I have signed myself up for the Scilly 360° swim next September. This is a course that circumnavigates St Mary’s, the largest of the Isles of Scilly, it is approximately ten miles of open water sea swimming.

What has caused me to make this commitment I’m not entirely sure. I like to challenge myself, the validation of a swimming achievement would be nice, but I also have in my mind, eating away at my brain, the desire to swim around Bryher, my home island. This is not a swim to take on lightly. The North and West coast of Bryher is wild, exposed Atlantic waters, where swells, currents, seals and rocks will all be there to challenge me. I am frightened of this swim but it taunts me, each time I look out towards the Norrad Rocks the sea is like a siren calling .

My plan, therefore, is to use the challenges of the 360° as a learning curve, a training session in itself. To try to conquer unknown waters, distance, the cold and the mind games the will no doubt plague my head. To use the experience in the hope that one day I may satisfy my wish to swim Bryher’ s coast.

I plan my swims with this challenge in mind, today’s swim sees me leaving Rushy Bay in the late afternoon, incoming tide essential to be able to navigate the Brow. A much larger swell than I expected meets me at the shoreline, big boisterous waves crash in, full of chopped weed and disturbed sand.

For the first time I am doing this swim without a support boat, I do have Graham and Sam (my long suffering minders) walking the coast and they have strict instructions to keep eyes on me until the boat yard…if I wave I am in trouble.

I tell myself to ride with the swell, keep swimming, breathe when able and that once we are around the headland of Samson Hill it will be calm.

All I can see are deep blue waves crashing over me, lifting me up like a cork and trying to swallow me. The noise and force of the water against my head and body is relentless. My mind starts to imagine creatures of the sea circling under and behind me, I try to squash these thoughts and concentrate on swimming.

The swell doesn’t let up and it is a constant battle along the coast towards the boat yard. To the sea I am no more than a stray piece of seaweed or an unrecognizable plastic object. It does not feel me as I feel it. It’s surface doesn’t prickle and chill as it touches my skin, it doesn’t peer in frightened curiosity or enchanted wander as this floundering body makes it’s way through it’s very being. It would stand by and let me drown, relentless in its quest, with no thought or feeling for the soul it had just claimed.

This soulless entity has the power to move people to tears, cause them to stare for endless minutes, to smile, to gasp, to breathe, to relent and to die. Yet it knows nothing of this power.

As I swim in in this exhusting swell of water, I am committed to getting myself through this. I have no choice but to keep going. I remember writing once that I have a relationship with the sea. Now I can understand that we have no relationship, it is a romantic, naive notion that this entity would have a relationship with anything. What the sea does is enable me to have a deeper relationship with myself, a better understanding of myself.

I make it to the boat yard and now the water eases, I find a smoother stroke and so I continue on towards the quay. Relief is there as I reach the shore, contentment at achieving my goal and a realisation that ten miles is going to be a bloomin long way!

On the farm the days of clearing are well and truly upon us. Pulling up hoops, netting, dead plants and clearing the tomato tunnels….ugghh!

This is not one of my favourite jobs, it’s not that it’s particularly difficult, but it’s a little mind numbingly repetitive and the air is humid and thick with the smell of rotting fruit.

I suppose it is satisfying to see the tunnels clean and tidy, but by mid-day the mind is dull, bones and back ache, skin is clammy and hot and images of cool, lazy water seep ever deeper into my mind.

The day is one of pale grey beauty, no blue, no sun, no green. Only silver, grey and glass clear water. The surface untouched by any breeze, sheltered on the eastern side by Bryher. The sky a little misty.

Cold silk edges up warm leg, then to groin and belly. A deep breath in and then dive down, hands skim sand and blood chills in luxurious clear water. Cold arms, cold neck, silent delight.

Away from shore, encased in thought, mind wonders. Until a movement, the sound of water halts stroke and breath and heart.

In front of me a small female seal. Small eyes dark and liquid-like, nostrils open and flare. We stare, she stares, I stare, in enchanted capture and then she sinks below the surface.

I take a breath and dive in search of her, and I see her, a ghostly shape in the hazy water. Graceful and sleek and gone. We exchange silent conversation a few times more, until she swims away and I swim for shore.

My mind no longer dull, my bones no longer ache, my skin refreshed, my world refreshed.

Days shine shorter, ink skies rise, fog sinks and stills. Islands here, islands gone but there. Blushed apples cling to exhausted bough, crisp, curled leaves drop below to earth and death and life again.

Wind moans and rushes, roofs creak and clatter. Windows shut, drafts touch skin, soft blankets and fire make nest and shelter. Rain drops on glass pane distort fields and sky.

