A tarn at 600 metres is a different creature from a lowland lake or a Cornish cove. It sits in a bowl of peat and rock, fed by snowmelt, seepage and rain that has crossed a lot of cold ground to get there. There is little depth to store summer warmth and often no shelter from the wind, so even in a decent August the water can sit at 10 to 12°C. Higher up, or after a cool spell in June, it may barely reach 8°C. Sea temperature off the Cumbrian coast in high summer is around 16°C, and that difference matters far more than most people realise.
Anything below roughly 15°C triggers the cold shock response. That is not a sign of weakness, poor fitness or inexperience. It is a reflex baked into the nervous system, and it will happen to you whether you are a fell runner or a first-timer. Knowing what it feels like before you get in is the single best way to stay calm when it arrives.
The moment cold water hits the skin, several things occur almost simultaneously. You gasp. You may gasp hard enough to swallow water. Your breathing rate spikes and your chest feels tight. Blood vessels in the skin clamp down, your heart rate climbs, and your blood pressure jumps. This phase peaks in roughly 30 seconds and starts to ease after a minute or two.
The danger in a tarn is not usually the cold itself. It is the gasp and the panic. A sharp intake of breath with your face near the waterline, in a place with no lifeguard, no mobile signal and possibly nobody else on the fell, is the real risk. Everything that follows in this article is about buying yourself those first ninety seconds.
Diving in is for people with safety cover and warm water. On a remote tarn, slow is kind. Aim to be in the water properly within two or three minutes rather than instantly.
Keep a hand on the shore, a rock or a friend until your breathing settles. There is no prize for speed.
When the shock hits, your instinct is to pant. Panting makes it worse. What you want is a long, slow exhale, because you cannot control the inhale nearly as well. Pursed-lip breathing works:
Say the number out loud if it helps. Naming the count gives your mind a job and crowds out the urge to scramble for the bank. If your breathing has not begun to settle after two minutes, get out, warm up and treat it as a shorter dip than planned. That is a sensible decision, not a failure.
Keeping your head clear of the water reduces the cold water entering the ears and throat, and it lets you see and hear what is happening. It also stops the head-down position that so often follows a panicked gasp. Float on your back if you need to rest, looking up at the sky and the fellside, with a tow float if you have one and something bright on your head.
Stay within a few metres of the shore on a first visit. Swim parallel to the bank rather than out into the middle. Tarns are often much deeper than they look, and below the surface there can be submerged rock, old fence posts or deep cold layers that hold the chill from last winter. Swim with a companion who stays on the bank and watches, and tell someone at home where you are going and when you expect to be back.
Leave the water while you still feel comfortable. Most people get out too late, once the shivering has already started. Towel off briskly, and pull on dry layers straight away: a fleece, a windproof, a woolly hat and gloves. Neoprene socks or old trainers make the shore less punishing and keep your feet usable for the walk out.
Afterdrop is worth knowing about. Your core temperature can continue to fall for ten or twenty minutes after you are dry, as cold blood from the limbs returns to the centre. Drink something warm from a flask, eat a decent handful of something sugary, and get moving downhill at an easy pace. If you are shivering hard, slurring words, or feeling oddly clumsy, treat it as urgent: add layers, add shelter, and get off the hill with help rather than pressing on.
Do that, and a cold plunge in a high tarn becomes what it should be: a bracing, memorable, entirely repeatable pleasure rather than a story about a rescue.
Leave A Comment