Another day, another averted drowning
Jun. 9th, 2008 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hawkwing_lbWent swimming today. Once this morning, an icy splash at low tide, after which I hied me to college and did some stuff which will hopefully result in partial funding from college for my participation on the Crete dig.
Didn't go gymming, as it was too warm (25 Celsius and humid, I am not used to heat like this). So came home, and went swimming again.
Where I swim, there's a rocky low headland perpendicular to a beach. Beyond the headland is a narrow swift-flowing channel that separates it from a tiny island. The beach lies on the south side of the headland, and there's a swimming area - steps down, etc. At low water the steps are uncovered entirely, and one must walk out on sand, past rocks, in order to reach water to swim. At high tide, however, the swimming area is separated from the beach by about forty, fifty metres of water, and at the steps the depth is about twice, three times the height of a person? Maybe more. This does not get much shallower until about five metres from the shore, at which point rapid shoaling brings you the ability to stand.
Distances approximate, since this is all by eye, and I'm pretty sure I always underestimate.
High tide today was 1715. Bear with me, this little anecdote has a point, eventually.
So there're a few people swimming from the steps at twenty to six, this evening. And I go down with the parent, and we get in the water, and paddle about a bit, and after about five minutes the parent gets out.
I'm not a great swimmer, but I am fairly confident in the water - being in the sea fairly frequently in summer ever since you were a wee thing does that - and I'm usually good for about twenty, thirty metres at a stretch, longer if I get to touch bottom and reassure myself I'm not going to drown.*
So, I'm still in the water, and I think, screw this, I'm going to swim a little distance. So on my back, I kick out, and paddle merrily for my twenty metres towards shore.
And then I realise, oh fuck. I'm tired. Long hot day. Over my depth. How'm I going to get back?
Five metres to my right are rocks, part of the headland. I could go over there and beach myself on a rock, but then I'm stuck in the embarrassing position of being stuck on a rock. And having to admit that I was too scared to either go on, or go back.
Maybe twenty metres in front of me - once I turn over onto my belly - is the beach. And I'm not that tired, really, and there are other, much more confidant swimmers around that I could scream to for a rescue, if I manage to start drowning for real.
May as well go on as go back. Since going on I might at least luck out and land on sand sooner than I'd reach those steps.
This is all very well, with the small inconvenience that the direction of the chop is seaward, so I have these tiny waves occasionally trying to splash into my mouth and nose, and there is a slight current, enough to be tiring, and a little scary. But I can always make for the rocks, and beach myself.
All very well. Until, five metres on, I look down.
And there is a Brown Thing. In the water. Under me.**
Just a rock. Just a rock. Except the monkeybrain is convinced it is a Fish. And I am about to be Et. By a vicious, man-eating fish.
Sudden irrational terror, not helpful.
But it's just a rock, and after a short embarrassing scream and a few seconds, the monkeybrain accepts this. Dubiously.
Just in time for me to start swimming over a veritable formation of underwater rocks. With seaweed. Which occassionally touches my foot, thus proving the big brown things underwater are Fish! Which are Going! To! Eat! Me!
Pre-rational panic, really not helpful to water survival, you know?
So rule one is don't panic. And after a few terrifying seconds I succeed in complying with rule one. Only because I notice that other swimmers? Swam over these rocks already, and were not Et. So I might not be Et, either, and there's no call for panic until something bites me.
The moment of panic was really quite frightening. I thrashed a bit, and swallowed some water before I calmed down enough to realise I probably wasn't in mortal danger of being eaten - and remember, I'm still ten, fifteen metres from shore at this point, still well out of my depth, and god, it would be embarrassing to drown here because I panicked. I wasn't at the end of my strength, but I really wasn't feeling up to very much more of this: I was, at this point, thinking (before the panicking bit), Shit, if the current gets up any before I touch sand, I'm really in trouble here... I hope I touch sand soon - EeeeeFish!Rock!.
Cue speedy dog-paddling, because I'm not turning my back on possible man-eating FishRocks! and my upper left arm aches from this morning's tetanus/diphtheria/polio booster (in advance of the Crete dig) too much for any other stroke, none of which I'm very efficient at in the first place, and anyway, my legs are running out of go.
The last ten metres before I touch sand are the most coldly sobering ten metres I've ever swum. My body has the jittery false adrenal energy, and I'm paddling along, gasping and spitting out aspirated water now and again, and not wondering if that energy is going to run out before the water does, because it won't, and I can't afford to panic anymore anyway, because this was a pretty stupid damned thing to do, and I am not about to embarrass myself any further by running out of go before I run out of water.
The parent was kind enough to bring my clothes and towel over to me, rather than making me drip my shaky way back to get dressed. I felt pretty good once I got out of the water - tired and shaky, but not worn-out - but I really didn't want to have to walk back wet to collect my towels in that breeze.
(If you're interested, water temperature was probably around ten, twelve degrees Celsius. At that time of day, air temp was probably still twenty-ish, but with a fairly strong offshore breeze.)
