Floating on my back, barely moving, with only small ripples on the lake lapping around my head, I watched two dozen swifts whirling around the deep blue cloudiness sky. They were mostly silent, not screaming as I hoped they would, but they were there, chasing, racing and gliding on their flickering wings. They would come closer and then move away, returning again, then disappear far behind my head where my eyes could not follow. Every so often one would drop down low, thrusting its wings behind its back in an upward ‘v’, scooping up water from the surface as it met the bottom of its loop. These were minutes of near perfection, watching my favourite birds while I was swimming in the bath-warm waters of a Swedish lake at the end of a hot summer afternoon.

I’m a latecomer to swimming. Having not been in a pool since my mid-teens, I tried it in my early forties in the sea while volunteering on a Pembrokeshire island. That was the June and July four years ago and I carried on afterwards until my then local outdoor pool closed for the winter. The gap from my teens to middle age meant that I went from a very weak swimmer to a non-swimmer. That summer and early autumn in my local pool enabled me to grow in confidence and I ended up being able to do quite a few lengths on each visit. The pandemic, moving house and generally focusing on other types of fitness activity have meant that I haven’t been swimming since September 2019. However, a two week trip to Sweden provided a great opportunity to start again – but I hoped not from ‘square one’.

We are fortunate to have access to a summer house in the Swedish countryside and have just returned from staying there. Like so many similar locations in the country, it is only a short walk to a swimming lake. The water is dark, being fed from forest streams that bring peat in the lake; this means that the sun warms it very quickly and it was a lovely 22 to 28 degrees Celsius while we were there. The lake is not quite circular, being 200 metres long and 150 metres wide and is shallow at the edges, with a little shady beach, but it’s much deeper in the middle. The lake also has a swimming pontoon that reaches out into the water with a set of steps into the water and a floating platform further out into the lake. This all makes it sound like it would be very busy but actually the two of us often were the only ones swimming there or we were joined by one or two others.

On taking to the water for the first time since 2019, I was surprised that I could swim straight away, no rustiness or uncertainty, no sinking or flailing about. Over the course of the fortnight we stayed there, we swam every day that we could, sometimes swimming twice in a day. By the end of the stay, I was comfortably swimming for 30 minutes on each visit to the lake. My swimming strength increased and I set myself a personal challenge to swim from the pontoon to another smaller one on the far side of the lake. With one abortive attempt, with some swans getting in the way, on the penultimate day I finally swam the 350 metre round trip, and actually without too much difficulty. I never thought I’d be cable of swimming, let alone being able to swim such distances; it might not be far for many people but it was a real milestone for me.

Putting personal challenges to one side, swimming in that lake brought an extra dimension that going to the local pool simply can’t. Swimming there brought me much closer to nature, making me feel more part of nature rather than just an observer. Being in the water put me amongst the flora and fauna of the lake. I swam amongst the lilies and other water plants, and I was buzzed by dragonflies as flew low over the water catching meals and competing for mates. I saw grass snakes making their way over the surface and watched the whooper swans as they formed a new pair bond. I listened to the cuckoo calling from a nearby tree and watched the swallows hawking for insects. If I had swum later into the evening, I may even have come face-to-face with the local beaver family as they started they nocturnal forays across the lake. However, lying on my back, floating under groups of chasing swifts, my favourite of all birds, made the greatest of those connections. This little meadow and forest-side lake, with its warm waters and plentiful wildlife, felt to me like a swimming utopia and I can’t wait to go back.

I’ve borrowed the title, or paraphrased it, from ‘Fishing in Utopia’ by Andrew Brown. It is a memoir of the author’s life in Sweden, where he moved from England as a young man in the 1970s. He explores the history, culture and politics of the country, as well as his personal experiences of love, loss and fishing. He describes how fishing became a way of connecting with nature, escaping from loneliness and finding meaning in a changing world. He also reflects on the challenges and contradictions of Sweden’s social democracy, its environmental issues and its role in the European Union. The book is a blend of autobiography, travel writing and social commentary. written with humor, insight and a large pinch of nostalgia.