A SALTY SUNRISE

A short story by Emma Babbington

- Emma Babbington

I was a promise I made the day after arriving in Sydney: I would become one of the Salty Sunrise swimmers.

After all, daily ocean dips had been top of my list of reasons to swap England for Australia. And the day before, as the mini-bus I’d taken from the airport crossed the Harbour Bridge and the water below glittered invitingly against the backdrop of the Opera House, it was as though it had made itself especially beautiful to welcome me.

The next morning, my body clock was turned upside down by jetlag so I’d gone for an early walk. The sun was only starting to rise and make itself known in gorgeous wisps of deep oranges and yellow across the slowly lightening sky.

But the beach was already busy. With people walking dogs, surfers heading purposefully across the sand and exercisers laying out mats on it. Then, as I came to the southern end and bought myself a coffee from the cart there, I saw the group of swimmers gathered outside the surf club, men and women wearing the same bright pink swimming caps.

They were all ages, seemingly from eighteen to eighty. And as the golden sun began its flickering rise from the horizon, I watched as one by one, they walked towards the water and began wading into the shallows, diving under the crests of waves as they rolled in. While the barista made my coffee, I watched the bobbing pink heads swim, apparently heading straight out to sea.

‘They swim to Little Cove and back,’ the barista said, handing over my coffee. ‘The Salty Sunrisers. They swim rain or shine, every day of the year. The moment the sun rises.’

‘How do you join?’ I asked and the man let out an easy laugh. ‘You put your swimmers on, grab your towel and get here at sunrise.’