A Dawn Swim on the Dutch Coast

Time to reconnect with nature

I worked until midnight on yesterday's story about fascism, which I hope you have read by now. When I woke up, I decided to reconnect with nature, and I can't think of a better way to do this than an early swim in the sea.

After that morning swim, I sit in the sea dunes, surrounded by marram grass and the circles they make in the sand, jotting down these notes. I'll polish them into a story later; dunes, salty water, and laptops don't mix well.

It's early Monday morning, and I share this peaceful space with only a dozen seagulls and cormorants perched on the wooden poles stretching out into the sea. These poles, placed to break the waves, are a quiet reminder of our ongoing battle to keep this island from being washed away.

The initial plunge into the water takes about a minute to adjust to. The cold bites at first, but soon, I begin to appreciate the refreshing embrace of the sea. At first, there is no wind; the sea is like a mirror. I lay on my back and let my head sink into the water, which allows my body to float on the heavy, salty water.

It's a moment of inner peace; there is nothing else: no environmental destruction, hatred, or wars. It's just me, the water, and an endless blue sky.

Seagulls fly over my head with their beautiful white aerodynamic bodies, displaying the elegance of nature's design.

Looking back towards the shore, I see the captivating sea dunes that change shape and size each year, with marram grass swaying gently in the light breeze. Behind these dunes lies a forest and another expanse of inland dunes. My village, a town at the edge of the dunes where time moves slower, is just a 20-minute bike ride from the beach. Despite the distance, I cycle further than necessary, seeking a secluded spot to enjoy the beach in solitude.

I swim a bit, gaze southward, and see the impressive Delta Works, a series of structures built to protect us from the sea. Constructed in response to the devastating floods of 1953 that claimed more than 1,800 2,000 lives, these engineering marvels have granted the Dutch a global reputation for water management. Our knowledge in dealing with water-related challenges is now welcomed worldwide, aiding other nations facing similar threats in a future where sea level rise and extreme weather events are increasingly common.

To the southwest, the next island, Walcheren, comes into view. My ancestors lived there for some 200 years before one moved to the beachside village of Scheveningen near The Hague, where my father was born.

On the horizon, I spot the water tower of Domburg, a landmark I reached during one of my long-distance walks along the Dutch coastline. Over the years, I've undertaken several such walks, and this particular path follows the coast southward. Perhaps this week, I'll find the time and motivation to resume my journey from where I stopped last time at the base of that tower to walk to the most westward point of the island and beyond.

I also notice a few sails of boats and, further northwest, a massive wind farm, possibly 20 or 30 kilometers out at sea. Occasionally, cormorants glide just above the water, creating a panoramic scene. To the north, the wooden poles and resting birds I mentioned earlier come into focus again. The birds have an unspoken agreement: the black cormorants prefer the poles deeper in the sea, while the seagulls favor the higher ones closer to the shore.

Some cormorants have their wings outstretched to warm in the early morning sun, resembling Hulk Hogan after stripping off his shirt. The seagulls coordinated their positions in a scene that only the choreographer of A Chorus Line could have created. They have all turned their elegant bodies parallel to the line of wooden poles and face the dunes and the rising sun, a pose worthy of a standing ovation.

On these mornings, floating in the water, I never fail to observe an intriguing phenomenon with my eyes just above the surface. The lower parts of the distant tower and sailing ships appear to vanish, seemingly sinking into the North Sea. This optical illusion is a simple yet convincing proof of the Earth's curvature. Flat Earth believers need only to visit this beach to witness that our planet is round, although flying here will likely already have cured them of their folly.

Believing in science isn't a matter of faith; it's about accepting the truth that nature reveals to us.

After my swim, I'll walk back through the dunes to find my bike, which I left against a tree, and cycle back to the village. My morning ritual concludes with a stop at Sonnemans, a traditional bakery, where I'll treat myself to a croissant and a cappuccino.

Mornings don't get much better than this.

More photos (including a rare selfie) and (climate) information is in my latest Patreon post. Members click here.

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