Category Archives: Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic

In my element

Tomorrow I get to return to the place where I am literally in my element: the ocean. Los Angeles County beaches reopen for activities in the morning; I am grateful to the state, county and city for letting us see the light of day. I sincerely hope we don’t blow it; I’ll be social distancing and wearing my mask — when I’m not in/on the water, that is. I’ve been imagining tomorrow’s schedule for weeks:

7 am. Get up and take the dog for a nice long walk down at Cabrillo. Used to doing this at least twice every day, Alexander Hamilton has been perplexed why we have been walking every direction but the most obvious one — toward sea, sand, and sky — for the last two months. I suspect he will feel close to as much joy as I will when we stride past the beautiful mission-style beachhouse and say hello to the inner harbor.

8 am. Pull the kayaks down to the shore and paddle off. Waves and weather permitting, my husband and I plan to pack a lunch and spend a long day out on the water. We will be hundreds, if not thousands, of feet from other human beings, but hopefully not from the dolphins, seals, and maybe even whales. We may jump in and swim/snorkel. Bud will fish.

Sometime in the afternoon: Pull back ashore. Swim.

3ish: Reluctantly drag our butts back on land so the dog can get his exercise — at the beach again.

6 pm: Dinner.

8 pm: Evening walk on the beach. Who knows, maybe there will be bioluminescence?

Next day: Same thing all over again, but on the paddleboard.

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic, Life During Lockdown

Flippers Up

Meanwhile down the Street…. from tim maxeiner on Vimeo.

A few days ago my Peedrow buddy Tim and I went paddling off Point Fermin.  It was the first time I had gone out on the ocean since my failed landing in August. The Pacific lived up to its name: peaceful, flat, calm. Our journey started with pelicans by the tide pools. Then the sea lions greeted us at the buoy. Looking toward Point Fermin, I saw fins breaking the surface. A family of white-sided Pacific dolphins — my favorite porpoises — came to greet us. An adult led the way, followed by a smaller dolphin  shadowed by a baby. This breed of dolphins are smaller and more active than the common dolphins that we typically see off San Pedro; usually they travel in groups, not nuclear units. This trio headed straight for us, parting around us then coming back for more. I felt welcomed back to the water I cherish, home again.

We were heading north when we spotted something floating between us and Catalina.”Let’s check it out,” I urged Tim. We paddled toward Twin Harbor, and the dark spot on the ocean turned out to be a giant sea lion, taking a siesta in the quiet ocean. It lay on its side, side flippers and tail in the air, as we quietly circled around it. I have been working as a volunteer with the animals at the Marine Mammal Care Center in San Pedro, so I wanted to make sure it was okay. It seemed more than okay: beatific in fact, Zen and in bliss in its moment of still harmony in the Pacific. We circled this floating, breathing sculpture quietly, then said goodbye. On we paddled, past garibaldi and kelp, where nature meets city — San Pedro.

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic, Uncategorized

Sunset, Cabrillo Beach, Dec. 22

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I haven’t posted any sunrises or sunsets for a while, but tonight’s was so spectacular I feel compelled to share. It had a been a stormy day, inside and out — torrential rain followed by piercing sun. Alexander Hamilton (the dog) and I took a walk out on Cabrillo pier; the foot of a rainbow waited for us at the end.

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic, Uncategorized

Metallic Sunrise

 

Sunrise, Dec. 11, 2016

Sunrise, Dec. 11, 2016. Photo by Evelyn McDonnell

The sun finally broke through days of gray skies yesterday morning.

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic

Sunrise Dec. 9

Sunrise, Cabrillo Beach, Dec. 9, 2016

Sunrise, Cabrillo Beach, Dec. 9, 2016

The sun splashed above the clouds early yesterday morning but never broke at the horizon. It barely peeked through all day and there was no sunset; we even had moisture in the air last night. (I wouldn’t go so far as to call it rain.) Today the sea and the sky have merged into one gray slate, the line between water and air indistinguishable. Twice, I’ve see the sun shine a spotlight on ocean patches, but it was quickly overtaken by clouds. Time blurs like the elements. When does the day begin and end if we don’t have the sun to mark it?