It was a truly stupid thing to do, and I think I'm pretty lucky it didn't turn out worse. If the current had been stronger, the chop worse, or - godless heavens avert - there really had been a visible sizeable fish of any kind at all, I would've had to try to land myself on a rock and damn the embarrassment, or risk a less optimal outcome.
Another twenty metres might've broken me, too. Thirty or forty almost definitely would've.
I forgot the first thing every swimmer knows about the sea: The sea is not kind. The sea will drown you.
So you stay firmly within your competance, or you die.
I was, luckily, within my competance. But not nearly so firmly within it as I would consider safe.
I mean, I was okay. There were plenty of people there who would have been within their competance to rescue a (stupid) swimmer in distress. And certainly better I come up hard against the limits of my abilities in such a relatively safe dangerous way than some other time, somewhere else, possibly when I was on my own.
But. Still not smart.
I am so never doing that again. Next time I want to swim twenty metres plus? I will stay in my depth. Or arrange for a damn boat to be around, so I can escape imaginary man-eating fishes, if I feel the need.
So, that was my day. How was yours?
*Yeah, I realise this is a kind of small distance. I did point out, not a great swimmer by any means?
**I should note that because of the chop, the water was quite clear? Clear enough to make out obstructions, or things three metres below, not quite clear enough to be immediately certain what they actually were.
Didn't go gymming, as it was too warm (25 Celsius and humid, I am not used to heat like this). So came home, and went swimming again.
Where I swim, there's a rocky low headland perpendicular to a beach. Beyond the headland is a narrow swift-flowing channel that separates it from a tiny island. The beach lies on the south side of the headland, and there's a swimming area - steps down, etc. At low water the steps are uncovered entirely, and one must walk out on sand, past rocks, in order to reach water to swim. At high tide, however, the swimming area is separated from the beach by about forty, fifty metres of water, and at the steps the depth is about twice, three times the height of a person? Maybe more. This does not get much shallower until about five metres from the shore, at which point rapid shoaling brings you the ability to stand.
Distances approximate, since this is all by eye, and I'm pretty sure I always underestimate.
High tide today was 1715. Bear with me, this little anecdote has a point, eventually.
So there're a few people swimming from the steps at twenty to six, this evening. And I go down with the parent, and we get in the water, and paddle about a bit, and after about five minutes the parent gets out.
I'm not a great swimmer, but I am fairly confident in the water - being in the sea fairly frequently in summer ever since you were a wee thing does that - and I'm usually good for about twenty, thirty metres at a stretch, longer if I get to touch bottom and reassure myself I'm not going to drown.*
So, I'm still in the water, and I think, screw this, I'm going to swim a little distance. So on my back, I kick out, and paddle merrily for my twenty metres towards shore.
And then I realise, oh fuck. I'm tired. Long hot day. Over my depth. How'm I going to get back?
Five metres to my right are rocks, part of the headland. I could go over there and beach myself on a rock, but then I'm stuck in the embarrassing position of being stuck on a rock. And having to admit that I was too scared to either go on, or go back.
Maybe twenty metres in front of me - once I turn over onto my belly - is the beach. And I'm not that tired, really, and there are other, much more confidant swimmers around that I could scream to for a rescue, if I manage to start drowning for real.
May as well go on as go back. Since going on I might at least luck out and land on sand sooner than I'd reach those steps.
This is all very well, with the small inconvenience that the direction of the chop is seaward, so I have these tiny waves occasionally trying to splash into my mouth and nose, and there is a slight current, enough to be tiring, and a little scary. But I can always make for the rocks, and beach myself.
All very well. Until, five metres on, I look down.
And there is a Brown Thing. In the water. Under me.**
Just a rock. Just a rock. Except the monkeybrain is convinced it is a Fish. And I am about to be Et. By a vicious, man-eating fish.
Sudden irrational terror, not helpful.
But it's just a rock, and after a short embarrassing scream and a few seconds, the monkeybrain accepts this. Dubiously.
Just in time for me to start swimming over a veritable formation of underwater rocks. With seaweed. Which occassionally touches my foot, thus proving the big brown things underwater are Fish! Which are Going! To! Eat! Me!
Pre-rational panic, really not helpful to water survival, you know?
So rule one is don't panic. And after a few terrifying seconds I succeed in complying with rule one. Only because I notice that other swimmers? Swam over these rocks already, and were not Et. So I might not be Et, either, and there's no call for panic until something bites me.
The moment of panic was really quite frightening. I thrashed a bit, and swallowed some water before I calmed down enough to realise I probably wasn't in mortal danger of being eaten - and remember, I'm still ten, fifteen metres from shore at this point, still well out of my depth, and god, it would be embarrassing to drown here because I panicked. I wasn't at the end of my strength, but I really wasn't feeling up to very much more of this: I was, at this point, thinking (before the panicking bit), Shit, if the current gets up any before I touch sand, I'm really in trouble here... I hope I touch sand soon - EeeeeFish!Rock!.
