‘Wild Swimming in the Western Cape’ is an interview with the landscape

Although there’s almost nothing better than a perfect beach day, there’s something smugly superior about lowering your overheated body into a secret rock pool after a hot slog up a mountain. The Western Cape specialises in these sorts of aquatic revelations. Here, water isn’t simply wet; it has a temperament. It can be romantic or cruel, healing or homicidal. It glitters, sulks, roars, whispers – and, every now and then, it tries to kill you. But you can’t really hold that against it - it’s just doing its thing, paying you no mind.

The Cape province is pockmarked with water: tidal pools pebbled into rocks, rivers slipping through ravines, mountain streams braided through fynbos, rooibos-coloured dams pinning down the sky and turning its reflection to gold. It was a reflection like that, in a wild pool, that helped seal the relationship between writer–photographer–researcher Serai Dowling and her husband and co-writer, mountain guide Matthew Dowling. They’ve been swimming together in wild water ever since.

Their new book, Wild Swimming in the Western Cape, is the distilled result: a guide to 101 places where you can strip off your city skin, step into cold water and remember that your body was designed for more than a screen and a cubical.

I talked to Serai about the magic of water, colonial hangovers, mental health and why her favourite swim requires timing your exit with the swell.

“These watery places hold a kind of magic”

Your book blends personal reflection, ecological insight and practical guidance. How did you balance these elements when writing about 101 wild swimming spots?

Serai Dowling: My natural bent is to foreground nature, so it was tough to pull back on the glorious ecological aspects of each place. I could happily disappear down a rabbit hole about fynbos fire cycles or intertidal species. But the format – a guidebook – helped. It gave the structure: a bit of ecology to help people meet a place, the guidance to keep them safe, and an underlying thread of reverence for these special waters.

There are far more hidden gems, but we’ve tried to balance free and easily accessible places with spots that require forward planning and a hike in; lesser-known pools and getaways with well-loved beaches and dips. It’s that combination – of effort, ease, wildness and welcome – that makes wild swimming magical.

“Water my favourite place to be. I just want more and more.”

You describe wild water as a place of refuge, wonder and connection. After 26 years in tidal pools and remote rivers, how has your relationship with water evolved?

SD: It’s deepened. Water is my favourite place to be. It’s the element I seek out regardless of mood – I commune with it daily. Working on the book took me into aspects we overlook when we arrive, swim and leave.

There are the stories of each place, millennia old, the ecological quirks that make each one unique, the understanding of water as life giver and sustainer. There’s the responsibility: the requirement to steward it well. Writing the book made that relationship feel like a commitment, not just a love affair.

Between picnics and “leap-your-life-choices” pools

The book ranges from gentle family pools to huge jumps. How did you handle accessibility and safety across diverse locations?

SD: That was a challenge. The research made it clear how our exclusionary colonial and apartheid spatial-planning laws – plus inherited British legal systems – shaped who could go where. Many ‘wild’ places are privately owned, which complicates things. We addressed these legacies in the historical and philosophical framing notes of the book and made sure we personally visited every spot – our ‘research trips’. We checked information with landowners or the relevant authorities. Some places we had to veto because swimming there is technically illegal, even though established swim groups meet there daily. It felt strange to apply the word ‘illegal’ to a river, but that’s the reality. We had to think carefully about entry points for swimmers at different stages of the wild swimming journey. Some places are sheltered, easy in and out, very gentle. Others are far more challenging and require experience and level-headedness to navigate currents, tides and swell. That’s where Matthew’s expertise as a mountain guide and water person was invaluable.

“Returning, not conquering”

What does the return to places and yourself look like for you?

SD: For me, returning means slowing down enough to meet a place on its own terms. So much outdoor culture is built around conquering or mastering landscapes – summits, personal bests, Strava [app] segments. Humans have a history of reciprocity with water; we evolved alongside it. Somehow we’ve lost that base relationship. Returning is about remembering that we’re part of these ecosystems. When I step into a pool or river I’m not trying to achieve anything. I’m just present. That perspective – stewardship rather than extraction – is what allows the softening inherent in wild swimming. If the book helps people reconnect with place, feel more at home in their bodies or rekindle care for landscapes, my aim is achieved.

Kelp cathedrals, fynbos teachers

The guide goes into ecology and conservation – from endemic species to biodiversity corridors. Which ecosystems or stories shaped the book?

SD: Most of the swims take place in protected or at least recognised ecosystems. Ramsar sites highlight our wetlands, marine protected areas safeguard our coastal reserves.

It’s been eye-opening to see the scale of our natural heritage in the Western Cape – such a small province, yet so diverse – and heart-warming to see how much these places are loved and cared for by both private and governmental bodies. You see small privately owned farms like Driehoek in the Cederberg or GlenDonald in the Koue Bokkeveld working passionately on fauna and flora conservation in their catchment areas. There are places like the Kogelberg Biosphere and Limietberg reserves, managed with such vision by CapeNature and supporting groups.

The Western Cape is held together by a network of astonishing ecosystems. The fynbos biome, with its fire cycles and ancient plant lineages, was a constant teacher. Many swim spots sit in mountain catchments where rivers run clear because the surrounding ecosystem is intact. I want readers to feel the presence of the landscape, not just its beauty.

The intertidal zones also shaped the book. Years of swimming in coastal waters have shown me how alive these spaces are. Kelp forests, sea hares, anemones, small fish, shifting light – it feels like being inside a magical alternative reality. That intimacy with nature shaped the tone of the guide.

Favourite swim: “a little wild, a little tricky”

Do you have a favourite swimming location?

SD: I love Rietfontein. It’s wild and requires a jump in. You have to time your exit carefully – you let the swell lift you so you can find your footing. But the somewhat protected bay offers spectacular snorkelling. It’s a place that demands you pay attention, but rewards you lavishly.

“More contemplative, more playful, more protective”

What has wild swimming changed in you?

SD: The changes are both subtle and profound.

It’s given me spaces where contemplation becomes easier. The majesty of nature clears the mind in a way nothing else does. My heart has softened, allowing deeper presence and gratitude.

Physically, I’m fitter and stronger. I can swim distances I couldn’t manage before. My body feels more capable and confident in water. Wild swimming has also made me more playful. Something about natural water brings out childlike joy. It’s also made me fiercely protective of these places. I feel a rising intolerance for litter, extraction and carelessness in wild spaces because my love for them has deepened. It’s strengthened my connection with Matthew. Sharing so many swims and journeys to these landscapes has created an intimacy that enriches our relationship. Wild Swimming in the Western Cape is an interview with the landscape itself, conducted in 101 bodies of water.

Dowling’s answer, every time, is the same invitation: you don’t have to conquer anything. It’s a book to be splashed, sanded and sunburnt. A book that belongs in a wet rucksack. In the end, Wild Swimming in the Western Cape is a manifesto disguised as a map - a small rebellion against enclosure, haste and despair in this busy overly stressful world. It suggests that healing might be as simple as getting in — not getting over, not getting ahead — just getting in. Into a river. Into a pool. Into the particular blue and copper that only exists between mountains that look like old men and seas that act like young ones.

Going wild swimming isn’t about finding yourself, the book suggests. It’s about remembering you were never lost — just dry.