Wild swimming in the River Usk

When I was younger I hated all forms of sport, especially those that involved running. So I surprised myself when I agreed to go trail running with my sister, early in the morning on the first day of our holiday in Wales. Our mum woke up as we changed into our running gear but we couldn’t persuade her to join us – instead she decided to go down to the river for a gentler walk.

The three of us were on a rare and special holiday together, staying in a beautiful country hotel just outside of Crickhowell in South Wales. It was the kind of place where you feel as though it’s okay to curl up in your tracksuit bottoms in front of the fire, poring over one of the many gorgeous hardback books they had on display. The view was stunning: out across the hills topped with trees and sheep, and down through fields and ferns to the River Usk, which flowed gin-clear at the bottom of the valley.

Alex and I stepped out into the early morning. The fresh cold woke up immediately. AI followed my sister down the hill, watching the white flash of rabbit bottoms as they disappeared into the hedgerows. The morning sun poured liquid gold onto the fields and the river. On the other side of the water was a small wooden hut painted slate grey and with two wooden chairs outside. The perfect swimming hut, we said to each other as we ran. I imagined sitting outside it with a thermos of tea and a book, drying off in the sun after a swim.

The track headed out of the field and up into the woods, where the light fell in patches through the trees. It smelt damp and quiet. I dodged rocks and tree roots and followed behind my sister, who is (of course) much faster than me. I kept her mostly in sight though, focusing on her to keep me going.

As I got used to the uneven terrain I started to relax and look around me more. Perhaps running isn’t so bad after all, or maybe it was the magic of the quiet woods. Every now and then we disturbed a bird that crashed up through the branches to the sky, but otherwise the woods were hushed.

“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,” I thought to myself, “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

What are my promises? The promise to keep running perhaps, to try my best to keep up with my sister, and to do what I can to keep my body healthy. It is the only one I have, after all.

We ran further into the woods, until the sound of rushing water below us became too tantalising and Alex veered off the track and down the hill. She ran deftly between the trees while I slowed to a walk, following the sound of the river.

“Wow,” she shouted back up to me.

And then we were standing on the edge of the most beautiful section of river. A waterfall crashed over slabs of rock, creating a rapid that rushed and then slowed into a deep pool. There was a slower flowing pool next to the waterfall too, with rocks leading down to the water’s edge. The sun reflected on the surface and it was completely ours.

We hadn’t planned on swimming, but the water was too tempting. Together we scrambled down to the water’s edge and stripped to our pants and sports bras, leaving our shoes and clothes on the rocks. And then we plunged in. The water was so cold it took my breath away. I swam quickly towards the waterfall and back, my heart beating against my chest like a restless bird in a cage. Alex swam for a little longer but I pulled myself out, warming myself on the rocks. Once out of the water my skin felt so cold it glowed.

This spot was magical and we feel proud; like we have found this place through some skill even though it has been here for thousands of years and was created by nature, not us.

I arrived back at the hotel damp and cold but with a fire in my chest. Mum told us that on her walk she saw an otter sunning itself on a rock. It gave the water even more magic. Even though I didn’t see one myself (and never have) it was wonderful to swim knowing that otters were nearby. It reminded me of when I was young and believed deeply in the existence of fairies. When I walked in woodlands I kept my eyes wide open, hoping to see one. But even though I never did see one, it didn’t matter. The woods still held a special magic because my young-self knew they were there. Otters are my new fairies. They are water fairies that fly through the rapids catching fish for their supper.

The next day we brought Mum to our swimming spot, after a long day of walking along rivers and canals (broken by a pub lunch and a pint of beer). She was surprised as we are when she pulled on the wetsuit Alex lent her and jumped into the river with us. It was her first experience of wild swimming.

“I can see why you love this,” she told us as she floated in the cold pool, watching the trees above us.

We had the river to ourselves, and swam up and down it, Alex and I jumping off the rocks as Mum watched. We were alive, and sharing the same sensations: the cold water on our skin, the rustle of the trees, the beating wings of a heron. The river held a magic that binded us together.

As I changed after the swim in our secluded spot I turned and faced my bare chest to the river. I felt part woman, part wild river creature. I wanted to tip my head back and roar.

