A beach swim, a shark warning and a familiar summer ritual open up bigger questions about safety, fear, and what it means to feel alive.

This summer at a popular beach near Melbourne, swimmers were ordered to leave the water after lifeguards sighted a four-metre great white shark beneath the pier. A warning siren sounded and the Lorne beach was evacuated just metres from the course of the annual pier-to-pub ocean swim.

A few weeks earlier, the same beach had been cleared following another shark sighting, accompanied by familiar instructions to report the sighting and keep families safe.

In both cases, the response was swift and procedural: minimise risk, prioritise safety. Despite this, the annual pier-to-pub ocean swim at Lorne went ahead this year without incident.

For over two decades, I have taken part in a summer tradition that involves swimming the 1.2 kilometres from the Lorne pier back to the pub on the foreshore. Although associated with a public event, I developed my own version of it, which over time has acquired a recognisable sequence.

The day must be exceptionally hot. The drive to Lorne follows the same route. I play the same Beach Boys music, walk barefoot to the pier, and do the swim regardless of conditions. Afterwards, I walk up the same mountain path, swim in a rockpool, eat fish and chips on the beach, and drive home in the dark.

A few years ago, I found myself experiencing a strange yet familiar tension. As I prepared to jump from the end of the pier, an elderly Greek man fishing nearby said casually, “Saw a great white shark here early this morning.” I nodded, thanked him, and walked back and forth along the pier, trying to think. It would be foolish to swim now. But it did not feel right not to.

Before I fully realised what I was doing, I was in the water. Although it was 38 degrees, it was shockingly cold. I swam away from the pier, occasionally glancing over my shoulder, acutely aware of how exposed I was. If I saw a fin, there would be little I could do. Despite my trepidation, I could not help but take in the disarming beauty around me: emerald water, an azure sky, the green hills shimmering in the heat. When I finally reached the shallows and passed through the breaking surf, I felt an overwhelming sense of elation. I was alive.

In our wider culture, summer holidays are framed as a time of rest and recuperation. Yet this promise is constantly unsettled by the way danger is........

© Pearls and Irritations