What Larks

Salcombe Bay Mid-morning Splash-About Report, 12/25/2025

I brought my bathing suit to England because in a few days, in London, I’ll be staying near the Parliament Hill Lido, and not too far from the Ladies’ Pond at Hampstead Heath. Both are unheated, open-air spots, with water (these days) colder than Barton Springs. I will, of course, report.

My packed bathing suit meant that, here in Salcombe, in Devon, when one of my nieces and one of my nephews (ages 19 and 14) announced that they planned to jump in the bay before Christmas lunch, I of course said I would join, though I knew as soon as I agreed that I would wear a dress over my suit, like a sad but sporty Victorian. I try my best to hold onto my dignity around my in-laws. Mostly I fail. Nevertheless, I went in with the aforementioned niece and nephew, plus one of my brothers-in-law, and Pip, my dog-in-law, a very excellent Black lab/cocker spaniel mix.

Pip, a Good Dog

It was cold and wonderful. We didn’t exactly swim but we did submerge. My 14-year-old nephew beat his chest at the cold and his own mightiness. I admired and even shared the impulse but decided I couldn’t get away with it. Afterwards we four swimmers with the power of speech agreed that we felt wonderful.

I have just looked it up: Salcombe is on the Salcombe Estuary, which flows into the English Channel, which is part of the Atlantic, ocean of my youth, my favorite ocean. In 58 years I have never met its match. I like to think I don’t believe in any kind of exceptionalism, country or state or continent, but I do prize the Atlantic over all other bodies of water, even the ones I haven’t been in, which is most.

I hope this day brings you whatever you most want from it, even if that is only peace and quiet and coal in your enemies’ stockings.