Sea is fury, wild, thrashing. Released from summer stillness, good behaviour forgotten. Now rebels, swirls free, alive and fierce. It has not thought for man nor beast, it is current in its state, never to exist this way again.

Man and beast react and watch, react and stare, react and comment;good or bad. Hear It, feel It, fight It, relent to this greater being.

Swimmer watches It, feels It, moves with It. Breathes deep the salted spray to cleanse lung and mind. Sinks to depth of weighted green, dark, crushing. Bouancy accends to light, silver, wind, sky and gasping air.

This week has seen some unseasonably strong, winter-like weather, with gusting winds and rough seas normally felt on Bryher well into November or December.

The autumn air still holds a warm edge, the nose biting chill of winter thankfully hasn’t arrived. High spring tides of up to six plus meters, combined with the odd heavy deluge of rain and driving westerly winds, have caused the quays to become submerged by a rolling swell that washes across the concrete.

The beaches on the western side of both Bryher and Tresco are strewn with seaweed and debris, ripped up by its roots and flung onto land, stranded as the tide receads.

Bryher appears to shrink at high tide, no beaches run along it’s edges as the water laps the roads and banks. Then six hours later, another magic of spring tides is revealed when the sea bed between Bryher and Tresco is left bare and exposed to the elements.

I love to swim in these high tides, the sea is boisterous and fun. On Tuesday I went across to Tresco and swam from Farm Beach, with the green topped granite of Plumb island to my left, New Grimsby to my right, where Firethorn (the daytripper boat) patiently waits to load her passengers.

With the tide now ebbing, the soft golden sand is left wet and washed clean. The water, although choppy, is a beautifully illuminated seaglass green and the sun beams down to hit the sandy seabed. It feels lighter and warmer under the water in contrast to the world above where the sky is full of billowing, grey clouds and the wind brings a threat of squally showers.

2nd October

On Wednesday it was calm and still, the promise of a perfect autumn day. The tide is high at the same time as the school boat so Martha and I walk down together and she watches as I step off the end of the end of the quay into the deep blue.

Pale golden light filters down through the clouds in arrow-like beams. These high tides are luxuriously deep and cool, the surface a liquid silver blue.

As I swim out of the bay I can feel the suck of the current flowing down channel and in the spring tides the current is strong. I head back and follow the arc of the shoreline back to the quay, just as the school boat arrives.

3rd October

Today the wind is back, strong and gusty and fresh. The cordeline leaves rattle and clatter and the sea crashes up towards the shoreline along Green Bay.

The quay is busy, bustling with islanders collecting goods from the freight ship Lyonesse Lady. To the left of the quay, sheltered from the wind, the sea holds barely a ripple, it’s surface smooth and still. To the right another sea entirly. It moves in wild fury. Steel grey with spumming foam topped waves. They smash themselves against the granite and concrete.

Into the swell I Leap, a stride into a mass of silver, swirling bubbles and jostling water. A chaotic mix of rolling, sinking, a face full of salty water, a breath caught here and there when able.

And then silence as I reach down toward the seabed, kicking down through the glassy green, ears popping, lungs bursting. Trees of bladderwrack swing and swirl in the current, for even here, deep down, there is little escape from the turbulence above.

I feel exhilarated and a little bit wilder when I return to the land of normality.

Just for a few moments I was whipped along with the waves in a fantastically free world of fun and fury.

It’s been four days since I last swam, which for me feels like a life time. This hiatus is due to a rather nasty encounter I had with some tiny creatures of the sea during my attempt to swim to Castle Bryher.

Sea lice, the mind boggles and the skin crawls, I bet you are already itching! Well, thank goodness they are no relation to lice, getting their unfortunate name during the 1950s. They are indeed the larvae of two types of jellyfish. Too tiny to see, but oh boy do you feel them once they’ve found you! I won’t subject you to all the gory details but needless to say I’ve felt rather uncomfortable for the past few days, Google them if you desire to know more.

I think they normally reside on the Gulf Coast near Florida and whether or not in these recent storms they have blown this way, combined with the fact that our waters are lovely and warm right now means they’ve found their way to the western coast of Bryher.

Today I have felt better enough to venture back out for a swim, not without a little trepidation I must admit. The strandline along Green Bay is high with a dark line of kelp and wrack, ripped up from the sea bed and washed ashore in the high swells. I am reminded that it will soon be time for us to cut and weed the asparagus ready for its winter duvet of a seaweed mulch.

I feel like an exuberant child that has been kept indoors for too long, now released into the open air. I dive down into the cool sea letting the pleasure of the water on my skin bring a smile to my mind.

I feel like I need a powerful swim today and stretch my shoulder blades out, pulling the water back alongside me, tightening my abdomen and elongating my body as best I can. Rolling and breathing, rolling and breathing. All the way along the bay until I reach the point at which it arcs around to the quay.

