A year of open water swimming in Dana Point, California
My route goes to the cliffs in the distance and back
As of this late May of 2021, I have been swimming about 1.75 miles in the ocean four days a week without a wetsuit for exactly one year. I came for the physical exercise and stayed for the spiritual exhilaration. Never in a million years would I have anticipated how meaningful and rewarding this activity would become for me. This post chronicles how I found myself drawn to the water, found dolphins, endured the cold and learned some unexpected lessons that serve me just as well on land as they do in the water.
On a leisurely Saturday morning in late May of 2020 I was reading our beach town’s local paper, the Dana Point Times. When I got to the end where they publish the weekly ocean water temperature, I noticed it was posted at 66–68 Fahrenheit. That seemed to me like it might be a relatively comfortable temperature. Later that morning while running some errands, I was listening to a podcast covering the topic of freediving — a sport involving underwater ocean diving without scuba gear. Hearing about diving in the ocean and recalling the tolerable local ocean temperature I was consumed with a craving to jump in the ocean and swim.
We had just moved to Capistrano Beach in December the previous year. I grew up in this area. Born in Laguna Beach, lived in Dana Point until I was 6 and then lived in San Juan Capistrano until I was 18 and moved out on my own. I’m 52 now. I have since lived mostly in San Francisco, the Inland Empire and most recently spent the last 10 years just outside of Seattle. One of the things I had missed most about the southern Orange County coast was the ability to play in the ocean on a beautiful summer day. It’s incredibly refreshing and something more as well. Its hard to put your finger on it exactly. A sensation of freedom in this vast body of water that is teaming with life and the awesome energy of surf and tide. It truly provides a profound connection with nature.
As a child, I literally spent my entire summer vacations on the beach. My dad spent his summers here in his high school years working as a lifeguard and surfing, and he spent most of my childhood weekends with me and my siblings on the beach. In Jr. High and early High school, I’d ride my bike to the beach almost every summer day and boogie board, surf, body surf, and spear fish in the kelp forests farther offshore.
It was winter 2019 when we made the move from Washington to Southern California. The water was cold, but I immediately found that walks on the beach especially around sunset could be a transcendent experience. I had indeed been looking forward to moving back to my childhood home but had forgotten just how amazing this beach is. I think I had also taken it for granted when I was younger since at that time it was all I really knew. So, I had a sense that come summer, I’d want to do more than walk. Maybe I’d buy some fins and a body board, maybe learn to surf again…who knows.
Transcendent…am I right?!
Well fast forward to May 2020. It was a warm Spring day and I seemed to remember that 68 degrees was doable without a wetsuit. Also, due to the covid lockdown, I had not been to the gym in a couple months. I’m a runner and that makes up most of my exercise routine, but I depended on a few days a week at the gym to round things out with full body weight training. When I was in Washington, my gym had a pool and I would swim about a mile twice a week. So, it all of a sudden occurred to me: hey, my full body workout is just a ten minute drive from my house in the Pacific Ocean!
I did not own a bathing suit that properly fit me, so I threw on some normal shorts, I grabbed the swim goggles I used at the pool in Washington, and I clipped my key chain to one of the buckle loops on my shorts. For those who are local to this area, Strands beach was where I hung out as a kid and felt comfortable swimming now. It had been 34 years, but this water feels like home. I know where the surf breaks and where the rocks are this time of year. So I parked my car off Green Lantern because the main parking lot was full, walked to the many, many stairs that take you down to the shore, made a bee line to the water and when I got to waist high depth, I took the plunge. Hmm…uh…this feels a little colder than I anticipated. I have also come to learn that temps posted in the paper do not always match what is in the water. I had to swim off an initial “ice cream headache” and let myself catch my breath. Quickly I found a rhythm that worked for me and grew comfortable with the temperature. I was not sure how far I would go on this first outing. I had not thought to check how far I’d need to swim to reach any particular distance goal. I probably just covered about a quarter mile when I swam to shore. When I first stood myself up, I immediately lost my balance. My legs were cramping, and I felt a sort of drunken lack of equilibrium. I stood up and fell several times. I was practically rolling to shore. I was worried a lifeguard might try to ”rescue” me because I must have looked like I was in some kind of trouble. I’m glad that did not happen because it would have been embarrassing. Eventually I managed to walk like a normal human.
