Wild swimming: The day I took the plunge

The water that runs through Glencoe must surely have a few stories to tell. The mountains that surround it – from the strikingly beautiful peaks of the Buachailles Etive Mor and Beag (‘the great’ and ‘the little’ Shepherds of Etive) to the Bidean nam Bian and great truncated spurs known as the Three Sisters of Glencoe – were first formed from violent volcanic eruptions, then sculpted by colossal glaciers.

The ancient hillsides that these little streams trickle down are connected to some of Scotland’s oldest tales, and to mythical figures such as the Celtic hero Fionn mac Cumhaill, or Finn McCool, and his legendary poet son Ossian.

Even now – the wind whipping my hair, sun making me screw up my eyes – other ghosts can be felt in the awe-inspiring landscape. It’s here that the Glencoe massacre took place. On 13 February 1692, 38 men, women and children of the MacDonald clan perished at the hands of a regiment of soldiers, acting on behalf of the government, following the Jacobite uprising. Dozens of others fled and died of exposure.

The Trust might be better known for preserving Scotland’s castles and stately homes, but its role in protecting the country’s natural wonders is substantial. It cares for over 76,000 hectares of Scottish countryside, including 400 islands and islets; 46 Munros, 8 National Nature Reserves and the dual UNESCO World Heritage site of St Kilda. And, of course, Trust places also take in thousands of burns, rivers, lochs and waterways.

Today, it’s all about the water. More specifically, despite the persistent and unseasonal snow on the hilltops, it’s about swimming in it.

Over the last few years outdoor, or wild, swimming – once a hobby of the far-out-there health enthusiast – has been attracting a steadily growing number of devotees. Most parts of Scotland now have a local group meeting regularly for outdoor swims. Wild swimming events and races are popping up everywhere, and it’s no longer outlandish on a lochside walk to see someone pulling on a wetsuit.

Helping drive the trend is Calum Maclean, a 29-year-old outdoor swimmer who started posting tongue-in-cheek videos of his watery adventures a couple of years ago, many of which have racked up tens of thousands of viewers. One gives his guide to gauging the temperature of a Scottish loch – it ranges from ‘roasting’ to ‘baltic’. Another shows him hacking ice from the banks of Scotland’s highest loch before diving in. Social media success has led to his own wild swimming series on BBC Alba, and he’s planning other documentaries.

Calum has agreed to take me swimming and promises that immersing myself in a river will give me a different perspective on the wilderness around us. We meet at Glencoe visitor centre to assess the options, taking advice from ranger Paul Morgan then weighing up the relatively short walk to nearby pools versus a dip in the beautiful but tourist-heavy Loch Leven. In the end, we opt to take the winding road along the River Etive where we’ll have our pick of three or four perfect swimming spots.

Turning off the A82, my tummy fluttering with nerves, we follow the dramatic single-track road taken by Daniel Craig’s James Bond in Skyfall and watch for a place to stop. ‘Here looks good,’ says Calum at last. We get out and drink it all in. A wide, bowl-like pool of water turns around a rock into an almost perfect channel, leading upstream to a waterfall, the hills standing proud all around us. It’s stunning. ‘I like places like this, where it’s visually interesting,’ Calum says. ‘The rocks look as though you could reach out and grab on to them and just hang in the river flow. You can see where the water has gouged out the landscape. I can get lost in just watching the water for a while. Yeah, I’m a big fan.’

He has always loved water – as a child at the beach he’d swim in the sea and on a hill walk he would dive into the first loch he came across. But it was only about a decade ago that he started actively searching for swimming spots. Thanks to the power of the internet, his desire to share his passion on platforms such as Instagram and YouTube has been transformative.

‘Swimming has really taken over my life, particularly in the last two or three years,’ he says. ‘I’m pretty pleased with that. I do call it wild swimming but let’s face it, it’s just swimming, and sometimes I will make fun of that a bit – you know – WILD swimming …’ He growls and flexes his muscles. ‘Grrrrr.’

Calum’s playful enthusiasm is infectious – but not enough to dispel my apprehension. I tend to think I’m pretty hardy – as a child I spent my summers swimming on the Ayrshire coast and I’ve been known to take a dip in a loch during a particularly hot year. But this is an altogether chillier proposition. Factor in the late snowmelt, and this particular swim is likely to count as ‘baltic’ on Calum’s temperature scale.