Each week, the self-righteous and highly judgmental journalist Rab McNeil puts one of the country's weel-kent creations, names or faces under close scrutiny in his Scottish Icons series. This week, Scotland's new year 'Loony Dook' tradition falls under his Sauron-like gaze...
BRINY baloney or bracing bathe? Whichever it is, the Loony Dook, which takes place every 1 January, has become a Scottish institution, at least in the east and south east of the controversial quasi-nation.
It's not for the faint-hearted, to borrow the diagnosis expressed in the sick note that lets me out of it. Dunking oneself in the freezing waters of the Firth of Forth is a peculiar way to see in the New Year.
It's related to wild swimming, though its origins - the search for a hangover cure - are more prosaic. I was surprised to see, from photographs obtained by my researchers, that the Loony Dook attracts persons from both genders, as wild swimming more generally appears to be an almost entirely female phenomenon.
Even the current writer, generally having a trite and ignorant explanation for everything, cannot account for this. A local lady I encountered down near the pier told me how invigorating it was, and I guess that being a man is quite invigorating enough already. Or perhaps men lack the cojones. It would certainly look like that once they were in.
My understanding is that wild swimming is good for the immune system, though you might be better sitting it out if you've a dicky heart. Don't take my word for it. I'm a doctor not a journalist. Or is it the other way round? I can never remember.
True, I like, or at least endure, a very brief cold shower after the sauna, and, come to think of it, I have actually been wild swimming twice, though the first occasion occurred many years before it was a thing, and was arguably more akin to what millions do every year at the beach.
But that is to do myself a grave disservice. For it was May in the far north, 125 miles furth of the Scottish mainland, where the sea is not a place for normal people who ain't being buoyed up by boats. But it was a sunny day, and my mate said he was going in. As there was a female present, I felt I had to man up (always a precursor of disaster; see also DIY) and join him.
Oddly enough, it wasn't so bad at first. The big mistake was coming out and going back in again. For some reason, the second time nearly killed me. I was chittering for a week.
Going Wild
MANY years later, a little more recently on a Hebridean island, I decided to give it a go again. Friends had a house by the sea, which is my favourite place in the world. I told them and their guests that I was going for a wild swim, choosing a spot further along the shore where I could disrobe unobserved.
Tiptoeing gingerly towards the relentlessly lapping waves, I quickly realised my first mistake: on that previous occasion further north, the way in had been a gentle sandy slope. This was all rough sharp stones. Secondly, you know how they say you never forget how to swim? Well, you do.
Consequently, I was buffeted hither and yon by belligerent breakers, which repeatedly brought me to my knees (having ventured only two yards out).
When I emerged from the briny deep like some poundshop Poseidon, both my knees and both my feet were covered in blood. My friends and their guests laughed uproariously. I was chastened and chilled. Never again.
I've since discovered that most wild swimmers wear special shoes, though I'd also advise thermal underwear, trousers, kilt, T-shirt, shirt, waistcoat, jersey, anorak, overcoat, cape, muffler, balaclava and woolly hat.
Disturbingly, I'm afraid I should also say at this point that, as I write, reports are coming in of swimmers getting into serious difficulties in unofficial events off the Devon coast.
Undoubtedly, these cautionary tales will not deter those determined to dook themselves on Thursday. And, who knows, perhaps it is a hangover cure (though my guess is that many participants eschewing costumery will have spent the previous week soberly getting in shape at the gym).
Made a splash
THE first, pioneering Dook took place at South Queensferry in 1987, making this forthcoming 1 January event the 40th anniversary. Back then, proceedings began following a conversation between locals in the Moorings Lounge.
Andy Kerr and Jim Kilcullen were looking for a different way of celebrating New Year. "Ach, let's jump in the Forth on New Year's Day. Maybe it'll clear the hangovers!" said Kilcullen.
"If you will, I will," said Kerr and, soon, other locals and friends, including subsequent regulars Jim MacKenzie, Kenny Ross and Ian "Rambo" Armstrong, decided to join in too.
Kerr then coined the name "Loony Dook", with the venture reprised the following year for charity and continuing thereafter. These early forays slowly grew until really taking off at the Millennium, when the BBC filmed the event live and it was beamed worldwide.
Today, up to 1,100 swimmers take part with thousands more watching proceedings, including a fancy dress parade from Hawes car park to the Old Mole breakwater. Participants come from all over the world. Yes, but (in anguished tones): why?
"What could be more 'different' than jumping into the freezing Forth?" former organiser David Steel told the Scotsman in 2016. "The fancy dress aspect is also an attraction - people just love to do crazy things." I see.
Fancy dress outfits have included fairies, footballers, nurses and clowns. Even people in three-piece suits have bunged themselves forth into the Forth.
Read more
Camaraderie prevails and couples have got married at the Loony Dook, which raises thousands of pounds for charities, in South Queensferry principally the local branch of the RNLI.
Over the years, similar Dooks have taken place in North Berwick, Dunbar, Portobello, St Andrews, Dalgety Bay, Kirkcaldy and Coldingham Sands. This (next) year, Portpatrick is hosting a charity fundraiser for Marie Curie and Home-Start Wigtownshire, while Ye Amphibious Ancients Bathing inland event in Broughty Ferry is offering a wave pool and sauna.
Suits you
GENERAL advice for the offshore events is to wear footwear, even just old trainers, for the beach run-in (now they tell me). Wetsuits are considered "cheating" and generally discouraged at South Queensferry but have been recommended under costumes for some other events.
Make sure you have dry clothes and hot drinks to bring you back to thermal sanity when you emerge from the experience energised or, quite possibly, traumatised.