Cue speedy dog-paddling, because I'm not turning my back on possible man-eating FishRocks! and my upper left arm aches from this morning's tetanus/diphtheria/polio booster (in advance of the Crete dig) too much for any other stroke, none of which I'm very efficient at in the first place, and anyway, my legs are running out of go.
The last ten metres before I touch sand are the most coldly sobering ten metres I've ever swum. My body has the jittery false adrenal energy, and I'm paddling along, gasping and spitting out aspirated water now and again, and not wondering if that energy is going to run out before the water does, because it won't, and I can't afford to panic anymore anyway, because this was a pretty stupid damned thing to do, and I am not about to embarrass myself any further by running out of go before I run out of water.
The parent was kind enough to bring my clothes and towel over to me, rather than making me drip my shaky way back to get dressed. I felt pretty good once I got out of the water - tired and shaky, but not worn-out - but I really didn't want to have to walk back wet to collect my towels in that breeze.
(If you're interested, water temperature was probably around ten, twelve degrees Celsius. At that time of day, air temp was probably still twenty-ish, but with a fairly strong offshore breeze.)
It was a truly stupid thing to do, and I think I'm pretty lucky it didn't turn out worse. If the current had been stronger, the chop worse, or - godless heavens avert - there really had been a visible sizeable fish of any kind at all, I would've had to try to land myself on a rock and damn the embarrassment, or risk a less optimal outcome.
Another twenty metres might've broken me, too. Thirty or forty almost definitely would've.
I forgot the first thing every swimmer knows about the sea: The sea is not kind. The sea will drown you.
So you stay firmly within your competance, or you die.
I was, luckily, within my competance. But not nearly so firmly within it as I would consider safe.
I mean, I was okay. There were plenty of people there who would have been within their competance to rescue a (stupid) swimmer in distress. And certainly better I come up hard against the limits of my abilities in such a relatively safe dangerous way than some other time, somewhere else, possibly when I was on my own.
But. Still not smart.
I am so never doing that again. Next time I want to swim twenty metres plus? I will stay in my depth. Or arrange for a damn boat to be around, so I can escape imaginary man-eating fishes, if I feel the need.
So, that was my day. How was yours?
*Yeah, I realise this is a kind of small distance. I did point out, not a great swimmer by any means?
**I should note that because of the chop, the water was quite clear? Clear enough to make out obstructions, or things three metres below, not quite clear enough to be immediately certain what they actually were.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-09 09:42 pm (UTC)Limits are good things, and adrenalin is a lovely hormone that gets you moving when you need it, and hey -- experience is what you get after the time you needed it. Or is that wisdom? Now that you've got your reminder, you'll have better luck the next time you push yourself in a swimming exercise -- because you know you can do it, when push comes to shove. Not only can you make a mistake, but you can survive it. ;-)
Oh, and I wish we were around 25 C -- we're up to about 34C today, along with the humid part. I'd even willingly jump into the lake, if I had one any more, despite the likelihood of fish. (Actually, the lake fish would bite our toes in August, during nesting season.)
no subject
Date: 2008-06-09 09:54 pm (UTC)Hence, not doing it again, by preference.
34C is icky. With humidity, extra icky. You have my sympathies.
(Personally, I hope I succeed in adapting to Cretan heat quickly, or I will probably have much misery.)
no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 05:17 pm (UTC)But the cerebrum should take note that the limits can be met with success and not immediate failure...in case it should ever happen again, purely by accident.
Smart cerebrum. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-09 11:53 pm (UTC)Heh. I grew up in Wisconsin, many MANY miles from anything larger than a very large lake. I learned to swim in lakes (ordinary sized ones) and swimming pools. Then, when I was a teenager, my parents took me to a beach in Delaware, on the east coast, on a lovely and very hot August day. My father showed me how to ride the waves, and then they left me to my own devices. There were lifeguards, I was a strong swimmer (I'd passed all the Red Cross courses, including one where you have to swim for a half hour without stopping to pass the test) (note, however, that I did this in a swimming pool), and they figured I'd be fine.
I took one of our inflatable rafts and went out to ride the waves. I'd wade out to chest depth, grab the raft, and let the big waves pick me up. It was a blast, except for the times I'd misjudge and get a wave of water in the face and then get slammed against the sand on the bottom and have to limp back to shore. At one point, I managed to avoid having this happen for a good long time, and realized very abruptly that I was way the heck out. Never having swum in an ocean before, I had not realized that as the waves were pushing me back towards shore, the undertow was pulling me further out. Whooooooooops.
I did, thank goodness, manage to keep my head; I held tight to my raft, and started kicking aggressively against the undertow. After five minutes of this, maybe ten, I was back within my own depth.
But OMG. Oceans are so much scarier than anything I'd dealt with before that point. I retreated back to the beach towels to warm up and have been extremely careful in ocean water ever since.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 02:35 pm (UTC)I suspect more people end up in distress through overestimating their abilities and then panicking, in the normal run of things, than anything else.