London's best wild swimming locations

Think a chilly lido is the toughest dip in town? Think again. Charlie Gilmour makes a splash in the capital’s secret swimming locations
Taking the plunge: Charlie Gilmour braves the Thames at Hammersmith
Daniel Hambury
Charlie Gilmour7 August 2015

Half a kilometre into the Thames, panic begins to set in. Like a fish with a death wish I’ve broken away from the shoal. My river buddies are whooping and cheering somewhere out of sight — and the tide is against me. What I like to think of as my “elegant duchess” breaststroke has degenerated into something that might be more accurately described as “drowning peasant”.

My life doesn’t flash before my eyes but facts and figures do: around 30 corpses are dragged from the Thames every year; 39 million cubic meters of sewage are pumped in. I suspected I might have to wrestle the odd turd in this quest to find the secret swimming spots of London but I never imagined I’d actually end up drowning in a river of filth.

Weirdly, it’s a risk that Londoners seem to be willing to take in ever-increasing numbers. After decades of what Kate Rew, founder of the Outdoor Swimming Society, refers to as “chlorinated captivity”, we have rediscovered our love of nature.

Those of us not wishing to emulate Shah Shinwari, the 17-year-old YouTuber who caused a splash last month when he jumped from Tower Bridge, are feeding that love in more conventional ways. According to Caitlin Davies, author of Downstream, an excellent book on the subject, at least 10,000 people plunge for pleasure into the Thames every year — and they’re coming out thirsty for more.

“In the past 10-15 years there’s been a resurgence of people going back to rivers and lakes and ponds,” says Davies. “There is definitely a movement towards getting back to the great outdoors.”

So it’s official. Lidos are out. Pools are over. Wild water is where it’s at. The future of urban swimming lies hidden in plain sight.

Take to the Thames

The Thames seems like an obvious place to start, although its foul reputation has to be dealt with first. Since the Industrial Revolution it has been used and abused without care. Writing in 1885, the Victorian novelist Richard Jefferies imagined it becoming “a vast stagnant swamp, which no man dare enter, since death would be his inevitable fate”. In 1957 he was proved right: pollution became so severe that the river was declared biologically dead.

Today, however, it’s believed to be the cleanest urban river in the world. “It is,” writes Peter Ackroyd in Thames: Sacred River, “a miracle of rejuvenation.” More than 125 species of fish have made it their home, and as the salmon and sea trout bravely nose their way upstream, so wild swimmers advance down.

When the Tidal Thames Swimmers first set off on their odysseys around Chiswick Eyot five years ago there were six of them. Today there are 46. On midsummer day attendance reached a record 66.

Messing about in the river: a familiarisation swim in the Thames

“We want to introduce people to the fact that you can safely swim in the tidal Thames,” says freelance business journalist Rod Newing, who set up the venture with his friend Steve Newall, a retired IT specialist. “It’s not for everybody, though. If you’re not used to open water swimming you really shouldn’t come here. You’ve got to be able to cope with nature and with the unpredictability of tides. It’s not for beginners.”

Thames water is a little like London ale: thick, brown and slightly nutty. I know this because, thrashing ineffectually against the current, I seem to be swallowing quite a lot of it. The incoming tide washed us out to the island without complaint but so far the river is refusing to carry us on its shoulders back to the pub as planned. It’s like one of those horrible dreams where you’re trapped in treacle, unable to move or even scream.

When the river finally gives way it’s like magic. Reality shifts. I virtually hydroplane the 500m back to The Black Lion in Hammersmith and haul myself up the steps. I collapse at the top, shivering and shaking but victorious. Like a good funeral, this immersion in death seems to have left everyone with a renewed lust for life. The swim’s wake is ecstatic.

“Wasn’t that fantastic?” says speech therapist Juliet, 25. “It’s the best thing I’ve done in months. It’s not just a swim. It’s a journey!”

“Swimming is such a liberating feeling,” says Laura Lee, 48, CEO of Maggie’s Cancer Care. “It makes me feel really connected with the environment and the Earth. It’s feral. I feel like I’m an animal.”

Sound enticing? They next head out on September 3.

Dive into the Docks

Twelve miles downstream, on the other side of London, the Shadwell Basin seems, at first, like the perfect tonic for the trauma of the Thames.

Shadwell has been intimately linked with water for centuries. The clue is in the name. The basin itself, a vast body of water the size of two football pitches, is relatively young. Opened in 1832 as part of the Docklands, it was once a hub of industry. But with age it has mellowed and given itself to pleasure. Anglers, boaters and even the occasional swimmer all make use of its cool, deep waters.

Although fed by the river, the basin is clear and still. Friendly carp the size of small dogs emerge from the depths to beckon you in. The chaos and conflict of the city is still well within sight — Canary Wharf looms menacingly to the east. But with a “frog’s eye view”, as the late founding father of the wild swimming movement Roger Deakin put it, things don’t seem quite so bad.

Swimming in Shadwell Basin
London's Royal Docks

“It’s more important [for Londoners] than for anyone, with the heat and the stress of the city around you, to find a way of escaping,” says Kate Rew, of the Outdoor Swimming Society. “Just get in the water. That entire world, which we’ve artificially created for ourselves, vanishes. I love that ability of swimming to give you a weekend within an hour.”

While the small numbers who go to Shadwell seem sweetly ignorant of the fact, swimming in the basin is forbidden by local bye-laws. Not only that but, speaking to Mike Wardle, director of the charity that facilitates activities for disadvantaged children in the basin, it turns out wild swimmers can clog up the water and put the important work done by his organisation at risk.

Those who fancy dipping into Britain’s industrial past might be better off heading a little further east to the Royal Docks. The recently spruced-up body of water, which opened to swimmers just four weeks ago, is no secret but it is legal and safe, and if you wade in from the artificial beach, it’s free too.

Make for the lake

Finding unchartered swimming spots in London that aren’t dangerously polluted or illegal is, as I discover, a whale of a task. Everyone I talk to has a beautiful spot they like to dip into and, without fail, every one of them has turned out to be contaminated with heavy metals or riddled with cholera. It’s time to widen the net.

Call me a cheat if you like but there’s no denying the fact that Wraysbury Lake is well within earshot of London. Less than an hour on the train from Waterloo, only the roar of 747s ascending from nearby Heathrow disturbs this idyllic body of water. At Wraysbury station there are no obvious signposts to the lake, but if you follow the threatening notices, in English and Polish, warning people against poaching fish, you will inevitably find your way.

The water is so clean that tiny molluscs fringe the borders and the plant life lining the bed gives it a sort of fragile resistance akin to treading on fresh snow. A word of warning, however: it is an isolated spot and the phone signal is patchy, so be safe and don’t go alone. No matter how tempting it might be on a hot summer’s day, do not drink and dive.

Swim with guerillas

Back in the city it’s a desert. Every promising oasis has turned out to be nothing but a mirage. If you want to find truly secret swims it seems you have to follow the example of London’s lost rivers and go underground.

“Just because something’s not actively encouraged it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s illegal,” says Madoc Threipland, 39, whose recently founded Secret Adventures organises guerrilla swims every full moon at undisclosed locations. Many of them you will have heard of; some might even be familiar from postcards.

“The ‘secret’ element is quite important in terms of not getting nobbled by the authorities,” says Threipland. “And there’s an element of risk in the swims we do. But they’re really about appreciating the weird little natural parts of London that are there to be enjoyed if only we could realise that there’s a lot of beauty around.”

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