I should make it clear from the outset that I am an absolute baby when it comes to cold water. Don't get me wrong: I love swimming and I love the sea. But when it comes to taking the initial plunge, I am that person you see creeping into the water an inch at a time, shivering while ignoring the yells and imprecations of hardier cohorts, and whimpering every time a wave interferes with my scientifically precise acclimatisation programme. So what was I doing balanced on top of a barnacle-crusted rock on the Welsh coast, preparing to hurl myself into the Irish Sea?
Well might you ask. And the short answer is - I was coasteering. Described as "extreme coastal exploration" on the website of outdoor pursuits company Fresh Adventure, who run a centre in Freshwater Bay in Pembrokeshire, it basically involves donning a wet suit and investigating Pembrokeshire's spiky, spectacular coastline via a combination of scrambling, jumping, wading and swimming. Sounds like fun? I thought so too.
It did occur to me, when organising the trip, that there might possibly be a case for postponing it until the summer when, with a bit of luck, the country would be in the grip of another apocalyptic heat wave and a dip in the sea would be just the ticket. However, summer seemed far, far away. It won't be cold, I thought to myself, it'll be bracing.
But bracing is a dangerous word. Equally at home in the mouths of grannies embarking on post-prandial Sunday constitutionals and polar explorers emerging from their tents, it does not, in fact, refer to a specific temperature, but to a state of mind. A general rule of thumb is that if a thing is bracing, it is a shade colder than is strictly comfortable. And for someone for whom cold water is something of a bête noire, colder than strictly comfortable is, generally speaking, just too damn cold.
We arrived at the Best Western Lamphey Court hotel late on Friday, just in time for a gin and tonic and a restless night during which, my boyfriend and I subsequently admitted to one another, we had separately been kept awake by the thought of the next day's voluntary soaking. In the morning we lingered over our poached eggs as long as was seemly, but in no time at all we were shivering in the car park outside the Fresh Adventure centre, being fitted out with wet suits by our guide for the day, an extremely chipper fellow whose name, it appeared, was Gambo.
Apprehension deepened as it gradually transpired that we were the only two on the expedition. Without really thinking about it, I'd assumed that we would be accompanied by a crowd of hearty types ready to allay our fears and jolly us into a semblance of - well - jollity. Fortunately for us, however, it soon became clear that not only was Gambo quite the nicest man either of us had ever met, he was also an inexhaustible font of fascinating knowledge. As we walked to the start of our coasteer, up through loamy woods filled with treacly sunlight and down over a wide sweep of coppery sand across which our footprints traced a lonely line, I was so engrossed in listening to what he had to say about neap tides and Brazil and surfing and sunfish that I was up to my knees in sea before I even noticed. The man literally talked me into the water.
My first reaction was, admittedly, one of profound relief at the clemency of the temperature. As it turned out, the only parts of me to suffer were my wet suit-less hands: to counter this, I developed the technique of floating on my back and propelling myself through the water with my legs while tucking my hands into my life jacket - which, my boyfriend told me, made me look like a feeding otter. My fears laid to rest, I was able to concentrate on the coasteering itself. And what can I tell you? It was amazing.
Picture the scene. You scramble down a narrow gully and slide into the glassy water that fills the cave at the bottom. On the rock face all around you are crimson sea anemones and luxurious, spinachy seaweed, but your eye is drawn downwards into the water where the sunlight hitting the sea, on the far side of the cave wall, has turned it a hallucinatory, sapphire blue. Swim out of the cave's entrance and you're greeted by the sun, coming at you across the swell of the ocean. Strike out to sea and turn around, and your eyes pick their way up the yellow-grey limestone rocks shouldering out of the water in front of you to the fringe of grass where they meet the sky at the top.
Yet while the views are sublime - and entirely unexpected, thanks to the reversal of perspective brought about by being down in the sea rather than up on the cliff - the real joy of coasteering comes from getting well and truly stuck in to the environment you're regarding. When you're wet suited and life-jacketed, nowhere is out of bounds: it is just as easy to swim through the water (although it took me a while to realise that the only stroke which a life jacket and trainers will permit is a sort of attenuated doggie paddle) as it is to clamber over the rocks, and a great deal of the fun is derived from switching between the two.
And that's how I found myself on top of my rock, readying myself for the jump. Like the coasteering itself, the anticipation was excruciating, the first shock rather less than shocking, and everything afterwards was clover. The coasteer lasted for around an hour and a half altogether - rather a long time to spend in the sea, you might think, but at the end I was raring to go again.
Fortunately, Gambo whisked us off for a sustaining cup of coffee in the centre's cosy cafe, during which respite from euphoria-inducing fresh air and physical activity I gradually realised that I was, not to put too fine a point on it, knackered. We abandoned our injudiciously conceived plans of enormous walks over Welsh cliff tops and instead headed back to Lamphey Court where, in the hotel's swimming pool and Jacuzzi, we enjoyed the water in a rather less energetic manner. By the time cocktail hour rolled round we were warm, dry and confident in the knowledge that if anyone deserved a drink, by heck, we did. Fresh air, glorious weather and splashy exercise - pretty much the perfect day out. And seriously: it's not that cold.
Way to go
Sarah Crown went coasteering with Fresh Adventure. Half a day's coasteering costs £25 per person.
She stayed at Lamphey Court Hotel. Rooms cost from £105 per night for a standard twin or double, including breakfast. Lamphey Court is part of the Best Western group. To book with Best Western, visit the website on bestwestern.co.uk/leisure or call 08456 340 559.
She travelled to Wales courtesy of Hertz cars. Two-day car hire (collect on Friday afternoon, return on Sunday evening) costs from £81.