Stairs from the parking lot to the beach at Strands
I made my way back to my car and you know what? I felt fantastic! Over the next few hours, I found myself rushed with a nostalgic sensation that I will call a post-beach glow. I had totally forgotten about this. I don’t really hear people talk about this and I did not think anything of it as a kid, but I felt a sense of being “cleansed” in a deeper than hygienic way. Now let’s not get too crazy. It wasn’t like I was high or felt some kind of ecstasy, but it felt really good and since the next day was Sunday, I made a point to do it again.
I made it a little further the next day. I swam the same quarter mile I had swum before and then back to where I began. I also anticipated the lack of balance I had experienced the previous day and managed to more soberly return to shore but it still took some conscientious effort. I realized I could do this during the week as well. I’m extremely fortunate to live close to the beach and I can expect a normal morning swim to take about 2 hours from the time I leave my house until I get back. I quickly worked up to a mile — mile and a half route that I did 3 days a week and eventually increased that to 1.75 miles four days a week and have stuck to that routine since.
On just my sixth outing, I encountered a dolphin. I thought I could hear a dolphin like sound, and I knew they were fairly common in these waters this time of year. Suddenly I saw it and it swam in a circle around me twice. It could not have been more than just a few feet away. Totally amazing! At the time I thought if this was just my sixth time out, I could probably expect dolphin encounters to happen pretty regularly! Alas, it would not happen again until late March 2021.
The late spring, summer, and early fall months of 2020 spent swimming were so incredible. Except for some brief July upwelling (where windy conditions draw deeper and colder water to the surface), the water temperatures eventually climbed into the 70s and rarely dipped below 68. There were mornings I would stop swimming and just look out at the view: the horizon, the shore, the cliffs, the flock of pelicans gliding inches above the water. On week days, the sun would have just risen and usually at this time the water surface was still and glassy. Often, I’d be the only soul in sight. When I would end the swim and come to shore, I’d take it slow and soak it all in. So beautiful and peaceful.
Prior to winter, the toughest part of a swim was always the initial plunge. I have always considered myself a cold-water wimp. I remember hearing a guy once talk about how great cold water was and thinking “what?!…I don’t think so.” Before too long I began to envision this first plunge as a sort of portal. On one side of the portal, the side before the plunge, exists a world of cozy warmth where the thought of the initial dip seems like it will be downright assaulting. I would dive in and almost immediately, within just a few seconds, find myself on the other side of the portal and in a world that comes alive and I can feel that life, and I mean FEEL it, with such sharp palpability. It feels so great and my whole outlook on the day and what I am doing shifts into positive energy. Usually well before the swim, I’d be out walking my dog before light. It might be a little chilly out and the thought of getting in the water could seem dreadful. However, I had done this enough to know with absolute certainty that I just needed to traverse the portal and it would be well worth the experience. This would all step up to a totally different level come winter. We will get to that soon.
Another interesting and odd experience I had was in early September. On this particular morning there was some fog out on the horizon. I didn’t think much of it and could clearly see the red buoy I usually swim out to well past the surf. Shortly after starting my swim and reaching the distance from the shore that I typically swam; I began to notice the visibility becoming obscured by the fog. Soon, I could not see the shore! I honestly had no idea if I was heading in the right direction. Its not like you just swim forward and expect to swim in a straight line. There are winds and currents that can steer you inland or out to sea. I always breath on my left side so when I swim North, I am looking to open ocean and therefore need to look forward every few minutes to keep myself on trajectory. At least speaking for myself, being in the ocean and not knowing where you are is not a peaceful feeling. I had to listen for the waves and try to move in that direction. When I finally got sight of the shore, it was on the opposite side that I had thought it was. I quickly ended that morning’s swim and there have been about two occasions since where I have aborted a swim altogether due to fog.
