I love roots. And waves.
These roots are my sturdy, no nonsense ladder into and out of the head of Fletcher Bay. My friend Dave was the first to show me this secret entrance, a short but steep clamber down the muddy bank leading to (usually) still waters.
This wild entry point is the threshold to the other world in which I continue to go, a bit less frequently now as the cold weather rolls in.
After a lazy day spent mostly in my pajamas, leisurely filling out my ballot in the company of my husband Josh, I mustered up the courage to selkie up and hit the bay. Hoping to stave off frozen toes, I tried out booties today, and was glad I did.
At the entry point between the trees, I passed by neighbors busy digging post holes along this public road end, designating the boundary along their newly acquired property. The kind neighbor woman told me (again) that they planned to add steps down to the water on their property to make it “easier for you swimmers”.
I very much appreciate their thoughtfulness, and told her as much, but stumbled over my words as I said the roots work pretty well in the meantime, but steps sound great too.
But what I couldn’t explain, what I wanted to explain was the magic of the wild root ladder scramble. Open water swimming is attractive in so many ways, expansive and calming—and best of all— wild. The roots are the first step on my aquatic journey. I’ve come to love them.
Part of the challenge and thrill is the ever changing landscape around and in the water. What I love is not knowing precisely what I’ll find at the water’s edge, not knowing what the surface will look like, what winds may blow in, what gentle or crazy waves may appear along my journey to challenge me or carry me forward or rock me like a baby. And I am always curious how cold or icy it may feel, and how long I’ll be able to endure each swimming adventure.
I know that I’ll be surprised and challenged by the water, every time.
Today I managed a loop around the quiet bay, through water speckled with red cedar leaves and twigs. I watched a few small fish dart about below me in the shallows, but no jellyfish, no seals.
I swam steadily, pulling along the inside of the spit, watching for my sideways view where the water meets the land. As I headed up the bay, my gaze fell upon the trees, not the houses.
I wanted to be in the wild for just a moment. See just the wild for a moment. Be the wild.
No stairs. No ballots. No pandemic.
Just my own body making little waves. Heading home to my favorite roots.
Mary Swims 