In May of 2020 I serendipitously stumbled upon The Point Holmes Wild Swimming Society and was instantly welcomed into a collective of smiling, carefree swimmers, meeting multiple times a week for ocean swimming. As the months passed the group swelled in numbers. What began as a small, dedicated group of serious swimmers, some former competitive athletes and at least one swimming instructor, expanded to include a hodgepodge of women, children, pets, and the occasional man, all drawn together by the compelling desire to swim outdoors.

We enter the water via the boat ramp, which at low tide juts out into the sea like a catwalk. Clad in swimsuits and pink bathing caps with goggles perched on top, we wade into the water, chattering and laughing. As the days shorten, we add neoprene gloves and booties. Some don optional extras: sleek wetsuits, orange neoprene swimming caps with Velcro straps under the chin, colourful wool toques, or fluorescent tow floats. In October, joining after-work swims as the sun prepares to sink below the mountains, I wade out from the boat ramp with my companions and plunge into the sea, enjoying the shock of cool water that makes my limbs sting. I feel the chill on my skin as I hurriedly swim to create warmth. Once acclimatized, it is more difficult to leave the sublimity of the water than to enter it, but my brain tells me not to dawdle. To avoid “after-drop,” the continued decline in body temperature after exiting the water, it is critical to swiftly change into dry clothes: wool or fleece pants, sweater, hat, and socks, topped with a warm coat. A hot drink helps to warm the body from the inside out. The après-swim has evolved into a social huddle of cheery banter, shared adventure, and cake. Someone always brings cake.

Positive peer pressure ensures I immerse myself, but there is also something personal about ocean swimming. It is both a group activity and a solitary function. After the initial animated chit chat, once we start swimming, talking stops as faces press into the water and arms propel our bodies through the sea. My mind wanders, and daydreams happen. It can be meditative.

Late in the summer our group shared an exquisite swim in bioluminescence at Goose Spit, while waiting for the full moon to rise over the mainland mountains. In darkness I tentatively waded into the water, grateful for my water shoes as I maneuvered over shin-high, barnacled rocks until I reached the deeper, sandy bottom. I could barely make out the figures of my fellow swimmers. Looking behind me, I was reassured to see the faint glow of a lantern, a soft beacon to guide our return to shore. When I turned back towards my friends and dove into the sea, the physical disturbance produced shimmering blue points of light in the water’s organisms. By gliding through the water, I activated the marine bioluminescence, a thousand fireflies flickering around me. Lifting my arms from the water, a few sparkles briefly lingered on my body before being extinguished. A cloud of glitter enveloped my legs as I tread water. The moonless sky was filled with tiny lights, the constellations and Milky Way clearly delineated, mirrored by the bioluminescence surrounding me in the inky water. I was enveloped in stars.

Photo credits: members of the PHWSS