Eventually as I moved through the summer, I began to wonder when the water would get cold and what I would do when it did. Even as a kid, I rarely went in the ocean in the winter and if I did, I wore a wetsuit. So did everyone else. I can’t remember ever seeing anyone in the water in winter without a wetsuit. I don’t know…I figured maybe because you would die? Yet the thought of wearing a wetsuit just seemed so incredibly unappealing to me. There is just something about the sensation of water on skin for me. When I am in the ocean, I feel an intimacy with its energy. I feel like it is washing over and through me. Forgive me if this sounds weird, creepy or a little woo woo but its how I feel. Honestly, I never expected it to be quite like this. Anyways I was not crazy about wearing a wetsuit but NOT swimming was not an option either.
Some time in October I watched a great documentary on Netflix called My Octopus Teacher. It featured a guy who went freediving every day off South Africa. He swam without a wetsuit except for a neoprene hood and said the water got to be as cold as 8 degrees Celsius. I quickly did the google conversion and that equals 46.4 Fahrenheit. Hmm. That’s pretty damn cold. I wasn’t sure at the time how cold the water got here in Dana Point but I was pretty sure it was no colder than the 50s (which was correct). The guy in My Octopus Teacher said it takes about a year to get used to, but he was clearly very much alive. This gave me the idea that swimming without a wetsuit in Southern California water was indeed possible.
Not long after this I discovered this Dutch guy named Wim Hof who had written a book and was pretty much an evangelist of cold-water swimming. Really really cold water. Like literally near freezing water. I read the books, subscribed to the newsletter and was learning that cold water swimming could be super healthy too.
So the next question was when was it going to get cold? I had assumed it would be some time around September or October. However, September came and went, and it was still high 60s. I honestly could not figure out why the beach crowds were dwindling. It was hot, beautiful, and the water was great! Well I soon learned via the checkout guy at the San Clemente Trader Joes who looked like the kind of person that would know this kind of thing that the water will likely stay warm through October and get cold when the North West storms start to make their way through. He was right. October was pretty great — mostly high 60s and no lower than 64 in the last week which by now was still quite comfortable for me. Now for some reason I had also assumed that the water would chill gradually. Wrong again! With the first major storm in November, it plummeted from 64 to about 57. I was out of state that weekend and not in the water. When I got back the temperature was listed as 56–57. I was not sure what to expect. Clearly this was warm for Wim Hof and Octopus Teacher dude, but let me tell you, when I went through the portal that afternoon it was a very different experience for me!
It was my first “ice cream headache” sensation since my first swim in May but much more acute. It wore off after a few minutes. Interestingly I was not miserable. I was suffering more from the worry of hypothermia than the sensation of hypothermia. I knew and could feel that the water was freaking cold, but I was holding up well. Then I got out of the water. Then I got cold. Really cold.
Up to this point, my swim routine was to leave the car with only what I was swimming in and nothing more. This meant just swim trunks, swim goggles and my car key. I had a shirt, phone, and earbuds stolen a few months back, so I did not like to leave anything on the beach. On this November day, the outside temperature was pleasant enough (often the case here in SoCal). When I got out of the water, I experienced a sensation that I would soon discover was called “after drop.” When you enter cold water, your blood moves from the skin surface and extremities to your core. It’s important that the core stays warm so your body is doing all it can to do just that. This also explains why your skin feels numb in cold water. When you get out of the water and are back to normal temperatures, the blood returns to the extremities and moves away from your core. This will initially lower your core temperature.
When I made my way back to the car that November afternoon, I first had to scramble over a bunch of boulders to get to the path leading to the parking lot. This proved to be a struggle. My mind felt a bit foggy and my legs were cramping. Walking up the path I began to start to shiver super hard. After I got to the car, I had to run the heater at full blast for a while before I felt fit to drive. As soon as I got home and warmed up in a hot shower, I began to research this phenomenon and see if I could find a way to either avoid it or curb its effect.
With what I learned online I made some changes to my routine. The best way to stave off the after drop is to get warm as soon as possible. I now brought a towel, two sweatshirts and a cap to the beach in an old beat up backpack. I also made sure to keep an extra heavy jacket in the car in case the backpack was taken. I changed my water entry location so that I ended at the same spot where I began and where I could end a swim early if I got too cold. (By the way that only happened twice and both incidents were more about just feeling “done” than being too cold but cold was a factor there.) I also made sure that entry point was in a location that would not be too rocky at low tide. Interestingly as I have been doing this for a year, I have noticed that the sand shifts over the length of the beach over the course of a year. There are spots that are very sandy in the summer but quite rocky in the late fall. My spot is virtually rock free all year round and in extremely low tides. This strategy of towel and clothes proved very helpful. I was still susceptible to some after drop especially on colder early work mornings, but I felt it was manageable.