Six ways to beat the autumn / winter blues

How to beat the autumn / winter blues

Every October I find myself sinking into the autumn blues. At the end of September I sense it coming; a grey cloud over the hill, a muddy puddle to trip into at the next step. My energy fades with the dying light and all I want to do is hide in my bed, curled up like a mouse.

This year is no different. But I’m doing my best to shake off the blues.

1) Get outside

Being outdoors and being active is the best kind of medicine. It feels like there is magic in the waters when I swim (wrapped up in my wetsuit) and in the trees above me when I walk. I take deep breaths of air and I feel the blues get blown away on the breeze like they are no heavier than feathers.

2) Or bring the outside inside

Fresh flowers on the table, autumn leaves pinned to my noticeboard. Following outdoorsy people on instagram. Putting up pictures of nature – places I’ve been, places to go. There are ways to bring the outside inside, even when it is dark and cold beyond the window.

3) Cups of tea

There is nothing quite like the sound of tea being poured from a pot into your favourite mug and watching the steam rise as the cup fills. Wrapping my hands around a mug of freshly brewed tea I feel safe and calm.

Fresh mint from my balcony, with a dribble of honey. The apple and cinammon teabags I first tried on a pottery-making workshop in an atelier in Montmartre (the smell of cinammon makes me think of Paris and wet clay). Green matcha tea – because the packet tells me it will ‘restore magical powers’.

4) Plan for the summer

I recently bought a 2017 calendar with the sole purpose of planning adventures for next year to look forward to during the winter. I flick through the pages to remind myself of all the possibilities – empty pages to be filled, sunny days to be enjoyed.

5) Lunchtime walks (or runs)

It seems unfair that the only daylight hours we get during the winter are spent at work. I’m trying to combat that by heading out for some fresh air on my lunchbreaks, either for a walk or run. Last week I ran from my office to the top of Primrose Hill. Standing at the top I felt like a superhero. I looked down at the park, painted shades of autumn, at the zoo, busy with families, and across at the buildings making a scruffy horizon. I am not a runner, but my very slow plod up the hill felt like my mountain. And it felt good to be at the top.

6) Make the most of the season

What does winter have that summer doesn’t? My favourite knitwear, unfolded and taken out of hiding. Scarves that feel like hugs and remind me of my mum. Slippers. The warm, orange glow of candles that smell of birthdays when they are blown out. Hot water bottles. The ‘winter duvet’ that feels like a giant marshmallow. Mince pies. Warming my bum against the radiator. The smell of wood-smoke from the boats on the canal. Pumpkins with smiley faces. Wellington boots with frog faces. Frosty cobwebs. And a grey sort of sadness. But also an opportunity to be kind to myself, to find big joy in the smallest things, and to spend time focusing on making myself happy.

How do you shake off the autumn / winter blues? Add your tips in the comments below

 

Discovering the Thames

 

Seeing a river from a duck’s level is completely different to seeing it from the bank. The Thames stretched ahead of us in an elegant curve, looking much wider than it had from the side. All along its length were plump trees that jostled each other and bulged over the bank into the water.

You notice things at this level that you don’t when you are walking along the edge. The pattern of the water stretching ahead of you, rumpled like a crinkled tablecloth; the size and awe-inspiring nature of the trees and the sky; waterboatmen swimming their crazy backstroke beside you, and the reeds blowing gently at the edges of the water.

It was a busy stretch of water, and as we swam we tucked in under the trees to let barges, river cruisers and little motorboats pass. The captains and their passengers waved at us and we waved back.

We swam up and down our little stretch and crossed over to the other side, looking back and forth in each direction as though we were crossing the road and watching for traffic. On the other side was a National Trust property and grounds (Cliveden) and people sat eating their sandwiches and watching us. A beautiful stone staircase swept down from the bank into the river, ornate with carvings and flourishes. We swam to it and wished we had a camera with us.

At points we swam with our heads down, Alex in front and me just behind and following in her bubbles. We swam in bursts to keep warm. I looked down into the water beneath me. It was mostly a milky green and too deep to see the bottom, but then a patch of weeds would loom out of the darkness, reminding me that water does always have an end. I wondered what other creatures shared this river. I didn’t want to see them – I was happy keeping ourselves to ourselves – but it was nice to know that other animals were with us in the water.

