The Spinoff goes where few dare – the shores of Wellington’s south coast, as poo continues pouring into the sea.

Floating in Thorndon Pool over the weekend, on one of Wellington’s famous Good Days, I couldn’t escape the feeling that the capital has been cheated this summer. For three weeks, the Moa Point wastewater facility has been pumping shit into the sea, meaning surrounding beaches – Lyall Bay, Island Bay and Scorching Bay among them – have been unswimmable, spoiled by millions of litres of untreated sewage.

But while beach activities have ground to a halt around the capital’s south coast, the summer keeps blazing on. Which is why I found myself floating in a warmed and chlorinated pool, while my soul yearned for Wellington’s freezing waters to turn my hair brittle and send sand into every nook and cranny of my body. Sure, you can go swimming in Oriental Bay, but that’s got nothing on the bays of the south coast. Was it too late for Wellington summer to be saved?

Lo and behold, it took only three days for the tides to turn and my prayers to be answered. On Wednesday afternoon, wearing an appropriately fitted rash shirt, mayor Andrew Little dived into Lyall Bay and gave Wellingtonians some good news: it’s safe to swim around the south coast again. But, like, do it at your own risk, you know. Because there’s still shit spilling into the sea.

Almost immediately upon viewing Little and his two associates awkwardly cantering into the ocean and giving each other high fives, I headed to Lyall Bay to test the waters myself. If it’s good enough for the mayor, it’s good enough for me.

With local business down by up to 96%, Lyall Bay is a bit of a ghost town these days. It’s 21C with clear skies (another very Wellington On a Good Day), but there’s only a handful of beach walkers out today, and just two people in the water; surfers, wearing full bodysuits. I feel a certain kinship with my fellow thrill seekers, their strength helping me find my own. 

A voice at the back of my head wondered why I had taken this upon myself. There comes a time in almost every Spinoff writer’s life where they must put their life on the line to explore new frontiers of journalism, but did this have to be mine? I chose to listen to the other voice in my head, the one that said “she’ll be right” and also “anything is worth it for a good yarn”.

I dipped my feet in and felt that familiar cold thrill. I did not immediately projectile vomit or notice any turds floating in the water, and my trust-the-process mindset felt like it was delivering results. I waded further and further into the ocean, with much more grace than the mayor, I’m sure.

The water reached my calves, thighs, hips, stomach, chest. The waves threw water into my hair. Droplets rolled clear down my body and back into the deep blue. It felt like a few minutes had passed, but time does drag out when you’re forcing yourself to sit in water that is not only bone-chilling but also may contain traces of shit. That latter fact was something that dissolved from my mind with time as I enjoyed the simple pleasure of taking a dip.

Until it came to dunking my head under the waves. If Little and co can do it to prove a point, so can I. But it felt a step too far; soaking in possibly contaminated water is one thing, and swallowing it is another. What if I accidentally ingest shit and ruin the rest of my week? Oh, but what if I live to tell the tale?

I dived under. The water rushed past my face as I swam forward, keeping myself down for enough time until it felt like I’d outlasted Little’s dive. I came up for air, with no aftertaste of turd on tongue, and got rocked sideways by the waves. The motion made me laugh and I caught more of the surf in my mouth – it’s important to never forget the pure joy Moa Point has tried to take away from us.

I think this is how Drew Barrymore must have felt in that viral TikTok she made that one time. You know the one I’m talking about. She’s running and smiling through rainfall, absolutely beside herself with joy for the natural world. I used to think that level of happiness was only possible for mega-rich people who don’t need to worry about real-world problems. Now I get what she means: whenever you can, go out into the ocean. Do not miss the opportunity.

Back to the shore. The wind and sun dried and hardened the water to my body. Onlookers from the sidewalk stared at me curiously, their eyes saying, did that dickhead really just dive into the shit water?

Yes, I did.

SYMPTOMS DIARY

First log: It’s been an hour since I first made contact with the water on Wellington’s south coast. I am about to undertake an “everything shower”, exfoliating my skin until it’s red and raw and shampooing my hair until it all falls out. I will erase every physical trace of Lyall Bay from me, but I can never forget how it touched my soul.

Second log: A fly has been buzzing around me a few minutes too long. Is it doing this because it senses I am a huge pile of shit encased within a human body, or because it’s just a fly? Hard to know. 

Third log: I’ve had a burrito and an unhealthy amount of ice cream for dinner tonight. Just flagging this as it may be a red herring if any stomach issues pop up the next day.

Fourth log: It’s Thursday morning and I’m feeling fine. Media reports inform me that Little, too, is feeling fine “so far”. 

Fifth log: It’s been 24 hours since my feet first touched the waters of Lyall Bay, and so far, so normal. I remind myself that the lack of health and safety checks for journalists at The Spinoff is a good thing. But it’s raining in Wellington today, so it’ll be a few more days until I can head back into the waves on the south coast.

Disclaimer: The beach ban on Wellington’s south coast has been lifted, but Wellington City Council says swim at your own risk. The situation can change rapidly: check the Lawa website to see which beaches have been marked swim safe.

Update, 2pm, Friday February 27: Sadly, it has been raining in Wellington and the south coast beaches, including Lyall Bay, are now unsuitable for swimming.