There are two things just about guaranteed to make me smile and the most regular of these is paddling. Now, I’ve long had a desire to paddle on Christmas Day, mostly for the pleasure of doin’ ma thang and partly for the clearing away of residual beer fumes from the French Christmas we always throw the night before and this was no exception other than my having the perfect alibi…you see, every year since we’ve had our own place I’ve wandered down to the beach for the Christmas Swim and for the last few years Eloise has come with. Perhaps she, too, would like to see it from the water?
She didn’t need asking a second time, didn’t need persuading. It was like offering cider to a wino – no question! I guess I should have made sure we had everything and it was to hand the day before but we’d been over to the Coastguard station to take some tins of sweets for the Christmas shifts and drink their coffee and just ran out of time. So there was I scrabbling around looking for bits we could use as her boots and buoyancy aids were not visible; hell I’m not even sure they’re here! Never mind, with much exertion we got her long hair through the neck seal of the drysuit, zipped her up, tightened one of my PFD’s around her, stuck my beach shoes on her feet and, with my RRRapido on my shoulder we took an end each of Abigail’s Kea and walked down to the beach.
In Beardheads.
The promenade was starting to fill, the beach too as this is quite a popular event. We headed left to the other ramp due to space though this is a trickier launch. It was rough. I briefly considered turning around and going home but, with a guinea pig to hand, figured we’d soon be able to tell. Besides, she has as much courage and little sense as I so we waded into the water. Within seconds Eloise was on her arse with my shoes floating away. Too rough to stand then, might as well get onboard; she hopped on and with a shove and the words ‘just keep straight and keep paddling’ she hauled herself through the dumping three-footers. I followed and bar a good soaking all was well as we headed out past the groynes and the large and lumpy beaten zone.
Now, we had to head south, against the ebb tide and south easterly wind. And the swell. Young Whippersnapper hadn’t been out for months, not since the summertime when we’d had a crack at the bass and to be fair I expected her to struggle. Did she hell! She always amazes me, it was a grotty morning, the roughest sea she’s been in, perhaps the windiest too, and she just grinned and paddled against it all and kept asking when she could jump in for a swim! I mean, we had broken water everywhere and the lifeguards started surfing once they paddled out a short while later!
Well, it started to rain. It started to hail too. The swimmers started to arrive and so did the Lifeboat, taking up station near to us; we were sharing the best spot to watch the festivities.
I surfed a couple of waves and, ignoring my instructions not to so did Eloise! It was all a giggle and we were both feeling quite revived by now. It would be quite nice to see the swimmers run into the water from this angle, though we’d move in for a closer look. Except, as Eloise pointed out, they were already in! Bugger.
(That's us in the Daily Mail out near the lifeboat)
They didn’t stay in long, unsurprisingly. There were santas and bikinis and all manner of clothing and as much joy as they always muster at this event; I love it as a starter for the day.
Then, with the crowds dispersing, it was time to play and I started catching waves. I don’t like wiping out in front of thousands but it was unavoidable and my beard got soaked. Damn it. Then Eloise came in, a bit too steep and she nose-dived and kneeled in the shallows with a Kea for a hat. Not quite as planned. Abigail had turned up with her grandfather now and so we hurried things up as they were getting soaked in the rain; Eloise went and floated around in the waves, body surfing and drifting while I caught a couple more and then, way before we’d had enough, we walked off the beach and back to a more refined Christmas. With sand in our ears.
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