Australia is world-famous as a swimming nation. We have a celebrated beach culture, not to mention more privately owned pools per capita than any other country. Yet few urban Australians would consider swimming in their city’s river.
Melbourne’s Yarra river has been the butt of many jokes, most famously when Norman Gunston extolled its virtues as the river where you could go fishing and land a catch pre-wrapped in newspaper. In Sydney and Perth, people just prefer the beach.
There were clubs such as the North Adelaide District Swimming club, formed in 1905, and open-water swimming competitions such as those held on Perth’s Swan river from 1912. Melbourne’s famous Yarra river’s three-mile swim was held from 1917 to 1964, and at its peak was the largest open-water swimming competition in the world.
Endurance was similarly tested there by Professor Alec Lamb in 1907 who swam seven miles and dove from eight bridges, stopping for sustaining glasses of milk and whisky from his trainer’s boat.
An arguably less brazen charity appeal centred on Solomon Islands swimmer Alick Wickham’s record-breaking dive of 250 feet into the river in 1917, attracting 50,000 spectators, with the proceeds going to the Soldiers Amelioration Fund.
Fears about pollution are understandable but can be managed by websites such as Yarra Bay Watch and the New South Wales Office of Environment Health. While important, the official advice inadvertently adds to the view that Australian urban rivers are little more than an extension of the stormwater system.
As the Swiss have already realised, to swim in an urban river is to reclaim, one stroke at a time, a public space and a wilder romantic past. It is no coincidence that the same country that zealously promotes urban river and lake swimming can also lay claim to a distinguished environmental record.