I've never felt more alive
returning from a freezing sea
The morning shivers to the start line.
The sky is dark, the air is frigid.
And the sun works a short shift — eight to four.
It’s the middle of winter in lutruwita / Tasmania — a small Island at the bottom of the world.
If we get lucky, and the sky lifts her skirts to expose a horizon as blue as the Mediterranean, we can strip our puffy down jackets, beanies and gloves, and frolic in the sunshine.
But mostly, we move briskly between heated spaces, teeth gritted, necks shrunk into collars, cheeks ruby-nipped by the cool air.
After all, we are only a few islands and a wild ocean away from Antarctica (240 kilometres at its closest point) — that vast, icy continent at the southern most tip of the Earth.
Though sometimes I think it is closer than that.
Like the morning of the winter solstice1, when my youngest daughter and I drove out to our favourite beach for a nude swim.
It’s a thing here in lutruwita / Tasmania.
Every June 21st, thousands arrive on Hobart’s Long Beach before dawn for the Solstice Nude Swim. They shed their clothes, leaving their shoes and socks on to the final minute, and then plunge into the freezing waters of the Derwent River.
It’s a ritual that started 11 years years ago as part of MONA’s Dark Mofo Festival. You can read more about the obscurities of Dark Mofo here in a delightful letter by Tasmanian writer
.I’ve haven’t taken part in the festival swim, but for the last three years I have made the pilgrimage to the beach to celebrate the winter solstice.
It’s a promise I made to myself. And it feels a little delicious, dangerous even, standing on a quiet crescent of white sand, dropping my towel, wrapping my hands around my breasts, and walking straight out into the arms of the sea.
When it lapped at my navel, I counted to three, pointed my arms forward in the diving position I had learnt at school and pushed under.
The water was vicious. My bones shuddered. My breasts curved inwards. I came up under the lick of a wave gasping and shrieking — a wild and wondrous sound coming from within.
In the distance I could see the arc of a rainbow disappearing behind a headland and a few dog walkers further up the beach. And my daughter, playing with her friends (three cat unicorns and a giant plastic horse) on a picnic rug.
I went under again. And when my legs began to burn with cold, I got out.
Back on the beach, I hesitated before I got dressed. I stood full-frontal to the ocean, let the Antarctic wind slap my face, whip my hair, pinch the end of my nose. And every centimetre of my skin tingled, a rush of hot blood returning from the depths of my core.
*
After school, I drove my older children out to the beach with a thermos of hot chocolate and marshmallows. My mother joined us. There was no nudity this time. Embarrassing Mum!
But there were three generations of women in the water as the last rays of the day brushed the tips of the grass on the dunes. And it was a wonderful way to celebrate the return of the sunlight to our home.
Mid-winter mornings
A few mornings a week I have been meeting a girlfriend for a run. We wear layers of wool and lightweight head-torches. How glorious it feels to run along a trail in the bush before the world begins to stir.
Those small hours when you can be anything at all. The inky blackness nestling around your body, taking in your curves, pressing ever so gently, like a compression legging returning blood to your heart.
Its also fabulous to chat. Get that talking out, saving our husband’s ears when we get home.
But mostly, I love running early because it sets me up for the day. A tiny blue fire burning in my chest as I attend to dreary chores and shuffle children and bags of stuff to after school activities.
When I’m not in the car or the kitchen (when is that again?) I have been working on some exciting changes to this newsletter (with a little help from the wonderful
). There will be a new publishing schedule — keeping me on my toes and you knowing when the next lovely letter will land in your inbox — and a few other new things (photo essays and voice overs) . More to come very soon.What have you been up to?
Free books, how delightfully wild!
Winter does feel like the season to snuggle up with a book.
What are you reading?
If you are in Australia, you will be excited (as I was) to hear about Stella on the Go — the initiative designed to get you off your screen and reading books.
This winter, Stella is placing a selection of free books written by Australian women and non-binary writers on trams, trains, buses and public spaces in most Australian capital cities — Melbourne, Sydney, Cairns, Darwin, Hobart, Brisbane, Adelaide and Perth.
Next time you are on public transport, look for a book with a bright green sticker on the front cover.
Take it. Read it. Pass it on.
I wonder which Stella authors you will discover on the bus? —
, , and Carrie Tiffany, are a few of the Stella authors whose books I adore.A poem for you to enjoy
Six Women Swimming Naked in the Ocean
by Barbara Kingsolver
An even dozen, as it happens,
changeable as the lunar egg
and milky like that, breasts
that have waxed and waned
answering the tides and tugs that
rule the world: men and children.
These bosoms have heaved
with passion and impatience,
but here in the midnight ocean
they just float
like jellyfish. Life boys. Bottles
flung out with no message inside.
We tumble and crash like so much
sandy laundry, sing out names,
keep an eye on each other
by means of our headlamps,
twelve shiny melons. We.
have been called so many things,
have come from so many places.
Earlier in the beach house, we were all
such different people — modest, illustrious
or provisional — forgetting we had this
standard equipment to bind us.
And once unbound, to carry us away.
Wishing you light and love,
and a dip in the sea.
Kate xx
P.S I’ll be back in inboxes next month with more stories and all the exciting changes ahead at Wild and Wonderful.
The winter solstice is the shortest day and longest night of the year. It occurs on June 21st in the Southern Hemisphere (December 21st in the Northern Hemisphere). It marks the point at which the South Pole is tilted farthest from the sun, causing the sun to appear at its lowest point in the sky, resulting in the least amount of daylight. After the winter solstice, the days gradually become longer as the South Pole begins to tilt back towards the sun.
No cold swim this winter Solstice but each morning I turn the shower tap to cold before I get out and let the icy water bring me a,ice for the day.Beautiful writing Kate, so delighted to have found you here on Substack 🙏
I’m shivering just reading this! Ha! Thanks for that poem - never saw it before. Love the humor.