changed between the thin strip of pebble beach and the large autumnal leaves of the rough vegetation shielding the beach from the paths behind and walked out into the water. It was liberating.

I lasted barely 10 minutes...

Risotto aux Cepes for 2 lovers...

Simplified recette...

150 g  Carnaroli or Arborio rice
180 - 200 g cleaned weight of fresh ceps (cepes, bolets, porcini) as those shown above, sliced.
3 times volume of rice in hot vegetable stock including the amount of wine, vermouth or Noilly Prat you want to include.
1 shallot or small onion
1 small clove of garlic
olive oil
25 - 30 g butter
50 g grated Parmigiano (Parmesan)

Chop finely the garlic and shallot or small onion. Put a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a heated small casserole pan and sweat the garlic and shallot until almost transparent.

Add the rice to the pan and stir making sure all the grains are well coated in the olive oil. Add the wine or vermouth. I prefer to use vermouth as it has a fuller flavour and all the old recipes from Italy I always found said vermouth, but, as I live in France I like to use their version; Noilly Prat. When the wine has been well stirred in and almost absorbed completely, add ALL the hot stock.

Bring to boil and as soon as those little bubbles start to breaking at the surface season it with salt and freshly milled pepper depending upon how seasoned your stock already is. Turn heat to very low and leave it for 10 minutes.

Now add the sliced ceps, (cepes, bolets, porcini) stir them in carefully to make sure they are well mixed cover the pan again as before and leave cooking for a further 5 minutes. At the end of cooking time, turn off the heat & leave the pan to sit for at least 5 minutes, if there is any liquid left in the rice, leave it for another 5 minutes.

Stir in the grated parmesan cheese and butter, until you have a creamy risotto...

Pull a cork out of a bottle of your favourite wine and enjoy with the one you love...

Who knows, it might just have the desired effect?

Bones Amongst The Stones

 My beach spot from where I plunged into 14C lake waters and swam for more than 20 minutes in exhilarating freedom...

Out of sight? Well almost; the blue tinted distant shore of Switzerland and Jura mountains across the lake from Thonon-les-Bains from where I bathed, today. Wonderfully liberating.

broken mountain,
rocks fall
at lake edge
small pebbles freckled.

mirror calm,
this sometime violent
inland sea.

Freshly cooling skin,
warm to swim
my feet colder in green depths,
colder still below,


where bones lie amongst the stones.

Site of yesterday's 10 minute dip in 16C temperatures near Amphion... no one around, the occasional single skulls on the water's flat surface skimming past further out...

The cool water chilling me as I breast stroked through and gradually warmed. A wonderful sensation of freedom.

Dear Diary, please remind me to do this again...

There are times;

when I sit on the balcony

watching the sun sink low,

in the warm clear dusk

the crickets singing,

and the bird song silent

when I want you here...

One of these days I'll swim to Lausanne... or maybe not that far.

 

Dr Alice Roberts, an 'ologist', that used to co-present a programme on BBC TV called 'Coast' made a film on the subject of wild swimming that was repeated during this past summer on BBC Four. Wild swimming ; the enjoyment, the freedom, the exhilaration and the exploration of it, and throughout the programme a voice over, as she swam, spoke the words of one Roger Deakin. I was also taken somewhat by the images of the young and beautiful Dr Roberts swimming in some of these places; and in particular a Lake District tarn.

I had never heard of Roger Deakin. But his poetic words and prose sparked something in me and I researched his name, and found amongst other things, the website Caught By The River. This website seemed to celebrate Deakin and his writings. Through links I bought Deakin's 'Waterlog' his book about wild swimming and a journey across and around Britain, its coastal waters, lidos, open pools, rivers, waterholes and the like.

This I should do, I thought.

And so this summer I made my way, not with any difficulty by any means, down to the water's edge of the vast lake over which I look from my living room windows and my balcony. I have swum in this lake before but not once did I venture in last summer. Was I too busy? If so doing what? How could I not have set aside an hour to drive down or even walk or cycle to? The thought of the murderous cycle or climb back up the mountain side was not too pleasant, but with a little effort and practice I could get used to it.

The more newsletters I received from Caught by the River, the more I read about Roger Deakin, the more I felt I should just dive in. And write about it. Just for fun.

This must have been in mid-August. I hadn't swum for ages. How long could I swim for; 5 or 10 minutes? Could I make it that long without passing out and sinking to the stones below? Only one way to find out.

The water was warm. The lake lapped but was mostly flat across only broken by the fishing boats and the motorboats some way out, roaring loudly past dragging someone on skis or a wake-board. Maybe that was the reason I hadn't bothered having anything other than a refreshing dip after a day strimming someone's mountain slope garden.

But as my wife sat upon the stones and read, or swum a few strokes to cool off in the heat of August I swam for about 12 minutes, and the next day 15 minutes. And then I managed 20. Each day a little more, each day just enjoying the feeling of flying as Deakin sometimes puts it, sensing the liberty of the movement. I could see the sunlight shining on my tanned skin and the sense of well being as the water gently broke over my shoulders as my breast stroking arms broke through the warm surface waters. Finally coming into the shore, and standing on the stones nearly two metres below the water remained cold.

And it was good.