I pop my head up and right there in front of me is a young, grey shag, bobbing along on the surface. Beady eye and hooked beak, he is beautiful and not at all surprised to see me there, I wonder if he’s been swimming alongside me without me knowing.

Turning back I find my rhythm again, now going against the wind, it’s a bit more choppy and splashy and so much fun. As I reach the shore I cant resist a dive to the sea bed and tumble turn in a daze of bubbles.

It feels so good to be back in the sea, although I am relieved to come out without my little friends of the West and for now I shall be sticking to the eastern side of Bryher.

Last night it rained, heavy and persistent. For the first time in months our windows were shut against the outside world rather than inviting it in. Whilst first light was still wet by the time the animals were fed the wind had ceased, the rain dried up and the calm after the storm settled over Bryher.

From the grassy bank of Great Par I watch the incoming tide seep in like a satin-like pool, quiet and still. On the horizon the Norad Rocks stand as monumental and grand as they have been for hundreds of years.

The tallest one is Castle Bryher. From the track behind the farmhouse I see Castle Bryher everyday, in moonlight, morning sunrise, twinkling in the summer sun, shrouded in mist, rain and spray and backlit by the sunset. She is beautiful, awesome, enchanting and foreboding.

I often contemplate swimming to her, a distance of about eight hundred meters, not far, but across deep and wild ocean.

Today a sudden and spontaneous desire to swim there, combined with good tides and sea conditions has us preparing the kayaks for an adventure.

As we leave the comforting safety and familiarity of the bay, a rainbow arcs above Gweal.

The water is glass clear, silky and wonderfully cool. Breathing and stroke soon settle into an hypnotic rhythm and I feel completely at one with the water. When I lift my head to breathe I see the water slipping by, barely a ripple on the surface. For a good 400 meters I feel comfortable, calm and confidant.

However in the corner of my eye I see Droppy Nose approaching on my left and the water begins to change. It’s not colder but darker, an abyss when I look down. A current starts to weave it’s way around my limbs, sucking and pushing against my skin.

Imagination and fear are strange bedfellows, as soon as the adrenaline starts to pulse through your body, your mind begins to run as wild as your heart.

I begin to feel that small and insignificant feeling, Grahams asks why I have started swimming breaststroke. I reply because I feel safer, when I look down its to a deep unknown place, above the surface is a world I know and understand.

We make it just past Droppy Nose and I bottle it. Each stroke away from home feels like a battle and one I can’t win today. Instead we turn and I swim back towards Little Merrick. Ironically I feel safe here, not long ago these little rocks were my nemesis. Now they are a pleasurable resting place on our return to the sandy shores of Great Par.

Not quite the swim I had aimed for but still we had fun, enjoyed a beautiful morning and bagged a lungful of fresh air and feel good factor to boot.

The light is what really captures me this morning. As the sun rises, the light appears so clean and clear, full of soft hues of icy blue, alabaster and the palest amber.

A strong, fresh easterly breeze has whipped the sea into a frenzy, boats bob and the heavy green seedheads of the agapanthus plants dance and sway.

As I walk along the track through Veronica Farm, Green Bay is now almost empty of boats. I remember the summer where yaghts and punts filled the bay, their anchors and running lines stretching across the sand. I think of friends, Sara and Clem on their boat Lyonesse, and the family of South Star, that for a short while called Green Bay home. Where their days were spent in the sun, rockpooling, beach combing and maintaing the boat.

Now the sea is rough, the wind is setting in, the light is cool, the bay empty and the summer has faded to memory. It feels that wild swims and the hunkering down days of winter are just around the corner.

My swim had no rhythm or grace. I was bounced and swirled around by the waves, and when I tried to catch a glimpse of the horizon to get my bearings, I was confronted by a wall of bluegrey water that would swamp me given have a chance.

For the twenty minutes or so that I splashed around pretending to swim, my world was full of movement, noise, salty spray, blurred light and bubbles.

A fun and exhilarating way to start my day.

6:15 am

It’s was one of those mornings, too good to doze through and miss, the first light of day brought excitement and shear pleasure as the dark inky skies lightened to a soft mauve, violet and firey orange.

I dragged Graham out of bed, insisting that he come with me for a dawn swim, the first for a long while. He wasn’t swimming I hasten to add, but there to enjoy this magical start to our day.

As we walked along the farm track it seemed Bryher was suspended between night and day. The rising Sun to the east, the sinking moon in the west. Everyone hovering on the point of change, the nocturnal creatures returning to rest after a night of feeding, whilst the sweet lyrical song of the dawn chorus awakens those creatures that prefer the sunlight.

