Arctic Swimming, Arctic Circle

“Absolutely bonkers!” are the first words that come to mind when I hear about Arctic swimming. It leaves me wondering who in their right mind would intentionally plunge themselves into freezing waters. But once I started digging, I found a whole subculture of people who do it not just for the thrill but for a purpose. Some do it for clarity. Some for the challenge. And some, like British endurance swimmer Lewis Pugh, do it for ocean awareness.

In 2007, Lewis Pugh swam across the North Pole. He spent a year training for it in water that was as cold as possible, but finding anything as cold as the Arctic is somewhat limiting. So when he did a 5-minute test swim in the Arctic before his main swim, his body was utterly shocked, his hands numb within seconds, and I imagine his state of mind somewhat scrambled. It’s not every day that one purposefully jumps into -1.7 °C (29.5°F) wearing only a Speedo, cap, and goggles. But that’s exactly what he did: swam a full kilometre (0.62mi) between ice floes in the blackness of the ocean, pushing forward one stroke at a time through the kind of cold that rattles your very core. Lewis wasn’t doing it for sport, though. He was doing it to sound the alarm. As the UN Patron of the Oceans, he uses swims like this to draw attention to the rapid melting of polar ice and the urgency of climate change.

Then there’s Stig Åvall Severinsen. He doesn’t swim through icy water; he swims under it. In 2013, he took a single breath, slipped beneath the frozen surface of Qorlortoq Lake in East Greenland, and swam 500ft (152m) under the ice, wearing a wetsuit and fins. The next day, he raised the stakes and swam 250ft (76m) with no fins, no wetsuit, just his lungs and sheer willpower. The water was a “balmy” 1°C (34°F). 

Imagine the stillness! Ice above, dark cold below. There’s no room for error, no clear surface to exit, only a rope to guide him. Stig says it’s all about focus: staying calm under the ice, maintaining absolute control of both body and mind. And if anyone knows, it’s Stig, a 4-time Guinness World Record holder in freediving, having mastered extremes most of us can barely comprehend.

And then there’s me. Not a record breaker. Not a climate activist. Just a person standing at the edge of the ship’s platform staring down into the black sea, miles deep, contemplating the Arctic plunge I’m about to take. My breath catches, not just from the cold but from the absurdity of what I’m about to do. Somewhere out there, people are setting world records under ice and swimming for the planet. Me? I’m about to plunge into water that’s barely above freezing for no other reason than to feel alive, to shake something loose inside me. 

Then, someone ties a rope around my waist in case the cold short-circuits my ability to function. It’s not dramatic. Just safety protocol. Still, it adds a certain finality to the moment. Like a lifeline back to the real world. Or a leash in case I change my mind. The crew member counts me in. Three, two, one… jump!!

The cold doesn’t hit—it slams. Every nerve lights up like a firecracker. A thousand needles rush over my skin. My thoughts scatter. My heart is pumping at top speed. For a moment, I’m nothing but a thing torpedoing deep into the black sea, and then, the rope tugs. I become alert, my thoughts regroup, and in that short time, something shifts. The cold becomes electric, and the world sharpens. As I surface, I’m helped back on deck, bundled in a towel, and handed a hot cuppa. I feel a bubble of laughter building up as I desperately try to warm up. Then I realised that the fierce tingling all over my body was a confirmation of how completely alive I felt and what a momentous occasion this was.

I can see why Lewis dives into the Arctic water to fight for the planet and why Stig glides under frozen lakes like some breath-holding monk. It’s not about beating the cold. It’s about becoming something within it. Something stronger and more awake.