There is something deeply humbling about watching older women plunge into the freezing waters of Black Rock in Galway Bay. They encourage one another with the same high-spirited enthusiasm you’d expect at a sporting carnival. Laughter erupts from the sea, momentarily distracting me—just long enough to forget how bloody cold it is.
The women waste no time, each adopting her preferred stroke as they make for the first buoy. Moving together, in rhythm, they soon become small dots bobbing in the glistening waters of the wild Atlantic way.
My daughter sets up her plastic picnic upon the rocks, watching as her grandma—one of these fearless women—swims out to sea. She’s developed a fondness for all the women of Black Rock. Captivated by their joy, I hope the message of resilience and teamwork is quietly sinking in.
As they reach the yellow buoy, a burst of jubilant cheers echoes across the bay. The sun reflects radiantly off the calm surface—an anomaly in Galway. Their laughter carries with it the sound of surprise, pride, and celebration: not just at their strength, but at the gift of such a glorious day.
For four days, I watch in awe as they brave every element—rain, shine, or storm—slowly building the courage to take the icy plunge myself. These women are built differently. They do not hesitate, they do not waver; they just swim. The benefits of growing companionship, building fitness, and that refreshing feeling after the swim no doubt outweigh the inconvenience of the water’s temperature.
Finally, on day five, I decide to don my bathers, ready to tackle the wilds. I hold my breath as I slowly lower my body, feeling every inch—I convince myself to go further. I’m determined; I want to feel the joy I’ve witnessed on the women’s faces as they emerge from the icy waters, refreshed and chuffed. There is truly something triumphant in a quick dip, a feeling that you’ve started your day right.
I commit—I dive in, submerging my whole body. The fierce chills feel unendurable. It takes seconds before I can breathe again, but in that moment, everything feels sharper, clearer—almost electric. We are not in the shallows of Australian shores; here, the notion of fear is different. It’s not sharks that threaten me, but the wild forces of nature.
This is the Wild Atlantic Way – where the women of Blackrock swim everyday.
