The swimming thing started in high school, with the two trips me and my buddies made to Jasper. We swam in our underwear in Maligne Canyon, and waved to all the tourists. Then on the Skyline hiking trip, we swam in an alpine lake high up in the mountains. I will not tell the whole story of that one, since Rowan reads this blog quite regularly (heeheehee). We also spent an afternoon in Jasper townsite sneaking into hotels to swim in their pools. We even swam in one that wasn't even open yet.
Among other places, I've swum in Russia (just a pool, unfortunately, but getting permission from the freshly-ex Soviets was quite the adventure in itself), and in the Black Sea, and in the Sava River, Lhasa River, Bay of Fundy, Gulf of Mexico and I think the Caribbean Sea- is that where Cancun is? Forgive my uncharacteristic lapse in geography.
In the Queen Charlottes, Cliff and Ron and I were climbing a mountain, and I promised them that I would swim in whatever lake we found at or near the top. But it rained the whole way up, and by the time we got there we were soaked to the bone. Cliff pointed to a little lake and asked me if I was still going to go swimming.
No, I said, that would just be redundant.