The 56 degrees of that first truly cold-water swim quickly recovered to 58–59 (still very cold for me) and then fell about a degree every six weeks or so until late March. I feel like the experience of sub 60-degree swimming falls into an entirely different league with its own benefits and challenges compared to warmer water. As I mentioned earlier, temps started rising again in late March and April. It is lovely to be back in the 60s. I now find 60 to be the threshold separating challengingly cold from relatively comfortable. We’ve even had a couple 66 degree days which have been divine, but I’d like to spend some time talking about the cold because I really felt like it added an element of mental and meditative training to these swimming experiences that I have found to be very valuable.
By the time I got to the Fall, I felt like I had largely overcome the shock of the initial plunge. After the temps dipped into the 50s, I used this plunge to explore the sensation of coldness and how my body reacts. One of the key mental shifts to managing the cold is to not resist it. I realize this is easier said than done and may even sound wacky to some, but it is something that has shifted my thinking and personal stress management approach in so many ways. Cold is an interesting sensation. It is different from acute pain. At least in the 50s. I’ve heard that much colder water can be truly painful, but I would not know from experience. In moderate doses, the cold will not kill us, and any normal person can withstand it without unbearable suffering. (I know…I know. I’m speaking for myself here.) As I plunge into the colder water, I really try to be aware of how it feels in my body. I try to accept and welcome it. While I would not call immersion into cold water a “pleasant” experience, neither is it painful or miserable. It indeed remains a portal, and in the cold it is more like a worm hole into an entirely different state of being. In the cold, I truly feel like I jump in and emerge with a different mind. If I am depressed, down or in the doldrums it does a great job to rouse my spirits.
After the initial phase following immersion, I find that my body moves into an almost blissful state. It is an interesting sensation where I can feel that the water is indeed cold but my sense of personal comfort is not. As I exhale, I can feel a warmth passing through me. This is a subtle warmth. Do not get me wrong, its not like I’m in a sauna or jacuzzi. Also, it fades. I typically swim for about an hour. I find this “comfortable” phase lasts about 30 to 40 minutes after which point the cold begins to slowly seep in. Again, I have found it good practice to observe this cold, stay with it and not try to push it away. The best way I found to work with the cold is to relax into it. When the cold comes, at least for me, often worse than the feeling of cold is the fear of cold. The fear of succumbing to it and being consumed by it. By relaxing, I can observe that this fear is only a thought. As I understand that it is a thought with no physical power over me (at least not immediately. It would be foolish to remain in the cold for hours, and one should be aware of the signs of hypothermia.) this provides me freedom and the fortitude to simply keep moving forward.
Even worse that the fear of succumbing to the cold is the anticipation of cold. There have been winter mornings when I would wake up before dawn and the thought of getting into 57 degree water seems like the furthest place from where my body would want to be. Sometimes even on the evening prior to a cold-water swim, I would find myself visited by a sense of dread. I found that the best way to deal with this feeling is to befriend it and not to stuff it. All these feelings are part of the core of who we are. I can coexist and even befriend the fear, but I don’t have to let it lead. One tactic that I find truly helps is to tell that voice: “ok. If we get into the water and we are miserable, we’ll simply get out. We don’t have anything to prove. There is no rule that says we must do this. If we hate it, we will go home and get warm.” Having that explicit option to exit I have found to be very helpful. I fully mean it, but you know what? I have never ever ever felt the slightest desire to get out after entering the cold. And any sane person might ask: “oh right. You don’t have anything to prove. So why do it at all? It sounds like you are pushing and maybe even punishing yourself.” This is why: because I know I will feel great afterwards because every single time I have done it I have felt great. This is a very interesting phenomena to me: the coexistence of this fear and dread alongside of what ultimately becomes joy. Fascinatingly one is confined to thought and the other is grounded in experience.
