It’s been a minute, buuuut, on a quick little trip to Lake Garda, one of the most beautiful lakes in the world (IMO), I figured it would be borderline illegal not to pack my goggles and a swim-sensible swimsuit (as opposed to one of those flimsy things I own that can’t be trusted to keep everything contained once I start doing real lengths in actual water). Obviously, I was getting in and turning my arms.
As is standard practice, important safety checks were carried out in advance. Read: a panicked Google deep-dive into “what exactly may I encounter whilst swimming in Lake Garda. Findings included trout, whitefish, cisco, bleak, sardines, pike, tench, wells catfish, perch, and eels. Naturally, this was followed by an even deeper investigation into the bleak (???), purely based on the name. (Turns out they’re tiny and not remotely threatening.)
Then came some further reading about the water snakes that also live there, which are apparently harmless unless provoked. Oh, and venomous vipers that have been seen in the lake. Also harmless unless provoked, but notably more likely to be fatal if they are.
Encouraging stuff for someone about to get in and turn the arms. Nonetheless, braving it, I got in. Me, and the swimsuit designed for functionality, not fashion.
Now, I get it. Fish, eels, snakes, et al., are pretty central to the functioning of the lake’s ecosystem, and I’m merely a guest. A slightly uneasy one, but still someone who wanted to enjoy the view without accidentally locking eyes with something cold-blooded whilst visiting, and because closing my eyes wasn’t really an option (tempting though it was), because while I had zero interest in spotting anything with fins or fangs, I did want to enjoy the absolutely stunning scenery.
And so I faced the first hurdle: the slippery green steps. Walking down? Not a chance. Who knows what might be clinging to the underside? And if it’s slippery, I will slip. So the only option was to launch myself in from the steps (which did, technically, continue beneath the water, but there was absolutely no way I was standing on those), like a hippo, as it turned out.
As we know, this would not be my first sloppy entry into a body of water. And whilst the splash alone was loud enough to draw smirks and stifled laughter from many guests, who had been, until that moment, quietly relaxing nearby, I carried on as if it were all completely intentional, avoiding eye contact at all costs, of course.
I was lucky enough to have my very own personal paparazzi and lifeguard watching from the side, but still, I decided to stay very, very close to those slimy steps. Partly because I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat, and partly because said paparazzi-lifeguard had made it crystal clear they would absolutely not be getting wet under any circumstances. I was under strict instructions to avoid any and all rescue scenarios, so I carefully swam, ever so slightly, away from the side, just long enough to take in the view, and for them to get a photo. Evidence, really. For the record.
I turned around, preparing to give a megawatt smile, the kind that says, completely at ease being the only person in a 50-kilometre lake teeming with wildlife. But to my absolute horror, my lifeguard, phone still not raised for the all-important photo, suddenly started pointing at a snake-shaped object in the water, uncomfortably close to me, and shouted, “Mayday!”
I don’t know what the odds are of coming face to face with something. Let’s call it a viper for the drama of it, because frankly, it could have been. I didn’t hang around long enough to check for fangs. And in a lake that stretches over 50 kilometres in length, and holds more water than I care to do the maths on, it had so much space to do its writhing. Literally kilometres and kilometres of open water. And yet there it was, less than five metres from me, making its presence very much known.
Alerted to its presence by the shouted “mayday” and also because, frankly, it was unmissable, and being in no position to assess whether the snake looked well-fed and thus unlikely to be in the mood for a snack, I decided I was absolutely not risking a closer encounter. I swam, faster than any Olympian ever could, the very, very short distance back to the slimy metal steps. And somehow, against all odds, I managed to exit the lake, inelegantly but impressively fast, without stubbing a toe, slipping, or screaming. Outwardly, at least.
And that, my lovely readers, wraps up what might just be the shortest (non) swim blog in history.
What I can share is that the water was gloriously clear, not too cold, and for the brief moment I was in it, before the reptilian drama unfolded, it was actually quite lovely. And, in case you were wondering, because I mentioned it's importance already, my carefully chosen, serious-swimming-not-just-sunbathing swimwear performed admirably under pressure. There were no wardrobe malfunctions during the emergency evacuation, which was a small miracle, frankly.
And so, until next time, may your swims be longer and your wildlife encounters be less dramatic than mine, and thanks, as always, for taking the time to read this.
