Water and women will save you

It’s been six months since I launched my website and print shop and opened up the possibility of writing on this blog. While life has clearly interrupted my blog intent, my daily morning ocean swim is non-negotiable, a way to make days more meaningful and joyous, and an antidote to all the grim global happenings.

Those who follow @snappylapper will know that along the way some excellent things have also occurred.

In October, a portrait I took of my artist friend Gillian Bencke at Newcastle Ocean Baths was named as the inaugural photographic winner of the 2025 National Emerging Art Prize (NEAP), spearheaded by Michael Reid Gallery, Belle and Morgan Financial. A day later, a photograph I took at Newcastle Ocean Baths was a finalist in the Newcastle Club Art Foundation Prize and won a prize category. If it doesn’t rain, it can actually pour.

After five years of slowly building my photography skills, mostly in the water, the NEAP win (and NCAFP boost) gave me the financial means and above all the confidence to invest in some equipment and sent me on a deeper dive into underwater photography.

As luck would have it, I knew someone to take my new gear on a test run with - professional photographer and mermaid Hilda Bezuidenhout, who owns Dip Studio, a purpose-built pool for photography on the outskirts of Newcastle. Hilda kindly ran me through the basics and it was absolutely pivotal in giving me the enthusiasm and confidence to move forward (important when you’re an excellent ditherer and procrastinator).

Once I got over my fear of drowning my camera, I gathered with some close female swim friends to see where creative play might lead us.

My photography has always been female-centric: firstly because I swim daily and most of my swim crew are women; secondly because artistically I find the female form more graceful and aesthetically appealing; and thirdly, as a primary carer I’m intensely grateful to the network of women who help me, especially my mum and two sisters.

Women, just like water, have been my lifelong saviours and lifters.

Over the course of two creative ocean plays with these swim friends I learnt many things by trial and error and was consumed by the whole process.

When I was apologetically thanking them for their time, knowing many of them juggle so much, one of them turned and said, “I don’t care about the photos, I just love hanging with you girls”.

Which leads me to last month, when I hired a (female) babysitter and roped in some dear (female) friends to care for my boys so I could attend a photography workshop with the uber talented @leantimms.

I learnt a lot from open-hearted Lean and met an incredible bunch of passionate photographers who were, you guessed it, predominantly women.

Days later, inspired and with ideas running through my head, I sent out an email to some of these women asking for some tips about maybe setting up a photographic venture.

One (hello there @annecooperphotography) sent me a very long email (how she managed this communication feat when she has six children I will never know) and shared excellent practical advice -  and a touching endorsement: “Believe in yourself as you are an amazing artist who is shedding her old artist skin (words) and growing your new artist skin (images).”

Rediscovering photography, a lifelong passion which I have always dabbled in but never indulged, has filled a creative void that opened when I left journalism after 33 years for a corporate role a couple of years ago. Since then I’ve been hooked on creating images that I am personally proud of, and there is so much more I want to explore and create.

My new friend Anne’s words helped me realise that I wasn’t stuck in that flux rip anymore (of course, there are other rips, but it’s nice to exit at least one).

And that combining my three favourite things - photography, the ocean and women - made sense.

I’m excited to now be chipping away at my new environment portrait business.

I’m taking commissions for seaside and underwater portrait photography sessions in and around Newcastle, NSW (I can also possibly travel a little further afield).

Here’s what you need to know.

• I can only accept one or two commissions each month because my time is limited (I know I’m not alone there). It’s first in, best dressed.

• If you’re feeling self-conscious about being photographed, please don’t fret. After birthing two boys and enduring a few icky operations in recent years with the scars to prove it, it’s my firm view that simply having a healthy body which allows us to live each day is a blessing. You can swim with or without togs and choose how you’d like to be photographed. If you choose simply to be seaside without swimming, that’s totally fine too.

• We’ll create images that you’ll probably want to frame and hang in your home. My first clients have done just that. (I can assist you with printing and framing advice)

• Fun and joy is the absolute goal and I am happy to work with you if you have clear ideas on the photographs we make, or steer you gently in a creative direction

• Women are my core client focus, however you are welcome to bring your bestie/s or partner to be photographed with you. Whether you are solo or with someone dear to you, it’s an experience that will be special

  So, there it all is. If you or someone you know would love a creative shoot, DM me on @snappylapper for details.

It’s time to sign off and try and get excited about cooking dinner for two hungry boys….oh wait, just ducking down to watch the swell…It’s going to be MASSIVE tomorrow … stay safe, salty folk.

Penny x

Swimmingly, thanks.

Blogs seem to be for people who have spare time or are efficient time managers, or both.

I don’t fall into either category. Like most of us, my plate is generally spinning precariously: harried mum/primary carer, employee, daughter, sister, friend, professional procrastinator and committed daily swimmer.

This blog attempt (emphasis on attempt) was prompted by an idea to open a photographic print shop for anyone who loves a) swimming or the sea  b) Newcastle, NSW c) flowing mermaidy forms or d) a dash of general salty joy. An idea prompted by a request for a print.

I‘ve no idea how to start a blog so I’ll begin where my day typically starts - in the ocean. 

I swim with the Seahorses, a small group of dedicated swimmers who meet whatever the weather at my local beach. If the sea is behaving, we swim out past the break wall, over the reef and out to sea, out beyond the surfers, then hook south and swim parallel to the beach and up towards The Second Set Of Steps at the end of the beach.

