03/04/2016 by Carl Reynolds
We spent a while trying to find out why it was called Sugary Cove. None of the signs assuaged our curiosity; and neither wikipedia or google enlightened me later, when back among the 3Gs. Arriving early we passed Mark and basked in the sun on the flaking cliffs of the cove waiting to see who else would turn up to Sophie’s swim through the chasm to Castle Cove. And in true wild swimmer fashion they descended suitably tardy, but not quite late – Sophie, Matt, Aaron, Kay, Ann and Jill.
The tide rising to the back of the beach we stripped and plunged in. The swell bounced me among the cliffs in the channel between the coves, so I headed back out and stroked slowly over the incoming swell. Back to the beach I saw Joh, Lou and Baa changing and turned back for more immersion. The water’s ten-ish, so not freezing, but not without a lasting, but small, chill about and within yourself for a few hours afterwards either.
And then, chat. There is always chat among the swimming wildlings. And we chatted for longer than we swam perched on the edge of Dartmouth Castle looking out to sea at the mouth of the Dart.