The cold clutched at my forehead and squeezed, feeling like the brain freeze that you get from eating ice cream too quickly. But then we would stop our front crawl and lift our heads like ducks bobbing up from under the surface. We lay on our backs, lazily watching the sky and the boats. Because for us, wild swimming is not just about swimming. Thinking that’s all there is to it misses the point.

It’s about the shock of the cold and the sense of adventure at leaving our dry clothes on the land and stepping out like explorers into an unknown stretch of water. It’s looking up at the sky that looks somehow different from the water, and realising how small you are but that it’s okay. It’s feeling part of nature, not just an observer on the shore. It makes me feel more alive than anything. Wild swimming is living.

 

Swimming at Vobster Quay Inland Diving Centre

img_1057The lake is down in a hollow, surrounded by trees. Their lowest branches dip into the water making slight ripples. On the far side are rock-faces where birds nest. Orange and pink buoys sit on the surface among fallen leaves and the arms of swimmers can be seen breaking the surface between them. The lake is larger than I expected, stretching away in either direction until I can barely make out the buoys.

The five of us sit on a jetty above the water: my sister, her three friends and me. It reminds me of a Pink Floyd poster Alex used to have. Five women sat on the edge of a pool, their naked backs to the camera. I always used to want to be the woman in the middle with the curly red hair and the tiny waist who looked as though she was in conversation with the woman next to her.

We are not naked though. Alex’s friends wear bikinis and swimming costumes and we wear wetsuits. When the others said they were braving it without one I considered it. But not for long. More than anything I like how buoyant my wetsuit makes me: I can stand upright in the water without moving and I don’t sink. It makes me feel calmer and swim further. I think about the Scottish myth of the ‘selkie’: part woman, part sea creature she is not fully at home either on land or in the water. Her selkie skin is her tether to the water, and when she puts it on she becomes more sea creature than woman. I love the story, and sometimes I feel part-selkie myself.

One by one the others push off from the edge, sending a splash into the air. They swim in quick circles to warm up, their breathing quick at first but gradually slowing. Then it is Alex’s turn and I follow quickly behind her. The water crashes around me as I break the stillness of the surface. I am plunged for a moment into the grey-blue darkness. I watch the bubbles of my breath and my hands that look so pale underwater. I watch my feet below me as though I am watching a film of a girl underwater. And then I pop to the surface like a cork.

The others are swimming head-up-breastroke out into the lake, heading for the orange buoys on the right hand side where the trees trail in the water. They chat as they swim, catching up on the week and saying how lovely the water is. When I duck my head underwater I see their legs kicking like sea creatures. Bodies look completely different underwater – at once graceful and strange-looking. Beneath them is the grey blue darkness and then nothing. Occasionally the sun catches the water just right and I make out some sign of there being a bottom: a rock or the rope that tethers the buoys.

Every now and then Alex and I pull away and swim front crawl to the next buoy. We swim side by side. I focus on pulling my arms in time with hers and keeping close to her, swimming in her bubble stream. Although I am growing in confidence in open water, I feel my calmest when I swim next to her. My breathing slows and I think just about my stroke, not about what might be lurking in the deep. We reach the buoy at the same time and bob up, looking around us at the lake. After a stretch of head-down front crawl, with sky only seen in snatches under our elbows, the view is stunning.

Parliament Hill Lido

Swimming at Parliament Hill Lido

Time Out recently said that Londoners have replaced going out with exercising, and I think it’s true. This evening as my colleagues headed to yoga classes or the gym I hopped on the bus to Parliament Hill Lido – one of the few lidos in London that I was yet to try.

This summer I am making it my aim to swim in as many of London’s outdoor swimming spots as possible. Preferably all of them. On a summer’s day that had perked up just in time for the end of the working day, I couldn’t think of anywhere better to be than in a lido.

Parliament Hill Lido might be my new favourite place to swim. It was bigger than I was expecting (60 metres in length) and as I swam I felt as though I could keep going forever. It felt wonderful to swim uninterrupted.

The water was perfectly blue and the sun reflected off the metal bottom of the pool. I swam while the sun set and the concrete decking around the water was golden. There were only a few other swimmers: some doing laps with me and a few children playing on foam mats and jumping in from the deep end.

Despite a day punctuated by cloud and rain the water felt warm. It felt perfect. After my lengths I sat on the poolside for a while taking in the last of the sun, moving further up the bench every few minutes as my sunny spot turned to shade.

