The Strife Aquatic Seeking Friend with Pool

by Fayeruz Regan 06.2022

This public plea may sound shallow (the pun stays), but I am looking for a friend with a pool. I’m being upfront to avoid false pretenses, and I have something to bring to the table: A boat. Willing to negotiate terms. 

Our boat was a COVID purchase that I thought would cure my longing for a watering hole; not the booze kind, but a desperate overheated animal on the Savannah kind. That’s how Virginia humidity makes me feel. When I complained, I was offered a solution: The Ginter Park Recreation Association Pool. It became an institution, pumping out core memories of Marco Polo and dripping ice cream from the snack bar. Many kids had their first kiss on movie nights, where parents would drink and grill, and let their kids run wild. I was sold.

That is, until I noticed the cost. 

Then a friend clued me in on the Philadelphia Quarry. It’s a private club in an old granite quarry, where the water is pristine. She and her friends would break in before dawn and skinny-dip. I’ve always been obsessed with quarries – they’re like a secret. Hidden in a historic neighborhood off Douglasdale Road, no one can gain access unless invited by a member of this club. Plotting an inroad, I went to their website only to find that it was password protected. No photos, no members, no “About” section—just a password prompt.

Undeterred, I visited the unmarked entrance while hiking in the hilly, upscale neighborhood. The high gate was padlocked. Perhaps the members, (none of whom were around), could only gain access with a key. I hiked an adjacent bluff and peered through bushes just to catch a glimpse. Granite cliffs encased crystal clear water, with floating wood docks.

When COVID hit and all the pools closed, we bought a boat so we could explore natural waterways. But I have a complicated relationship with murky water. Sometimes you dredge up the muddy bottom with your foot, and if the texture doesn’t give you the shivers, the smell will. I’ve plunged into the Chickahominy River only to have my muscles seize up from the freezing water, which was deceptively warm on the surface.

In between sewage disasters on the James, I found the “Redneck Riviera” – a gathering spot on a shore near Dutch Gap. But revelers eyed us suspiciously when we pulled up. They blasted country music too loud and cursed at their kids. And if that makes me sound uptight, well, they littered too.

I didn’t give up. During a heat wave, we visited another local swimming hole. I was prepared to embrace its dilapidated charm, assuming it looked like a vintage postcard on the inside. I appreciate that they filter the lake water that’s pump in, but it was still murky. The sand was dotted with cigarette butts. After our group settled into a cabana, staff informed us that there would be an upcharge. We were nearly the only people there. 

The rough-textured pool at another area pool gave my son kertolysis exfoliativa, a red rash on the bottom of his feet. It apparently happens so often there, that employees carry a protective spray that they blast onto childrens’ feet, explaining that it works like an invisible bandage.

We’ve visited many of the free community pools, such as Hotchkiss and Battery Park. But they are run by the City of Richmond, which means that when we arrive during open hours, it’s common to find the doors padlocked. Or pitifully unstaffed in relation to lifeguards. They lack outdoor furniture, so visitors lay towels on sun-scorched concrete. Splash pads require standing and, well, kids, unless you don’t mind looking creepy.

All this to say, I’ve put in my time. I’ve been open to all aquatic experiences and have seen enough disappointment to warrant a friend with a pool. If you have a great suggestion, please write in to share. And if you have a pool...hello you.