Friday Morning Beach Report

 In one direction, the sky streaks of gray and blue, clouds like strands of raw wool unraveling above Anacapa.

In another direction, the clouds ripped apart, baring blue sky.

The waves looked as sturdy as semi-trucks this morning as two men stood on the sand, looking out to sea. They talked briefly, then turned and ran. Surfers, I'll bet. I couldn't stay long enough to confirm that they returned with their boards, but I'm grateful for the reminder to seize the moment.

Monday Morning Beach Report and a Photo of Life in Pillville

Down the beach a ways, two fisherman.
No  hint of the islands.
And a lone surfer makes his exit while
a single tern drops into the sea.

My mom and I just returned from a visit to her primary care physician to discuss pain. One of her meds--Cymbalta--will be increased. Meanwhile, this is how she copes between pain pills: microwave hot packs. These are scented with lavender. She says she needs another one...for her brain.

Monday Morning Beach Report

The ocean was brushed with silver this morning. Surfers and pelicans amazed each other with their feats of grace and skill.

As an added bonus, the local fire department water rescue squad was out drilling. With bright red shirts over their wetsuits and matching red helmets, they divided into drowning victims and rescuers. When the victims got quite far out beyond the huge waves and began waving their arms, the rescuers skipped into the surf with flippers in one hand and a life belt on a rope in the other. Once they were knee deep in the water, they put on their flippers and stroked like crazy to the victims who were then belted and towed to safety. It was heartening to know these guys practice these skills.

And meanwhile, some of those clouds looked like they might be making big plans.

Blessings to all those in the east coast blizzard.

Catching the Wave

taken at Hollywood Beach 

The waves have been really big in my neighborhood. I'm not a surfer, but I feel caught in another sort of wave. Check it out.

Tuesday Morning Beach Report: Blue on Blue

Seriously, this is reality.

Today is one of those southern California mornings when I fee a certain responsibility to get the word out. Walk here if you have to. Crawl over the Rockies on hands and knees. This is what awaits.

And when you get here you can walk on water.

I don't know why the sky looks yellow in this photo. It was really the blue of the photo above.

And there's treasure on the beach!

Note the new color: Salmon pink

Saturday Morning Beach Report/Saturday Night Street Report

On the horizon, a broad chalkmark of lavendar clouds hiding the islands.

The ocean dotted with surfers.Galloping sailboats.

Dolphins.

And me, walking.

Boats full of costumed pirates.

A couple walking a dog named Bo or, perhaps, Beau.

Two middled-aged women doing that excersize walk thing with swingy arms.

A teen-aged couple tucked into one of the nooks on the big bridge. She says to him, "Don't you know anything about your body? Your bladder is here. Your stomach is there."

And me, walking.

The State of the State in Margaritaville

Ocean a flat blue sheet stretching all the way to the islands while
Waves wait their turn, each one  building into slow a curl.
Surfers ride, laughing like children.

Lost on the Beach

We were supposed to meet on the beach--my son and his family and I. But through a misunderstanding and a rash of dropped cell phone calls, (did people really manage to meet each other without cell phones?) we missed each other, and my first beach walk in two weeks turned out to be a solitary one.

It was still fun. This being a holiday weekend, the normally unpopulated beach had some unusual sights and a few more common ones.

These hula dancers were posing for a photo shoot, but the wind kept blowing their headdresses askew.

Boomerang aficionados. Poor dog. What happened to fetch, he's wondering.

And of course there were surfers.

And fishermen.

And jet skiers.

I think, today, if I could have changed places with any of them, I might have chosen to be a hula dancer. They actually danced a bit. Hula's classic moves seem just right with the waves as a backdrop.

Saturday Morning on an Empty Lifeguard Tower, Saving No One

Moon a torn erasure, islands a lilac smudge. Waves into green, towering up from blue. Surfers as black and as plentiful as crows. But certainly not a "murder." What then? A crash, a foam, a swell? All the while a couple stands on the sand, he behind her with their backs to the sun as if they want to make their shadows one.

As I walk home, more surfers run toward the beach. Carpe, I think. If only I knew the Latin for wave.

photo credit: vcstar.com

Hey, Ocean, Who Are You--and What have you done with the ocean I saw yesterday?

When I moved to my new place just a mile from the ocean, I never imagined how much the beach I visit each morning can change in the course of day. There's a slope down to the water...until there's not. The sand is like brown sugar...until it changes to pebbles. One day there are dozens of softball size rocks on the sand, and another there are rocks, wafer thin, perfect for stacking into mini-cairns. Yet another day brings dozens of fist-sized crabs. A couple of days, it's been a pinniped funeral parlor--I believe the top body count was five or six on the stretch that I walk. The birds seem to rotate in and out, too. Crows picking through the sea weed, squadrons of pelicans dive-bombing the waves, seagulls nestled into the sand gathered for what seems to be some kind of seagull sit-in. Some days there are sandpipers, and then sandpipers are nowhere to be seen for weeks. There are days when the islands are invisible. Days when the three parts of Anacapa lie distinctly separate on the horizon. Days when the curve of the coast toward Ventura has vanished. Water: blue, green, gray, silver, sparkling, or dull as mud. Waves mighty enough to bring out the surfers, then nothing but a gentle lapping.

This morning I was surprised to see that the once seemingly distant life guard tower was a mere twenty paces from the surf. The beach was broad and flat, pounded firm. Channels had been sharply carved in the packed sand creating impromptu tide pools. Snowy Plovers raced in and out of the foamy margins where the water met the sand while surfers rode the waves.



I was my usual amazed self.