Above the top of the lido walls I could see the green and the trees of Hampstead Heath, where I headed after my swim to sit in the grass and look back on London. Seeing it from a distance makes it somehow more beautiful. The sky was full of cranes and I wondered when London will be finished. When will it be satisfied enough to say, “That’s it. I’m done now”? I think never.

For more information on Parliament Hill Lido: https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/green-spaces/hampstead-heath/swimming/Pages/Swimming-opening-times-and-charges.aspx

Kings Cross Skip Garden

Volunteering at the Skip Garden

“What is the purpose of slugs?”

The gardener looked up at my question, her bare hands half buried in the soil of a plant tub.

“I know that worms are our friends in the garden, but what about slugs? What do they do?”

Her eyebrows scrunched up for a moment.

“They must have a purpose,” she replied, “Else they wouldn’t be there. Everything has its place in the garden. I can’t think what that purpose is right now though… Let me Google it.”

With hands still covered in soil she took out her phone and started Googling the purpose of slugs. I continued digging, pushing aside the damp earth to make room for a camomile plant that had up until then been living in a small pot by itself. I was re-homing it among tomatoes, baby chard and cosmos in a new planter at the Kings Cross Skip Garden, a community project not far from where I live. It is hidden behind Granary Square, opposite the Kings Cross swimming pond, and is home to a café, a potting shed, greenhouses and a chicken coup.

“Ok, so I can’t find the answer right now,” the gardener said, putting the phone back into her pocket and going back to planting, “But we’ll ask the Head Gardener later. He’ll know.”

I pushed my hands deeper into the soil. When I arrived to start my evening volunteering in the garden I was offered gloves.

“But I prefer not to use them,” said Robyn the gardener, “They say that there is something in soil that is also in antidepressants. I’m not sure if I believe that, but it certainly feels like it.”

As I felt the damp grit underneath my nails and the cool body of a worm wriggle past my fingers into the soil I felt inclined to agree. Living in London it is very rare that I come in contact with mud – good old-fashioned mud like the kind I made pies out of as a child. The smell made me feel six years old again and I felt flushed with the same sense of joy.

I have no experience as a gardener. Luckily experience wasn’t required when I signed up to volunteer.

“Are you a gardener?” the Head Gardener asked me when I met him later that evening.

“No,” I replied, “I know nothing.”

“Good, we like people like you. You’ll believe anything we tell you.”

And he was right – I was a very eager learner. I learnt the importance of pushing plants into the soil and watering them to settle them into their new home. I discovered how to build a bug hotel for insects and creepy crawlies. And I learned how to gently coax the roots of plants before bedding them in a new pot. At the end of the evening I was muddy and proud.

I never found out the purpose of slugs though.

Find out more about the Skip Garden here: http://www.globalgeneration.org.uk/skip-garden-and-kitchen-1/

 

 

 

Sisters wild swimming in the Lake District

IMG_9631

Me and my sister Alex

My sister always wished she’d had a brother. Growing up she was very sporty and most likely to be found up a tree; I’d rather hide somewhere with a book. Throughout her life she has done (and excelled at) most sports: hockey, rugby, rowing, judo, and swimming (sorry if I’ve missed any, Alex). I went along to watch and support from the sidelines, but I could never join in.

Since discovering swimming I have been able to share so much more with my sister, and I think we’ve become closer as a result. Last weekend we went on a long weekend to the Lake District to swim in tarns, lakes and a waterfall. It was my first time visiting the Lakes, and my first real experience of wild swimming.

Swimming must be good for the soul. As I stood in front of the still and peaceful water I felt something inside me move like someone standing up and shaking out their body after a long time sitting still. I took deep breaths and prepared myself for the shock of the cold. Together my sister and I waded until we were standing with the water at hip-level.

“Shall we count to three?” I said, looking at her and then out over the water.

“Okay.”

“One, two, three…”

And then we both pushed ourselves off the bottom, diving together into the cold, clear water. As we swam I looked down at the tangle of weeds and up at the sky in the window made by my bent arms. And across from me was my sister, never too far away. We swam in each other’s ripples, following the patterns our bodies made and the bubbles kicked up by our feet.

Here’s where we went….