As I have gone through this metamorphosis, this portal, time and time again I find it mirrors so many experiences I have outside of swimming. I anticipate certain scenarios to be dreadful. I inject them with my own drama, doubts and fears which in the end do not match up with the experience itself. I create my own suffering. The act I dread may not necessarily be pleasant or exhilarating, but the “suffering” is greatly self-manufactured. The path forward gives what it gives. With a calm mind and spirit we commit ourselves to receive what the path offers. All the while making friends with our fears and accepting them as our constant companion. We can give them their voice but don’t have to let them lead. On those 40 degree mornings, I simply get in my car, walk to the shore, take off my shirt, put on my goggles and walk into the water. I have also found that as I make the walk from car to shore, it calms me to spend that time (about 15 minutes) focusing on the wind, the sound of the ocean and the birds rather than an inner dialog. There are times when I am telling myself, “I can’t believe I am doing this because it’s nuts and its going to be terrible” in the last few minutes before touching the water, but I commit to the swim or at least I commit to get in the water. As mentioned before, I leave the option open to get out if I just can’t bear the cold. Again, once I pass through the portal of immersion, I have never had the desire to bail on the swim. As I take my first few steps in the water, I relax my body and focus on my breath with emphasis on the exhale. Why the exhale? I have no idea but that’s what feels right. When the breaking waves hit my belly, I receive and accept the cold they bring. I try to approach it with curiosity rather than aversion.
I did this again and again and again from November until the last few days of March and eventually came spring and warmer waters. They say that one grows accustomed to colder water over time. I have already noticed that 60 degrees now feel like 64 did in October which felt considerably warmer than that same temperature in July. Studies have shown that tolerance to cold water remains even after no exposure for a year. So I suspect each winter will get easier. Perhaps the cold will creep in later and later into the swim. For now, I am grateful for the warmer water knowing its likely here to stay until November.
When I look back on that May afternoon a year ago, I remember so well that longing to immerse myself into the ocean, but I would have never guessed at the time the gift it would become. It has connected me to the ocean, nature and myself.
Every day in the ocean is different. It is so much different from what I remember pool swimming to be at my Gold’s gym in Washington. In a pool, every day is about 75 degrees, calm and windless and on some days you might have to sit and wait for a lane to open up or share with someone. In the ocean, not only does the water temperature vary, but some days are rough and choppy, some days are calm and glassy. Some days are sunny, and you can feel the warmth of the sun penetrate the top few inches of cold 58 degree water which under just the right conditions can make February almost feel like a tropical paradise…almost. Other days are overcast or even stormy and can give a swim an ominous quality. Some days the water is clearer, and you can see schools of fish and bright orange Garibaldi. Other days the water may look almost brown during an algae bloom. Some days you have to fight to get past the surf or make it that last hundred feet to shore in a large swell. Other days are like swimming in a lake.
As far as crowds, one thing that baffles me is how few people I see distance swimming. Even during the summer months, I usually do not see anyone. Sometimes I may see a few other swimmers. I see more in Summer and rarely see anyone in the winter. I am surprised that even in the summer, I’d say most swimmers are wearing a wetsuit. I don’t want to come across as a purist or negatively judge those that wear a wetsuit. I think you should be as comfortable as you can possibly be or want to be, but I do wonder if more left the wetsuit behind, they might find it more enjoyable than they expected.
To me, the beach here is so idyllic. I would think there would be many more folks in the water on a regular basis. I read an article not long ago about a swimming club at a beach in West Seattle that often gets up to 60 swimmers on a Saturday. Most are without wetsuits and there is snow on the ground. That’s right… SNOW ON THE GROUND! In Dana Point I can promise you that you will not see snow on the ground. Now of coarse swimming in the ocean (or anywhere really) involves some amount of risk. There is a greater than 0% chance that you will die. The risk increases the moment you enter the water. You should exercise caution and be aware of your limits. There can be heavy surf, sharks (extremely super rare), and you can absolutely suffer hypothermia if you are in the water for too long.
However, I must say that for those with any interest or curiosity, I urge you to give it a try. Now in late Spring is the perfect time to start. I’m wearing blue swim trunks and my name is Matt. Come on in and say hi!
