Going coastal: What it’s like to sea swim in the Scilly Isles

As a proud West Midlander, I’m often reluctant to acknowledge any regional shortcomings we might have, but even I have to admit defeat when it comes to one – sea swimming.

While God’s metropolitan region may be awash with lakes and reservoirs for all your open water swimming needs, the nearest coastline to us is miles away. This means if you want to swim in anything rougher than a ripple, you’re faced with a minimum three-hour drive. (We do have a lot of canals of course, but they are better places for finding old bike parts than for swimming.)

I’m frequently reminded of this by coastal chums who like to taunt me with their five-minute stroll to their nearest sun-kissed beach for a bracing dip in the waves, while I am condemned to my weekly trip out to the nether regions of south Staffordshire to swim in a former mining quarry.

It’s probably because of this that I’ve always tended to favour sea swims when it comes to triathlons. If you look at my palmarès, I’ve happily thrown myself into the tropical waters off Puerto del Carmen, Panama City Beach, Monaco, Cornwall, Weymouth and Pembrokeshire for the sheer novelty of seeing seaweed, starfish and seals rather than deadwood, diesel and ducks**t.

This was probably what was going through my head last year when, on my usual whim, I entered my annual “what on earth were you thinking” event for the year: the Scilly Swim Challenge.

For those unfamiliar, the challenge is a 15–20 km swim between the main islands of the Scilly Isles. The vagueness of the distance gives you some indication of how much the course can be affected by things like swell, current, storms, huge waves, and dreadful spindly killer fish (that last one is a lie).

I did the event with my regular swimming club training partners Kelly, Sue and Dawn, all of whom remarkably chose to join me in the same pod (based on estimated mile pace) despite having to put up with me in a pool three times a week — Scilly buggers.

Sea swimming is of course unlike any other kind of swimming because one moment you are 10 metres away from the nearest swimmer, and the next you’re landing on top of them. There were several occasions where side waves meant I had one arm windmilling in fresh air while the other never left the water.

Sighting is more challenging too, because your usual routine of popping your head up every few strokes to check your direction can be disrupted by a bloody big wave being in the way. I was having to stick my neck up so far to see where I was that I must have looked like a grumpy tortoise emerging from its shell.

Fortunately, expert canoeists were on hand to guide us in the general direction of land, and thanks to them we made the course between Bryher, Samson, Tresco, St Martin’s and St Mary’s islands a lot less haphazardly than if we had been left to our own devices.

The Scillies are absolutely beautiful to swim around and the views were incredible, although sadly most of the famous sea life wisely chose to give us a wide berth — deterred no doubt by the sound of Midland swearing every time I got tangled in seaweed.

All four of us made it around the full course together, and two of us even won prizes. Sue was awarded a gold hat by Swim Quest for “just getting on with it” when the sea got a bit choppy, while Kelly won a DryRobe for being the most enthusiastic swimmer in the event, which mostly involved her screaming every time she saw a starfish.

Alas, I was not awarded anything for my soliloquy when, annoyed by how long it was taking me to reach the beach at St Martin’s, I put my head down and sprinted flat out for two minutes, before looking up and realising that I was absolutely no nearer. At least the canoeist laughed.

Anyway, if you’re looking for a bucket-list event, the Scilly Swim Challenge is one I’d definitely recommend. Sun, sea, sand, swimming, spectacular views and cider — you’d be Scilly not to. Right, I’m back off to the quarry.

For more of Brunty’s soliloquies, check out our blog section.