A cobalt sky, bush-covered headlands and swivelling stingray eyes: in the stillness of dawn, it’s just me and the ocean
‘If I’ve covered territory without remembering much about it, I’ll know the ocean has allowed me to meditate’ … Rose Saltman at Balmoral beach.
Balmoral shimmers under a cobalt sky. The sea is glassy, the temperature in the low 20s. En route to the cone, I pass over clumps of seaweed deposited by a recent storm and a small stingray etched on the bottom; the ray doesn’t move, but I sense its eyes tracking me like swivels on an antenna base.
The solitary nature of swimming sits well with the introvert in me. I can go when I want, set my own pace and be accountable to no one. I may use the time to plan, or find myself equally immersed in the immediacy of my surroundings. If I’ve covered territory without remembering much about it, I’ll know the ocean has allowed me to meditate.A small fishing craft bobs in front of Rocky Point Island; two men hunch over their lines, no doubt hoping for a platter-sized bream, flathead or tailor.
All that changed in 2021. When the Covid lockdown closed public venues, I thought I’d be gone from the pool for a week, maybe two. I’d tough it out in the sea where temperatures were in the late teens. As a week became a rotation of receding horizons, one thing was certain: the ocean was indifferent to my needs. I bought a hooded vest and prayed that the 16C average minimum would prevail.