I don’t even know where to start with this one! So, I guess I’ll start at the beginning. Forewarning: this is a long one, so grab yourself a beverage and settle in!
As we very often do, the kids and I were paging through our UK Kids book and came upon the ‘Silly Sports’ page. And this is where it all began! We read the blurb, giggled at the picture, then started scouring the Internet for videos! All the while, I was thinking, “yup…we’re definitely going there!”
And this, folks, is how most of our travel plans are hatched! Secret = revealed!
Bog snorkeling always takes place during the August bank holiday in Wales, so we booked our accommodations and didn’t think much else of it. Until about June. That’s when the obligatory parental conversational cogwheel inevitably turns to: “What do you have planned for the summer?” Every time I said, “We’re going to the Bog Snorkeling Championships in Wales!”, I was questioned with “And are you going to swim in the championship?!” The answer was always an astounding ‘no’! I mean, it just looked cold and murky and cold. And certainly not warm. But we were happy enough to be spectators!
After being asked time and time again, I guess the concept started to seep in a bit. Could I give this a go? Would that be totally crazy? Back to researching I went!
Come to find out it is not actually hard to get yourself into the Bog Snorkeling Championships! No prior bog snorkeling experience needed. Check. Foreigners welcome. Check. Swim with a mask and snorkel. Check. Swim to the post and back. Check. Doggie paddle only, no other strokes allowed. Check. Costumes welcome. Weeeeeellll…maybe a check on that.
So, I signed myself up!
And then I started doing a lot of soul searching regarding just how I was going to get myself into a freezing cold, dark, muddy bog and survive to tell the tale. Lest anyone forget, I did strongly entertain a career in the marine sciences for several decades. Want to know why I now work from home, in the comfort of my climate-controlled office and NOT on a sea-faring vessel researching the hydro-chemical composition of red tides? I hate cold water. Like failed-marine-science-career hate it!
But, despite this set-back, I was going to get into that bog. For the cultural experience. And because every good story starts with a bad decision, right? This could very well end up being a bad decision.
This is getting long. Let’s get to the bog already! So, I packed up a long, thick wetsuit, fashioned a fish-backpack, and off we went! Bognsnorkeling or bust!
On our way home from Carreg Cennen the previous day, we decided to follow the signs to the bog. Just to see what we were getting ourselves into. Hoping curiosity wouldn’t kill these five cats.
We finally made it! And there it was, the infamous bog! Doesn’t look so horrible, right?! Legend has it that the bog was cut by farmers, who would run their sheep through it prior to being sheared — as a method of disinfecting.
So the next morning, we headed off to the 38th Annual Bog Snorkeling Championships and I became one of 192 crazy fools to jump into Wales’ great abyss!
I had signed up in advance, but I still had to check-in with the registrar…to let them know I hadn’t changed my mind and was still as delusional as I was a few weeks ago. I received my order-of-go and we walked over to the festivities.
Thus far, I have failed to elaborate on the weather. It was awful. A brisk 50oF, pouring rain, and wind. But the bog snorkelers were already on the go! Costumes were encouraged, and we marveled at the “fancy dress” both in and out of the bog.
As my number approached, I stood at the starting-line, chatting with the others. The weather was worsening. I was fine, I was covered in a 5mm neck to ankle wetsuit, but I was worried about the four poor souls whom I had dragged into this.
Back at the starting line, all the conversations went like this: “Have you done this before? Hell no. Have you? No. How did you learn about this? (insert anything from Facebook to ‘I grew up here’ to ‘the Silly Sports page in my kids UK book’.) Why did we think this was a good idea? I have no idea. This weather is total shit. I agree.” And then we all laughed at ourselves and rolled our eyes and shared tips and ideas on how to get this silly sport accomplished. Nothing (trauma) bonds strangers like willingly jumping into a freezing cold, dirty, bog in the driving rain.
I want to say this though. Despite the downpour, whipping wind, and chill in the August air, everyone was happy and smiling and genuinely supporting every snorkeler. Some people snorkeled to the finish line. Everyone clapped. Some people walked back in the bog. Everyone yelled words of encouragement. One man got out of the bog at some point and walked back through the grass, but there was no shame to be had. He walked amongst handshakes, pats on the back, and genuine appreciation for his attempt. It was only 120 yards, but it wasn’t easy. Especially for those who were brave enough to go in without anything but a bathing suit.
And now it was my turn. I’ll mince words at this point and let you marvel at the photos.
And there you have it! I walked back to the family amidst so many “Congratulations!”…but really…what did I do? Not drown, that’s all I did! Technically, I think I got disinfected. Strike that, not a sheep.
My final time was 2:51 and the kids kept asking, “Did you win? Did you win?” I was one minute over the winning time and I had to remind them that it’s not about winning, it’s about taking part. Thanks, Peppa Pig!
I was so proud of the kiddos. They didn’t complain at all. And I’m not exaggerating. I’m not sure they had fun, but they were good sportsmen and even better travelers. We got them back into the heated car, into dry clothes and shoes, and then I walked back to the bog festivities in search of hot chocolate.
As I returned to the car with my hands full of goodies, I just couldn’t get over the jovial atmosphere of this event, despite Mother Nature’s attempt to ruin it. The bog was quite a walk from the car, but the clapping and cheering and the supportive enthusiasm was clearly audible. It was incredibly heartwarming.
That evening, at dinner, everyone gathered at the local watering hole to share stories and celebrate their “taking part”. I found myself a Hot Toddy and the kids drew their personal depictions of the event! (See if you can find each member of the family!)
This entire trip has been incredible. One of my favorites, for sure! The Welsh were so kind and friendly and welcoming to our family. There were so many interesting people to talk with as we stood around the bog. It was a genuine cultural event, and I felt like we were back in the Olmsted days. Speaking of that, I want to (finally) finish with a heap of gratitude and admiration for my husband. He entertains every absurd travel idea I conjure. He drives the entire family to every nook and cranny and back-wood we desire. And he continually models for the kids what it means to make the best of every situation one is faced with. We’d be lost, literally, without him.
Cheers, Wales! I may/may not get myself back into the pool and legged up for another go at the bog!
Post-production update: (If you have made it this far, congratulations!) T1 came home from the first day of school and tells me, “We watched a news clip and saw the bog snorkeling.” I asked him if he told his new teacher that he went to the bog. Deer in headlights. Maybe the experience got disinfected from his memory.
Use Your Accent 