As the water warms, swimming in New England faces new obstacles. The surf is usually tame, so it is easy to swim in shallow water, with a clear view of the bottom providing simple navigation. Wet suit is optional, and hypothermia is a low risk at exposures under two hours. Really, there’s nothing to worry about except Jaws. Great White Sharks follow the seals north, with both species protected by law, while Homo sapiens are on their own.

I can see the wind direction by a windmill across the estuary, and knew it was blowing from the shore this morning. That usually means the surface waters are blown offshore, leaving the colder waters by the beach where I swim. I tried to convince myself that the high tide would counteract that, but knew when my toes hit the wet stuff that the windmill don’t lie. Brrrr. It was probably low 60’s, which would have been good in June when I had brought a wetsuit, but not so comfortable today without one. The good news is I did not get a full ice cream headache on diving in, just some pain along the line where the swimming cap left my head exposed. I knew that would fade quickly, and so focused on relaxing into my stroke as I got started. The one thing you don’t want to do in August is waste time in the water. The chances of a Great White being this close to Boston harbor are slim, but they exist. The more time you spend in the water, the greater your chances of an encounter. Logic tells me that on high surf, high fog conditions in June, my risk of injury are significantly higher, but try applying logic to fear of a shark.
I have not been able to banish fear from my August swims, so I apply logic everywhere else I can. My arms get shorter on my stroke, allowing me to swim in water no more than three feet deep, and at the bottom of a wave, even less. My toes, at times, touch the sand, and I use this to help navigate the proper swimming depth. Curiously, if my toes accidentally touch sand it brings a strangely uncomfortable sensation. Perhaps this is because it seldom happens, and so startles me. It causes me to think about how a great fish might feel if its belly touches sand. If I get washed up on shore, I am safer than before. If a fish washes up, that could be the end. I hope they have an instinct that keeps them in deeper waters. I don’t know if this is true, but I work hard to convince myself it is. Prior to August, my toes touching sand would cause me to head into deeper waters. Today, I instead used mind over matter. Logic. There is no risk in washing up on shore, so stay where you are.
Earlier in the season I enjoyed getting to the beach early, when I had it mostly to myself, especially on colder days when beach walkers were few. Now I try to delay my swims until I know there will be clusters of shark spotters on the shore. Most folks at the beach this early are so old they may not be able to see past the sand at the water’s edge, but it makes me feel better to know that others are there. I swim in such shallow water that there’s even a risk of bumping into the few others who dare tempt the sharks by wading in past their knees.

I had decided to keep the swim to an hour, partially to limit my exposure in the water, and partially because I knew I would have breakfast waiting at 8:30. I allowed myself a brief feeling of celebration at my turn around spot, lying to myself that if there were a shark around, it would have already eaten me. That logic does not work with jelly fish, who were just as likely to sting me on the way back even if I swam the first half unscathed, but so far no shark attacks, so I will cling to it. Still, I could not erase the thought of sharks on my way back, except for the brief moments where concern for the numbing of my toes, and more significantly, my fingers, warned me that I was losing body temperature. And then my toes would hit sand, and I realized that I didn’t even need to know how to swim to save myself in water this shallow. I could roll myself onto shore. Far from bringing comfort, this ‘allowed’ me to worry about sharks again. Some of you may have heard of the tragic shark attack in Maine a few weeks back, in a harbor I had enjoyed several swims in just two years back. The water had been freezing, but that assured me there were no sharks. No one had ever been killed in a shark attack in Maine. What was there to fear?
No one has ever been killed in a shark attack in Boston Harbor. I delude myself with this fun fact as well, and it works, somewhat, until right before I reach my end point. I can never stop thinking about how ironic it would be to get this far, and then get hit on my way out of the water. OMG. My belly is just about scraping the sand at this point. I swim past an old man in up to his ankles. He must wonder how I can glide through such puddles. Short arms, my man. Short arms.