Blea Tarn, Little Langdale

The water at Blea Tarn was perfectly still and painted with the hills and trees that surrounded it. It is a short walk from a car park and a less-than-short walk up the hill behind (which I learnt was called a Wainwright, not a hill). The walk up the hill was worth it though for the beautiful views down the valley and at the water we had just swam in.

Easedale Tarn, Grasmere

On our second day the weather was heavy and damp. We walked up from Grasmere to Easedale Tarn, passing soggy sheep and waterfalls trailing down the hill. Finally we reached the crest of the hill and saw the water below, only broken by a pair of ducks on the surface. The mist rolled in over us as we swam. It felt like swimming on the top of the world. We walked half way down the hill in our wetsuits and walking boots and then stopped off for a dip in one of the waterfall pools. Walkers past us with raincoats and in waterproof trousers and shouted down to us, asking if the water was cold.

“It’s lovely!” we shouted back.

Ullswater

Ullswater was the only lake we swam in on our trip, and we noticed the difference in the temperature. I had been told to watch out for the glacial tarns, but it was the lake that froze my fingers and face (the rest of my body was thankfully kept warm by my wetsuit, socks and bright pink swimming cap). We swam from the shore out to Norfolk Island, where the seagulls shouted at us to get off their island. As we were sharing the water with sailing boats and a small local ferry service I wore a neon pink safety buoy that tied around my waist and trailed in the water behind us. It also doubles as a handy dry bag.

I can’t wait for my next experience swimming in open water – hopefully with my sister.

For more wild swimming spots in the Lakes take a look at the Wild Swimming website. In Ambleside we visited a great open water swimming shop that is worth a visit!

 

 

My favourite books for swimmers

swiming books

Some of my favourite books about swimming

I organise my bookshelves by categories, and one growing section is books about swimming. Whether you are a pool-swimmer, an outdoor-swimmer or just have an interest in getting in the water, here are some of my favourites:

Down Stream: A History and Celebration of Swimming in the River Thames, Caitlin Davies

When I told people I was reading a book about swimming in the Thames their reactions were the same: “Eww!”

Most people associate the Thames with the murky brown central London section and bottles (or worse) floating on the surface. But humans have actually swum in the Thames for years. The book follows the river downstream from the Thames Head (the exact location of which is much disputed) right along to Southend, and tells the story of the people who have swum stretches of it over the years. I particularly loved the tales of kick-ass women who were swimming miles and setting records years before they were allowed to vote.

The book is full of characters and stories that made me smile and laugh out loud. You’ll have to read it for yourself to hear them all.

Swimming London: London’s 50 Greatest Swimming Spots, Jenny Landreth

I am making it my mission to swim my way around these pools, lidos and outdoor swimming spots in London (so far I’m on about 10). From central pools that you’d never imagine were hidden among the busy streets, to peaceful lidos a little further out of town, this book makes me realise how fortunate I am to live (and swim) in this city.

Swimming Studies, Leanne Shapton

Leanne Shapton trained as a professional swimmer when she was young, and is now an artist. Her book weaves together her experiences of training with vivid descriptions of being in the water and wonderful paintings. It also includes photographs of her collection of swimming costumes and a description of when she bought them all, which fascinated me.

It’s the kind of book that you can open at random and know what you read, and see, will be beautiful.

Wild Swimming Walks: 28 River, Lake and Seaside Days Out by Train from London, Margaret Dickinson

My sister bought me this book and I can’t wait to try out some of the walks and swims. They are all within easy reach of London and some include stops at pubs. When the weather is nice I am looking forward to slinging my swimming bag over my shoulder and heading off to one of the many places I have marked with post-its.

Do you have any other suggestions? Add them in the comments below

Word on the Water

IMG_9321

Word on the Water: a floating book barge

Every day on my way to and from work I walk past a boat filled with books. Word on the Water is a floating bookshop that is currently moored in Kings Cross. In the evenings music plays and the books are lined up in neat piles along the boat. I love the smell of the paper and the colourful faces of the books that smile up at me as you walk past. Sometimes one has a particularly large grin and it catches me. And I stop.

At the weekend I couldn’t resist buying The Sweetness of Life by Françoise Héritier. I want to buy a pile to send to friends and family if they are ever sad. It is a long list about the little things that give life its colour and magic. The small moments and observations that make life worth living.

