The journey starts at Loweswater and meanders back in a generous flourish across the Lake District to Gurnal Dubs near Kendal, linking twelve tarns and lakes . The stretches of water swum in between might be thought of as the manifestation above ground of a deeper subterranean river which flows home.
21st September 2008 Gurnal Dubs
Richard writes:
Blue sky, sun, warmth, a hint of early mist – the day is a cocktail of high summer and early autumn – six of us swimming the length of the tarn – a jaunty flotilla – talking and feeling oh-so-fantastic, forgetting the earlier concerns of the day – we turn and do some back stroke gazing at the sky – looking back down the tarn and seeing the crowd of people on the shore as if they are an audience in an open air theatre – but then this is a performance of ‘swimming home’ after all – who the audience, who the actors? – the actors viewing the audience as if they were their unconscious? – strange inversion – but then altered states are commonplace here– we arrive at the far end and start to swim back – we are joined by a swimmer I don’t recognise and without my glasses he looks vaguely like Roger Deakin, the inspiration for our project who died a few years ago – his swimming ghost? – do ghosts swim? – altered states? – too many questions? – time standing still yet passing so quickly because all at once we are almost at the shore and everyone is there with open arms to welcome us home – Paul and I swim into the shore together – scramble out – evolution recapitulated; the prodigal’s home-coming re-enacted; actors and audience, conscious and unconscious reunited – the pile-up of connections is unsustainable because what is actually happening is that champagne corks are popping and the atmosphere is charged with celebration and warmth – we are all swimming in the enlarged day – it is the end of the water.
21st September 2008 Gurnal Dubs
Heaven over Lake
Paul writes:
Who could have imagined such a perfect homecoming? This morning brought increased excitement about the prospect of this last-in-project swim. Arriving early like an eager schoolboy at Richard’s, I find him in an equally excited state of mind. We discuss hexagrams appropriate for the day. Richard has already found the one – heaven over lake.
The day is sunny and warm with the prospect of swimming with close friends and with new friendships to be made today.
The journey to the water is the briefest of all. We arrive early, and then doze and chat by the water’s edge waiting for others to arrive.
The sound of a group of young people’s grabbed conversation about themselves and others carries across the water – a strangely reassuring half-heard sound despite its harsh content – triggering distant memories of caravan holidays with parents and a period of convalescence as a sickly child away from home, comforted by the muffled sounds of parents and nurses as I fell asleep.
Suddenly, they start to come over the hills with waves, hugs then introductions. We enter the water at the declared time and swim the length and back as a group.
Today’s focus is less on individual experience than the relationships between swimmers, strengthening with each pull through the water.
To cheers we arrive home and stagger onto the short rocky shelf. Applause. Corks pop. Bubbles drive alcohol quickly to our heads and we are elated. We picnic, exchange stories and learn more about each other. Isn’t this what home is about?
Later, I phone my mother and we discuss my cancer – its been news for her today.
Richard and I talk again on the phone. We check the weather forecast. Tomorrow’s says:
“Any rain should die out by mid-morning and hill fog patches will start to brighten up with some sunny spells developing, the evening promising the best of the sunshine.”
We excitedly agree on a sunset swim!
16th September – Kentmere Reservoir
Paul writes:
Today we drove to Kentmere and walked on a level to the reservoir in humid drizzle that left us soaked. We donned wetsuits amid a cloud of midges and entered the water that danced with pin pricks of light rain – small circles for each impact with a central bounce-back point. For all the wet summer weather this was the first swim in rain.
This swim, the 11th and penultimate of the project, was glorious. The surrounding mountains and hills stood in low cloud and we savoured the moment.
The reservoir is fed from higher ground by an already decisive river – the origin of the River Kent starts much higher and deeper into the fells. From the reservoir, the water falls away through a sluice and continues down to Kendal, giving the town its name. It carries on to the estuary (where Richard and I are about to stage our second installation in October as part of the final FRED art invasion) and onwards into Morecambe Bay, the Irish Sea and the Atlantic Ocean.
The power of this flow of water is considerable, rising as a trickling spring and finally reaching its ocean home.
As we walk slowly back to the car we are already anticipating our next, final swim of the project.
Kentmere Reservoir Tuesday 16th September
Richard writes:
I sit near the window with a cup of tea watching the vertical rain – at least it means there will be little wind – Paul arrives 2pm and we set off – a long level walk up the valley from Hallow Bank to the very end – a ‘box canyon’ of a valley like in the westerns, with the lake at the end – we swim at the widest point – the water is calm and lovely to swim in – comfortable long strokes watching the rain hit the surface – while the lake and mountains have a majestic feel to them.
I tackle Paul again on the question of swimming ‘home’ – what is ‘home’? – and we talk of it being not only a state of mind but also a connection to friends and family who are situated, so to speak, in that imaginary place ‘home’ – the community waiting for us on the imaginary bank of the last tarn – arms open to welcome us – and so to the feeling of being ‘held’ – ‘held in the bosom of the community’ – as if the feeling of being held by nature or the community is essential to feeling at home – and home-sickness is the state of not feeling held securely – ‘home’ a state of mind where one can come and go freely and feel held when one is in that state – feel the connection to friends, family and the natural world.
We trudge home through the rain talking of the very real (not imaginary) hot bath, dry clothes and dinner we will eat that evening regardless of state of mind.
On a larger scale our connection to the economy and the planet feels under threat as each news flash reveals more statistics to do with ‘global warming’ and the ‘credit crunch’ and seems to threaten our sense of being at home in the world.
Twilight gathers as we reach the car and I can’t help thinking of some lines of poetry I learnt at school……
‘..And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.’
Angle tarn – 14th September
Richard writes:
A fair day – set off 7.30am – up steeply by Angle Tarn Beck – past goats and attractive gorge to the tarn – delightful swim – Paul has reminded me of the radio program about ‘home’ that I heard as I came to this morning – too early for philosophical ruminations but now that my brains have bucked up we wonder what ‘home’ amounts to – a state of mind and maybe some ‘memory triggers’ in the environment sparking off memories of when we felt ‘at home’ – but this could all be quite paradoxical – for why should I have felt so at home in Styhead tarn immersed in exceedingly cold water while a filthy day draped its rain clouds over us – and yet I did feel strangely protected and at home – what a conundrum the whole area turns out to be – because at the same time I recall feeling alienated in circumstances where I should have felt all the nuances of home – and homesickness which I have always felt to be a great sign post to where our hearts would feel resolved has pointed to some pretty strange situations.
We are meant to be 'swimming home' and I feel less certain now than when we started what it all amounts to – on our way back at the pub we see motorbike riders – they seem like the ‘Flying Dutchmen’ of the road – is ‘home’ for them ‘moving on’ ‘passing through’? – no idea – a pint and packet of crisps puts these thoughts to rest and we discuss motorbike pillion seats instead.
