The Country Life team's favourite wild swimming spots in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales
Your indispensable summer swimming guide.
The Brits — and the Irish — have long enjoyed a love affair with cold-water and wild swimming (though we used to just call it ‘swimming’). Some of our greatest writers, including Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron and Keats, drew inspiration from their time spent in the water; The King and Queen reportedly swim in the sea most days when they stay at the Rothschild Estate on the island of Corfu, Greece.
In recent years, the health benefits and glamour of wild swimming have been splashed all over social media. The downside? Lots of annoying people talking about it on Instagram. The upside? More and more of us are getting stuck in to campaigning for better quality bathing spots.
In our July 15 issue, which is themed around, drum roll please, water, we meet campaigners including an army veteran, a surfer, an RNLI volunteer and a diviner to talk about their relationship with our most precious asset. Elsewhere, the former chair of the Climate Change Committee, Lord Deben, argues that Britain really does have enough water — if only we can learn to use it responsibly.
In May of this year, DEFRA announced 13 new bathing sites across England — taking the total to more than 460 — including the first on the River Thames. Official classification means that the sites will be regularly tested by the Environment Agency throughout the ‘bathing season’.
It’s another small step in the right direction and so we’ve asked members of the Country Life team and contributors to reveal where they most like to swim in England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland.
Where? Trananaigh beach, Co Cork, Ireland
Who? Jonathan Self, Country Life contributor
Our nearest beach is Trananaigh, at the innermost end of Tralong Bay, a hidden, bottle-shaped cove much frequented by seals. It can be reached on foot by edging around various fields (one of which is home to a grumpy bull) or via a potholed road that leads nowhere else. It is overlooked by a grassy promontory, currently carpeted with thrift, sea campion, bird’s-foot trefoil and wild thyme.
Even in the middle of summer, it is generally empty. My late father believed that because West Cork is touched by the Gulf Stream the sea was warm enough to swim in all year round.
Personally, the thermometer has to reach 30℃ before I will even paddle. But if I am going to swim (if someone who struggles with the doggy paddle can ever be said to be swimming) there is nowhere else I would rather be.
Where? Somewhere in South Devon
Who? Rosie Paterson, Digital Content Director & Travel Editor
I cannot tell you where my favourite swim spot is — which, I admit, slightly defeats the point of this feature — because it involves blatant trespassing. However, I can hint at where it is and you can then take matters, and the chance that you might be told off, into your own hands.
It’s a natural pool, separated from the ocean by a concrete wall, erected, I believe, during the Second World War, and refreshed during big tides and bad weather. You can only reach it at low tide and by scrambling over some low but jagged rocks — and I only brave it when the ebbing water coincides with sunrise, when there are fewer people around.
The water, which is the colour of green sea glass, is milkier (you cannot see your toes) and calmer than the ocean — which you can hear crashing faintly in the distance. The need to swim in silence so as not to be discovered means it's a wonderfully peaceful experience.
Where? Duxford Ford, Oxfordshire
Who? Bella Fulford, Editorial Assistant
In the west Oxfordshire countryside, just outside Duxford, there is a bridleway that crosses the River Thames. I never intended for the deeper side of it to become a wild swimming spot, but, when my dog was a puppy with what seemed like a death wish, it had to become one.
I retrieved her from the water more times than I can count. One time, fully-clothed, in chest-high water, I realised I was standing at the beginning of a ritual I hadn’t realised I needed. From then on, I returned — willingly — in the summer months, every year.
Where? John’s Water, Blickling, Norfolk
Who? Flora Watkins, Country Life contributor
Follow a meandering lane along the valley of the River Bure and you will eventually reach a solitary mill cottage by a twin-arched bridge. A mill-race tumbles through one of the arches into a wide, dark pool, the water embroidered by vivid-green water buttercups and reeds. It could be a painting by Seago and it is known as John’s Water, though no one is sure why.
The fine gravel bed is shallow at first; my daughter paddles here, watching the fish as, with a gasp — even on the hottest of days — I push off the shelf into the glassy mill-pond.
As my sons and their friends dare each other to jump from the bridge, I roll onto my back and float like Millais’ Ophelia, weaving her weedy garlands.
Where? Builth Wells’ ‘hell hole’, Powys, Wales
Who? Tiffany Daneff, Gardens Editor
We've spent many days at 'hell hole' just outside Builth Wells — a patch in the River Wye where the water forms a pool deep enough to jump in from the rocks above. It’s far too scary for me ever to attempt that seven-foot leap, but everyone else loves it. I just swim up and down the river, which widens below the pool and is hidden from the nearby road and any signs of human habitation.