IMG_9385

My current favourite book: The Sweetness of Life

Here are some of the things that I would add to Héritier’s list:

white Christmas tree lights strung in trees, when you see confetti outside a church or town hall and know there has been a wedding, baby’s hands and feet, shapes in coffee, eating things you did when you were younger (banana and custard, beans on toast), finding the perfect word to describe something, sweets in jars, perfectly smooth pebbles, love letters, wild flowers growing in unexpected places (cracks in pavements, the side of railway tracks), the smell of birthday candles, watching people you don’t know have moments you know they will always remember, throwing pennies in a pond or well and making a wish, finding sand in your bag after going to the beach, crumpets, floating book shops.

https://twitter.com/wordonthewater What puts the sweetness in your life? Add yours in the comments below

 

 

Stoke Newington West Reservoir

IMG_9342

My alarm went off at 6 on Saturday morning and I silenced it quickly, not wanting to disturb my sleeping flatmates. Half-asleep I pulled myself out of bed and reached for my swimming bag and wetsuit.

Stoke Newington West Reservoir is a short bus journey from where I live. The bus was quiet: outside the window I saw a few joggers, a dog walker and a smartly dressed woman walking bare foot down the high street, carrying her heels in her hand.

I was heading to the reservoir for an induction into open water swimming. I feel something of a cliché jumping onto the growing trend for swimming outside, but there is a reason why it is so popular. Being outdoors and in the water just feels right. It knocks me for a moment off the treadmill of life (work, cook dinner, sleep, repeat) and makes me feel completely awake (even at 6 on a Saturday). Particularly as someone who lives in London, finding moments to be among nature feels not just desirable, but essential for my soul. Slipping into cool water and swimming beneath the sky reminds me of the simple sweetness of being human.

IMG_9343I arrived into a cavernous reception area that looked out onto the water. It was a grey day but the perfectly still expanse of water still looked incredibly inviting.

The reception was already full of people. This made me extremely happy. I wasn’t the only one mad enough to wake up so early on a Saturday to come and swim in a cold reservoir: there were loads of us.

I might be biased (because I like to consider myself one of them and because I don’t do any other sport), but swimmers are the friendliest people. Unlike other public places in London where conversation with strangers is unusual, I always strike up conversations when swimming, sometimes in the water and sometimes while half-naked in the changing room.

There was a group of us who were there for the induction, and the instructor took us through the safety information and showed us around the facilities. Then it was time to wetsuit up and get into the water.

I love wearing my wetsuit. It feels hilarious. My arms hang stiffly by my side making me walk like a penguin. It takes ages to pull it on, and in the changing room I laughed with the group of women also doing the ‘wetsuit jump’ and twisting like contortionists to reach the zip at the back.

Standing on the side of the reservoir we looked not quite human, not quite fish. Together we walked down a pontoon and acclimatised to the water. We were instructed to ‘flush through’ our wetsuits, which I thought sounded very strange but just meant filling it up with water so the layer between you and the neoprene keeps you warm.

There were a few routes we could swim: the full 750m course, 200m or 400m. The 750m loop stretched away into the distance and I remembered what the instructor said about not pushing ourselves so went for the 400m as it was my first time.

After a few warm-up exercises (running on the spot in water makes me laugh) we were off. I love my local pool, but it felt wonderful to be outside and not constricted by the lanes and the pool’s short length. I swam, and then kept swimming. I felt strangely empowered as I swam – I was very aware of it being my arms and my legs making me move through the water. Go arms! Go legs!

Once I’d finished the loop I pulled myself out of the water, dripping and grinning.

IMG_9350The reservoir is a short walk from Clissold Park, one of my favourite parks in London, so after my swim I walked there and found a spot outside the café on the hill. I ordered a full English breakfast and ate it in the sun.

By now it was 9 but the park was still empty apart from runners and parents with small children. A group of girls played outside the cafe. One was dressed as ‘Batgirl’. Her cape billowed behind her as she ran up and down the hill. As I watched her I thought about how un-sporty I was for most of my life, and how up until a few years ago I could barely swim. When Batgirl stops wearing her cape I hope she still realises she can do anything that she wants to do.

http://www.better.org.uk/leisure/stoke-newington-west-reservoir-centre If you want to swim at Stoke Newington West Reservoir you must first book an induction.