Archive for the ‘beach’ Category

Soaked

Sunday, August 2nd, 2009

I took a long walk on the beach today.

I walked from Mirimar to the Ritz. If you know Half Moon Bay, you know that’s a long walk.

On the way to the Ritz, as I passed by the campground, a young man stopped me.

He said he liked my hair. He asked how long it took to grow.

That happens all the time when you have long hair.

On the way back from the Ritz, there was this guy fishing and he recognized me.

He turned out to be the EMT who took care of a friend during a medical emergency.

We chatted a bit.

As I passed by the campground on the way back, the same young man stopped me.

He said I looked like Jesus. You get that all the time too.

Then, he asked me if I knew Jesus.

Had he known the totality of my life, he would have known what a silly question it was.

A dump of my entire life story not being practical, I replied.

“Yeah, I’ve been through that”.

He asked where I was from, and I answered.

He told me he was from Turlock.

I said politely, but in a tone sufficient to get the message across:

“If you’re selling, I’m not buying”.

The Ocean decided to throw a wave at us.

Ordinarily, I run forward and turn towards the beach when this happens.

Young Evangelical dude was blocking me. I ended up grabbing him and helping him run away too.

That slowed me down too much though, and I got soaked almost up to my waist.

Young man must have realized this was not productive, apologized and left.

My pants were soaked with water and sand.

This would have been far more annoying, except I had spare jeans in the car.

I don’t usually carry a spare. I had been meaning to bring them in the house.

God must have been smiling on me, to make me forget to take them in the house.

So.

This is how it is.

Evangelical Christians mean well; but they usually just end up soaking us.

God makes waves, EMTs and dry pants.

California is a Surreal Place for a Depression

Monday, September 29th, 2008

The thought occured to me just now, that California is a surreal place for a Depression. OK, OK, we’re not in a depression; but the mainstream media keeps tossing around the D-word, and will continue to do so until Obama gets elected or until it’s become too ludicrous. At any rate, since I’m out of work… well, you know what they say: A recession is when your neighbor loses his job. A depression is when you lose yours..

So, after looking over some pix from last week, picking the beaties and posting them to flickr, it got me thinking. If you’re going to be depressed in a Depression, California is a funny place to be. If you’re going to be depressed, you want gritty New York streets, the buildings so high you can’t see the sun. There should be steam coming out of grates. The sky should be so grey that it looks like a black and white movie in real life. California? Not many tall buildings here unless you go to SF’s financial district. Sunshine all the time from April to November here. Oh sure, you can go to the coast for fog, but then you’re at the beach. You can’t get depressed there. It’s full of people having fun, exercising, walking their dogs, surfing, or just being different and quirky in some sophisticated way that you can’t quite put your finger on.

California is so un-depression, that it was even the destination for Oakies seeking work in Grapes of Wrath, set in the real Depression. Nevermind that the book didn’t have such a happy ending. The message was clear: California, land of not-depressing.

Nevertheless, people do get down here, if only because they might have to leave. To live here is to understand why the Spanish took it from the Natives, why the Anglos took it from the Spanish, and why the Spanish want to take it back. Oh sure, there might be some serious unrest over that… maybe if this was Quebec, we’d have the problems they had. This is California. There is a lot of arguing about illegal immigrants on both sides, but it hasn’t boiled into a conflict. It just boils the melting pot. No time for fighting. Surf’s up. Maybe we’ll fight manyana.

No time for depression. Surf’s up. Wall street wakes up at 6:30. The fog hasn’t even burned off yet. Roll over and sleep in a bit more. Redwoods against blue skies now. The market is half done. I check it and it’s really not that bad. No job leads. Time to take a hike through the upscale suburbs and into the golden hills. Staying fit is important if you want to keep the blues at bay. Staying fit is important to everyone here. I know that reality may dictate that I don’t get to stay here forever. Or, I might have to move to a more affordable but less desireable part of the area. For now, I’m on the San Francisco peninsula and trying to figure out how to stay here. Depression? I wish I could be depressed in California forever.

I Swam in the Pacific

Monday, September 8th, 2008

Before I start this, I want to caution all of you kiddies out there not to try this unless you are with somebody and/or know your limits and are a very strong swimmer. OK. I swam in the Pacific last week. This may not sound like a big deal to many of you. For those of you who don’t know, the water near San Francisco is COLD.