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic

Sunrise, Sunset

Sunset, Point Fermin, Dec. 8, 2016

Sunset, Point Fermin, Dec. 8, 2016

Every day I count my blessings to live in a beautiful place. San Pedro may house the port of one of the biggest cities in the world, but past the cranes, barges, and refineries lie the cliffs of Point Fermin and the dark blue Pacific Ocean. Unusually for California, our house is located on a bluff facing east, so we can watch the sun rise over the water from our bed. At night, we can take a short walk down the beach and look back at the point to see the sun setting, casting our house into darkness while lighting up Catalina.

I’m going to try to start documenting the daily entrance and egress of this celestial body, as it bids hello and goodbye to the west coast of North America. These photos are taken from Cabrillo Beach this evening. In the far right of the photo of Point Fermin, you can see the lights of our house, among others. It’s a good time to reflect on the things that are eternal, ineffable, and even divine.

Catalina Island, Dec. 8, 2016

Catalina Island, Dec. 8, 2016

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic, Uncategorized

Waves

We could feel the waves pounding the shore in our beds. That’s new. For the last six years, we’ve lived in an apartment perched on a cliff above Cabrillo Beach featuring a jaw-dropping view of the Pacific. Often at night, we can hear the waves – especially when the surf comes in, like it did early yesterday morning. We called it our tree-house beach villa. We thought we would never move.waves

Last weekend though, we did. The stone and glass mid-century bungalow just two doors away went on sale for only the third time in history and miraculously, blessedly, we could afford it. And because being 400 feet from the ocean wasn’t close enough, we slid down the hill 200 feet. Now, we don’t just hear the crashing; we feel it. First, there is the crackling crescendo, as the water starts to fold on top of itself, molecules smacking into molecules. Then BOOM! A big wave pounding into sand sounds like thunder. It shakes the earth.

At daybreak, we were able to visualize what we had been hearing and feeling for hours. We still have a killer view, only now we look out across the ocean more, rather than down on the port of LA. I haven’t seen a swell like this in months. The waves were coming in like a rippling mountain range, forming perfect arcs across the horseshoe of the bay, breaking left to right, east to west in symmetrical rolls that are rare for usually choppy Cabrillo. Amazingly, there were no surfers at dawn. Word got out quickly though, and soon they were pulling up in their pickup trucks and jeeps, wetsuits already on or hastily pulled over shorts as they stood by their vehicles. This was one of my favorite activities at the old place: the peep show of the hot surfer boys barely hiding behind towels as they dress or undress. Apparently, the tinted glass of the new house curtains me as well as the high location of my old office window did; I can still get my voyeurism thrill on.

img_8064The intensity of the surf doused my own swimming plans. Conditions mandated a board and serious skills. In case I had any doubts, the presence of a lifeguard boat anchored at the buoy off-shore affirmed that this was a serious swell. Even if I had wanted to risk a swim, they probably wouldn’t have let me.

So instead, I watched, from the wall of glass that sweeps across three sides of our new great room (and great it is). Waves smashing into the fishing pier and each other formed 20-foot-high white plumes, rippling all the way across the stone breakwater to the black-and-white Angels Gate lighthouse. The dolphins surfed too, a pod of big and little ones, splashing so high in their frolics I wondered what was going on.

I was born in Los Angeles but moved to Wisconsin when I was four. California remained the golden dream for me as I struggled to fit into small-town Midwestern life. On our frequent visits back to my native land, I would walk through the beach communities visiting families and friends and fantasize that I would come back some day, to a place where I could swim year round. Now I’m living the dream.

It would be easy to spend all day watching the waves, the dolphins, the surfers, the birds. But this is the setting from which I work, not my retirement. It’s the place of beauty to reward that long commute home. I know how fortunate we are to be here (though honestly, as beautiful as it is, our home is also a fixer-upper).  I am the beneficiary of all sorts of privileges, to have landed on this perch, in this room with a view. I don’t take that for granted. I know that the water that is a balm for me is an escape route, or a death trap, for millions of people in danger and in trauma.

I respect the ocean and I cherish it. And I am grateful that when I wake in the night, sleepless and disturbed, worried about the world and my little corner of it, the sound of the waves lulls – and even rocks – me back to rest.

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Flotsam and Jetsam: The Life Aquatic