What it’s like ‘wild swimming’ in the face of unchecked pollution

If you love the water, as I do, you’ll have watched closely as environment secretary Therese Coffey announced government plans for cleaner rivers and seas earlier this week – plans that don’t seem to have impressed much so far, facing widespread criticism due to a perceived lack of any real ambition or urgency.

So, with all necessary apologies, it feels like the right moment to talk about wild swimming again. I know, I know – it’s a subject so thoroughly covered by newspapers and magazines in recent times that the merest mention of the word sends eyes rolling to the back of skulls.

But I promise not to wax lyrical about the joy, the beauty, the one-ness with nature this time. Because sewage continues to pour merrily into our rivers and oceans, in a situation that, according to Coffey, is “unfixable” in any kind of hurry.

I want to talk instead about the grubby little compromise every wild swimmer needs to make. The one where you grasp the beauty and joy – but simultaneously have to acknowledge there’s a good chance you’re swimming in poo.

The facts are pretty grim – in 2021 the Environment Agency reported 1,677 “sewerage” incidents in our waters. And this doesn’t even count the perfectly legal practice of releasing raw sewage after heavy rain – ostensibly to allow outdated infrastructure to cope. It’s a newbie rite of passage when you’re first warned to steer clear of regular swimming spots after storms – lest you end up catching a used tampon along with a meditative state of mind.

And you get used to on-the-spot risk assessments – how murky does this water look? How does it smell? As well as poring over the Rivers Trust interactive map of discharges and how they might impact your particular swimming location.

Of course, plenty of people think wild swimmers are mad for precisely this reason – even if they might otherwise be tempted to dip a toe themselves. As sewage on beaches and in rivers hits the news, why not just stop swimming until the waterways in this country are cleared up?

Well – to answer this question, I might have to talk briefly about the familiar territory of wild swimming after all. We continue, simply, because we love it. Because there is no view like an otter’s eye view. Because the shock of cold water is a jolt out of anxieties and mundanities into something joyful and immediate. Because wild swimming for me and many others is, in the end, deeply worth it.

And because there already seems to be little enough incentive for the government to clean things up. If we give up and stop using our waterways in despair, then this incentive dwindles to nothing. By continuing to swim – by continuing to literally risk my health when I do – I am demanding change in the strongest possible terms. I am saying to the government: this is essential, not optional.

I’m also rejecting, absolutely, the idea that expecting clean water is somehow a position of entitlement, and that we should all just be grateful for public swimming pools. I love a pool on occasion (and yes, predictably, a lido is even better) but like clean air and access to green spaces, I genuinely believe that clean rivers, lakes and oceans are a shared resource, and one that we should all have the right to access.

When I first started swimming outdoors, the River Wye was a local love affair. In the years since, I’ve seen its water quality decline and decline to the extent that the life of the river itself has been compromised. Our waterways need our love and protection to survive – and so I’ll keep swimming, even through the sewage, until things improve.