Over the past few weeks I had observed that the water was getting warmer. It had gotten to the point where instead of a thousand needles stabbing your feet, it was a hundred, and then no needles at all. It seemed to me that the water was just a bit colder than Ocean City, MD near where I grew up. Ocean City had always been my limit as far as cold water is concerned. Later I confirmed that June water temperatures in OC are about 65 F. In Half Moon Bay, where I swam, the temperature could be expected to be about 60. That 5 degrees makes a world of difference, since water coducts heat away from your body much faster than air.

First, this wouldn’t have been practical if I hadn’t finally found my shorts. I was looking for something else and in the process of digging boxes out of my closet I found the shorts. OK. Got shorts. Check.

I drove to Half Moon Bay, where I usually go when I want some beach. The weather was hot. There was no fog. There was a good off-shore breeze which means warm dry air so that you don’t freeze when you get out of the water.

I made sure to leave my phone and wallet in the car, but I took my car keys and shoes. I took a bit of a gamble leaving my shoes, glasses and car keys on the beach, covered by my shirt… but they would have had to walk around pushing the button next to every Honda parked near the beach, and I was not parked at the nearest lot so had somebody taken the keys they would have had to put in some effort, by which time I would have run to one of the art galleries, or Miramar restaurant and asked to use the phone. In the future though, having the spare car key on my person is probably not a bad idea.

I decided to let my waist-length hair fly loose. I had heard at least one horror story of hair getting impossible to comb out after being in the ocean, but mine was already forming loose dreds and I figured that would protect it. If a hair is already in a lock, it’s not going to leave for another lock. The locks themselves won’t form a huge megalock. Only when all your hairs are loose and have no “allegiance” to a particular lock will they possibly form the MOAD (Mother Of All Dreds) and that might be impossible to comb out. I usually have very little trouble combing out the little dreds. That was my theory going in.

OK so no big deal, I wade into the piddly part of the surf. Well, there was a bit of a surprise today in that the waves were rather large. One of the surfers on the beach informed me that there was a “south swell”. Some of these waves looked to be 8 feet, no kidding. I wasn’t going to go out that far. The teenagers in their wetsuits were going out, and they weren’t surfing–they were just swimming in the surf enjoying the ride of getting pounded by these waves. This was not a good surfing spot anyway. The wave falls over all at the same time instead of making a nice curl that sweeps parallel to the beach. It looked like they were really enjoying getting a pouding–in their wetsuits. Virtually everybody wears a wetsuit. To not wear one is a bit of a test. Even on a warm day like today, you can usually count the bare skinned swimmers on one hand. I don’t consider myself any kind of a “polar bear” so I knew I might chicken out.

I stepped out a bit more, and let my shorts get wet. Still not too bad.

Of course, this is no swimming pool. The waves come in and decide what you are going to get. You make a decision every time a wave approaches.

I splashed some water on my chest. Ooohh… OK… feeling pretty intense now.

I ducked down briefly to immerse the lower part of my torso. An instant reaction of rapid breathing kicks in. This is the natural impulse that kills people who are suddenly immersed in cold water. You hit the cold. Your respiration increases. You suck in a lungfull of water. You die.

I cautiously immerse my whole torso for a few seconds more, and get used to the idea of hitting the water.

Finally, there is a break where it looks like no huge waves are going to come. I take advantage of it, plunge all the way in, let the water support me, and “dog paddle” about 6 feet forward. Many people would not consider this true swimming, since dog paddle is not an official stroke. It’s good enough for me, and that’s as ambitious as I got. As far as I’m concerned, it’s swimming and you can’t say I didn’t do it.

The surf picked up again. Two medium sized waves came towards me and converged into one wave that was slightly over my head, roiling with foam and sand.

Now, the standard surfer way to deal with this is to “duck dive” it; but that presumes you are comfortable swimming out the other side. Knowing not only that I was inexperienced with cold water swimming, but also that this ugly monster was carrying much sand as well as water, I chose to let it pound me back towards the beach. It picked me up and did just that. Briefly it seemed I was lifted off my feet, but I was not thrown down and soon regained my composure.

A part of me wanted to try a full blown swim, to see if I could get aclimated to the point where I could swim with confidence.

Prudence prevailed, and I headed back to dry off.

If I ever decide to swim the pacific again, I’ll be joining the wetsuited crowd.

Oh, and my hair? My theory proved correct. It was no different than taking a shower. Granted, I didn’t immerse my head and I wasn’t out very long. If I had, it might have been a different story. When my hair was just shoulder length, I played in the Florida surf for a few hours, and had to go out to dinner looking like a madman. That tangled mess took hours to comb out. With longer hair in loose dreds, would that day have been better or worse? I don’t know.