Along the way, we might spy an eagle ray, groper or sandray and try and catch up with a pod of dolphins. In winter, we dive down and listen for the sound of migrating whales. We swim about one kilometre before coming into shore for a hot shower and, if one has time, a coffee overlooking the ocean.

When the sea is misbehaving -  wave height challenging, ocean energy diabolical, wind astronomical - I head alone to one of two local ocean baths. This morning, the wave energy was nudging 3000 (compared to a flat and swimmable 200-500) and the wave height was 3 (on a scale of 5) so I chose safety and headed to the Baths after checking that the tide wasn't high (if the tide is peak high tide, these ocean pools can become unswimmable).

Some may question why to leave a warm doona and warm-ish hot water bottle for a winter ocean swim. It’s a very good question. Lately, in the dark depths of pre-dawn winter, I've found it hard to get up despite being a hard-wired morning person.

My secret to getting moving is reminding myself that I'll be skittish, grumpy and guilty for the entire day if I don't get my saltwater hit. And so I rise, pull on my Speedo togs, tracky dacks and top, deck coat and cheap ankle Ugg boots and tiptoe out of the house.

Beneath the poor salute of weak street lights, I walk in darkness toward the roaring sea and ocean pool. Reaching the latter’s edge, the faint thrum of arms slicing through the water accompanies me to the blocks of the 50-metre pool.

There are at least five free lanes  and there's absolutely no time to dither - the air temperature is 8 degrees celsius but “feels like two”, and I need to do my laps and get home. I've already put my two swimming caps on in the car, so I stiffly pull off my layers and stuff them into my Speedo bag (anyone sensing a theme here? Hit me up for a sponsorship, Speedo!) with already fumbling fingers and drop my body into the water, feet first. 

I gasp and silently drop a few F-bombs. With one or two swimmers resting nearby, I choose stoicism. I pull down my caps on my forehead and quickly lose count of my laps, choosing not to fear my forgetfulness is early onset dementia that in its full-blown state is eroding the beautiful brain of my Dad. 

My Garmin watch died a few months ago and with bills to face, I've not bought another. To be honest, at the age of 51 with one recent minor health scare, I no longer care about results beyond clear pathology and blood tests. 

The glacial water is cathartic and removes the flotsam and jetsam in my head. Kick, breathe, raise arms, look for the block, repeat. It’s all about moving and sheer survival. I feel slight pain and delicious nerve pleasure and if my heart could sing it just might.

It might just be the most uneventful swim in history, until I spy three men in Budgie Smugglers saunter along the length of the pool, heading to the rock shelf beyond. Let the record stand that leaping off this rock shelf into the sea is one part bravery, one part timing and one part lunacy. Today, however, it's lunacy on all counts. The sea is a seething mess, waves crashing into each other with rising height.

With a handful of other swimmers, I stop to watch The Leap. There's no disbelief. We’ve all seen it too many times to be dazzled by it. And yet, it still makes me hold my breath. One by one, feet first, in they go to the sea, dropping like flies hit by insect repellant.

I crane my neck to watch the men swim out to sea over the rock reef, their biceps working overtime against the sea wash to get beyond the breakers. Satisfied they are in the clear, we all resume swimming. I manage 1.5kms before my aching toes get the better of me and I head for the change rooms, where two mermaids I know by sight mumble to each other through chattering teeth. In turn we shower and fumble for clothes, frozen fingers and limbs outwitting us. Many a deep and meaningful conversation has been had in these change-rooms, but today the cold slices through the discourse. 

I am often asked why on earth I swim in winter, let alone without a wetsuit.

Firstly, I do it for all the cold water endorphins that are scientifically proven to bring better mental and physical health. It is easy for converts to become evangelistic about the practice. This is because cold water swimming delivers insane natural highs and is addictive - hours after a swim, I am still abuzz. In her beautiful book Winter Swimming, Dr Susanna Soberg writes: The shock of the cold water demands full attention from body and mind to survive, because the mind interprets cold-water swimming as a life-threatening situation. The experience is generally described as a kind of positive shock, a moment to reset, in which your brain gets a kick-start of energy and you're ready tio face whatever comes your way. The positive energy is most likely due to an increase of the neurotransmitters dopamine and serotonin. Those control mood and mental balance."

Secondly, cold water swimming numbs all irritations in life because it’s enforced mindfulness. As such, it’s a balm for the ghosts in our minds and the ghastly atrocities that are playing out globally right now, politically and environmentally. I find the cold water ache a bit like getting a tattoo - on the surface, it’s a little tough but the feeling is quickly addictive.

Thirdly, cold water swimming brings a sense of community, which science has also proven keeps us on the planet longer. The older I get, the less patience I have for humans and general fuckwittery, however spending short bursts of time with fellow sea addicts is plain, silly fun that adults need more of.

Lastly, in it's simplest state, braving the freezing water is a little f**k you to the hardest parts of parenting and adulting, when life can feel so bloody vanilla. I mean, if you can toss your body into freezing liquid, you can cope with anything, right?

The ever-changing tides and ocean churn gives me hope when things feel heavy that This Too Shall Pass (apologies to all those who hate pithy sayings, but I personally like this one).

So, if you haven't had a winter swim yet, get on it. Here in Australia, there’s mere weeks left to claim that you’re "a winter swimmer". If you can't quite bring yourself to plunge just yet, maybe take a quick look at my print Shop.

You might just find some inspiration for your walls or a gift to a hardy winter swimmer friend who knows, as I do, that you never regret a swim.