There are smooth rocks for lying on when it's hot and for picnicking whatever the weather. You reach it by parking in a layby and clambering over a style that someone has helpfully coated in barbed wire — there may even be a notice that says ‘Private’ — and then it's an easy five-minute walk down to the water.
Where? Grantchester Meadows, Cambridge
Who? Lotte Brundle, Digital Writer
As a student, many happy summer days were spent in Grantchester Meadows in Cambridge. Lounging around on the banks of the River Cam, snacking on picnic food and chatting foolishly about our dreams of an adulthood that didn't yet exist. Taking a leisurely dip in the river to cool off was always the best part. They were some of the happiest days of my life.
Two friends even got married there and had their wedding reception in the Orchard Tea Garden, a short walk further down the river. I can't visit the city now without recalling cycling full pelt down the path to the river with a sunburnt back, my swimming costume on under a summer's dress and a clunking tote bag of refreshments, racing my friends to the cool water.
Where? Loch Striven, Argyll and Bute, Scotland
Who? Jo Rodgers, Country Life contributor
I was staying on the Cowal Peninsula along the west coast of Scotland recently, and had a week of numbing, endorphin-fired swims in Loch Striven. It’s an extraordinarily pretty sea loch, surrounded by evergreens and the snow-capped Cowal Hills on three sides.
The banks are rocky and I'd forgotten swim shoes, so I'd go in wearing a wetsuit and doubled-up hiking socks. Somehow this part of the southern Highlands is still overlooked by most travellers. There was nobody to see me squelching back to land.
Where? Frensham Great Pond, Surrey
Who? Katie Ruocco, Account Director
I began swimming at Frensham Great Pond in that first strange summer of lockdown, entering the water at dawn while mist still hovered over the surface and the heath felt wonderfully still.
Long after restrictions eased, I kept going. It’s less about the cold-water thrill now and more about the ritual of it. I like the unhurried wade from the sandy edge into the cool, the tea-coloured water, and breathing in the pine and heather as I go.
In summer, dragonflies skim past, and herons rise from the reeds; in winter, the grebes and coots are reliable companions.
For a while, it’s just sky, water and peace. I arrive home pink-cheeked and clear-headed — and a little pleased with myself before breakfast.
Where? The Mediterranean
Who? Flo Allen, Social Media Editor
I am so sorry, but I prefer to stick to heated swimming pools and The Med.
Where? Brighton Beach, East Sussex
Who? Will Hosie, Lifestyle Editor
My favourite spot to go wild swimming is in Brighton: just there on the beach, right by the pier. Maybe it's because I'm a closeted exhibitionist, but I've rarely enjoyed myself so much as when I went to Brighton for my birthday two years ago in November, and stripped to my trunks running into the freezing water while onlookers looked at me petrified, ignoring the gulls swooping in on their chips.
I like wild swimming in November because it's already so cold outside that getting into icy water is less of an ordeal than getting into mildly warmer water in summer, when the outdoor temperature is in the high 20s. I can handle the cold; it's the contrast that proves an issue.
Where? Llanelltyd river pool, Gwynedd, Wales
Who? Pamela Goodman, Country Life contributor
Under the stone arches of Old Llanelltyd Bridge, just outside Dolgellau in the southern reaches of Eryri National Park (aka Snowdonia), is a large and languid river pool — a truly scenic spot in the River Mawdacch before it widens into the glorious (and synonymous) estuary on its slow trundle to the sea at Barmouth.
Don’t let the nearby A470 put you off — the road means easy access.
A grassy field nudges a pebbly beach, ideal for families and picnickers, and the pool itself is gentle, deep and suitably chilly. The ruins of Cistercian Cymer Abbey are right there, too, after which a five-minute drive will have you at Penmaenpool for a pie and a pint at the picturesque George III inn.
Where? Dawlish Warren, Devon
Who? Paula Minchin, Managing & Features Editor
Dawlish Warren — a 1.5-mile-long stretch of white sand — is a sweeping, unspoilt and usually blissfully quiet spot on the south coast of Devon, where it's possible to wade out into the waves without the need for swimming shoes.
It also has plenty of handy wooden groynes, which are especially useful for leaving phones, clothes and a towel on, so you can easily get warm and dry after a dip in the surf, without having to drag on the soggy garments that you've left safely on the edge of the sand dunes, only to find they've been soaked by the incoming tide.
Cold-water and wild swimming can be dangerous. Visit the Governmentand Royal Life Saving Society websites for more information.