I can hear the faint pup pup of a fishing boat but it’s long gone by the time we reach the quay.

The sea is cool but pleasantly so and it dances with flecks of amber and black silver. Below the surface is a muted seagreen grey, not ominously black just not illuminated with sunlight let.

Once I’m away from the shore I lay on my back, completely supported by the salty water. Staring up at the clear sky, now mauve with a hint of blue, it feels as if I’m gently spinning like the needle of a compass, swinging from east to west, but when I revert to the vertical again I am exactly where I was to begin with.

Everything about this morning felt soft, gentle and forgiving.

9:30pm

At last the Moon is out after being hidden by cloud for the earlier part of the evening. I had almost given up hope of a moongazey swim but my luck was in.

All of us, me, Graham and the children couldn’t resist a nightime stroll down to the beach, although it’s only me that swims. I think Martha would have given half the chance, a paddle for her will have to sufice.

We giggle and chatter our way down through the path of overgrown trees, near South Hill, as their shadowing branches twist and twine over our heads to form an archway.

Into the moonlight at the end of the wooded tunnel and over the stoney bank onto Green Bay. The boats and islands dark silhouettes in the moonlight. The water black satin.

As I swim a little way out in the ebb tide, the Moon is reflected again and again in ripple after ripple. Sound is amplified, the night so still that the movement of water and an occasional bird call is the only noise.

It is utter magic and such a fun way to end the day.

Bryher being the tiny island in the Atlantic that it is, changeable weather is the normality. Sometimes it changes two or three times in one day, and certainly each day can be very different.

Yesturday was a day that started wet and grey, turning sunny later but with the weather forecast recording the wind to be 23 mph gusting 34 mph NW. Today’s forecast is 16 mph NNW and the sky is the brightest of cobolt blues.

This tells us very little though about the air and how it shapes our day.

As I sat on Great Par before my swim yesturday the wind was one minute blustery and boisterous, pushing against my skin and flinging my hair wildly, then as quickly as it came it died to a soft and slender breeze that was barely felt.

Every plant bends and dances to it’s will. It brings the sound of the sea, a roaring swell up north and the hissing lap on the shore. The salty smell of the sea is blown into your face.

It is the wind that blows grit into the eye and stinging sand against the skin.

On a windy day swimming in the sea is noisy and full of swirling sway and rolling wave. Inescapable sloshing and slapping, the surface always changing, ripple upon ripple, upon wave.

The light can be constantly altering as clouds are nudged along by the air, grey sea turns to glimmering green sea, turns to dappled grey again.

Today the only trace of that harsh air is the lunar landscape of sand sculptures and mini dunes that create a beautifully architectural ground.

It reminds me that winter is on its way. During those winter months the beaches change daily with the wind and tide, sand and rocks come and go.

My swim from Bar today is warm and sparkly, under an azure blue sky with a sea so barely moved by air it looks like slightly crumpled linen.

Take a tiny bit of time to observe the effects of Air and the beautiful and wild ways it can change our world. We all know it so well, it flows through our bodies every minute of our lives, it is so easily taken for granted.

The first day back to school, Lizzie starts secondary and all three children wake early in anticipation of an exciting day.

Our children boat to school, the secondary children to St Mary’s and the primary the short hop to Tresco. Once all delivered to their boats I head off for a brisk walk, through Veronica Farm, past the community centre and then back down around Heathy. Autumn and winter are times when I can indulge in long walks, more writing and painting. As long as the animals are tended to and steady progress is made in clearing fields of nets and hoops, we can allow ourselves time to enjoy the island, the frantic summer coming to a close.

As I walk I can feel my body and mind absorbing the bright, crisp colours of sky, sea and moorland. The fresh cool, air seeps into every pore and I try to imagine capturing this fresh, invigorating feeling and storing it in a bottle for days that lack this autumnal magic.

The tide is just right for a swim with the seals. I have a friend staying and we can not resist a dip off Stony Porth where we know the seals will be.

There is a chilly north westerly breeze, not the biting air of winter but deffinatly fresh against the skin. A choppy sea of scudding, flurried dark steel meets us as we stumble down across the large granite pebbles. Over the dark line of spongy weed that has been rolled into a thick band along the tide line.

You can’t be frantic around seals. They force you willingly into a captured state of enchantment. You are compelled to think only of them, to watch only them.

Treading water we bob about, suspended in the water, staring into their deep, dark eyes. Your heart in your mouth as they pop their grey mottled heads above the surface, just feet away, blowing blasts of air from their nostrils.

A silent communication between swimmer and seal, until they disappear with an impressive splash.

We were lucky enough to have eight seals with us this morning, both of us bursting with excitement and wonder. What a way to start the day!