Into wild waters: How water soothes the soul

I recently returned from a stay beside wild waters – a last-ditch attempt to feel the warmth of summer before it slips into the cool grip of autumn. I explored an expansive lake, bursting with life, reflecting deep hues of blues and greens as the sunlight reflected off soft ripples. It was a time to sit in the gratitude I’d had for the summer, and welcome the changing season with every chilly morning dip, legs paddling as fish danced between my ankles. 

The lake was hidden between towering mountains, where a blanket of trees grew punctuated by a scattering of crumbling houses that seemed to cling to the shifting surface, right the way down to the water's edge.

I’ve always longed to live near the sea or a crystal blue lake, favouring lapping waves over the murky banks of the riverside town I grew up in. Yet, as I floated, cradled in a watery embrace, I realised it didn’t matter where I was. Having access to a body of water to some degree calmed the senses, brought clarity and enlivened me like nothing else. So, I spent the rest of the trip delving into why we’re drawn to water, and what benefits it brings to the mind, body and soul.

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Several months later, I’ve returned to this thought process, this time wrapped in the late mid-May sunlight somewhere on the coast of Portugal. We’ve been making our way down winding lanes and salty tracks, drawn to the tranquil solitude of the country’s quiet beaches and lush green riverbanks. I’ve been swimming, dipping and floating, searching for shells, pulling seaweed from my hair and collecting fragments of intricate tiles from centuries gone by, all while the same curiosity for our affinity for water has been swimming around my mind.

Whilst we’ve found solace in wild waters since time began, the ‘boom’ in cold dippers taking the plunge has brought city-dwellers and rural groups together in recent years, with many singing the water’s praises for aiding physical and mental health, building community and helping us to reconnect to the great outdoors. 

It’s not clear whether this shift is a response to the climate crisis, the lingering effects of the pandemic or a generational move towards slower, connected practices that were so tightly woven into the fabric of the lives of our ancestors – but I don’t think there needs to be a clear-cut reason.

For me, swimming ignites a child-like playfulness and a peaceful calm that settles an otherwise busy mind. It’s a reminder of family holidays on the Welsh coast and meeting friends by the river that ran through my hometown, whilst bringing a comforting and overwhelming sense of the unknown, floating in vast waters I’ve yet to explore or understand. 

Above all, I think being immersed in wild waters is a reminder to care for them as much as they care for us. As salty shores wash away our worries and quell inflammation, aches or pains – what can we do in return?

For those interested in learning more about our wild waters and how we can protect them, check out charities like River Action UK or Surfers Against Sewage – who have been fighting for a cleaner future for over 30 years.