Tag Archives: Cabrillo Beach

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.

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Post-Lockdown To Do List

When I get outta here, here are the first things I’m going to do:

1. Swim.

2. Kayak.

3. Walk to the end of the fishing pier at Cabrillo Beach .

4. Paddleboard.

5. Eat out at a different restaurant every night for a week and tip 40 percent.

6. See a movie or five.

7. Shop at House 1002.

8. Have a beer at The Sardine.

9. Go to Michigan.

 

 

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The imbalance of nature

The animals are taking over the beach, and they are hungry. With humans now banned from the spaces their tax dollars fund, critters are free to roam. Giant flocks of grebes and terns have made the inner and outer waters of Cabrillo their home, holding cacophonous mating gatherings — yes, orgies — day after day. Skunks roam the beach and hills brazenly, toddling across the sands. A fox trotted down the middle of Stephen M. White Drive midday. Skinny, it looked not liberated, but desperate. The animals here are dependent on human waste for their food, and they are starving. The sky may be enjoying its respite from pollution, but the critters that have learned to coexist with us are now on their own.

Rid of mechanical noise, the sound is magical. I find myself shunning human music in order to listen to the birds. Our neighbor, an adult male somewhere on the autism scale who is an avid birder, has taken it upon himself to try to feed all the gulls, crows, ravens, and squirrels in the neighborhood. We constantly hear birds landing and walking across our roof, the gulls’ pink webbed feet sometimes visible through our skylight.

We inherited this virus by violating our relationship with wild beasts, and we are not the only critters paying the cost. The balance of nature is off.

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It’s the End of the World — and People Feel Fine?

It’s the end of the world, and apparently, at least for a few hours today on the coast of California — ground zero of the great American  house arrest experiment — everyone felt fine.

My house looks down on Cabrillo Beach in San Pedro and out onto the Pacific Ocean. This afternoon, it was like a beautiful summer day out there: There were dozens of white-winged sailboats on the water, as if for a regatta. The sand was full of people playing, walking, surfing, etc. Weather wise, it was also like a beautiful summer day, or at least like the new spring day it is — a break amid weeks of rain and cold. Looking out on this idyll, it was hard to believe that our entire state is under a legal order to “shelter in place.” Unless, of course, that place is the beach.

Which, in a sense, it is. Where else are people supposed to go? No work, no malls, no theaters, no libraries, no museums, no bowling, no pools. No fun, in the words of Iggy Pop? What is there to do, during this respite from the rain, but go to beaches and parks?

I don’t see groups of more than 10 congregating, as our government has ordered. Some people — though definitely not all — are at least attempting to stay six feet from people they are not with. One couple — but only one — wears masks as they take their dog for a walk, and  when they return, the man has lowered his to his chin. Mostly, families are having a day at the beach together: laughing, building sand castles, holding hands. Maybe a day like they haven’t had time for in months, or even years.

It’s tragic that it took a pandemic to make us stop our workaholic habits, but maybe we, as a society, need to pause, rest, and reset. The people walking by my window are happy. They feel fine.

Me, I fled the land. My friend and I went kayaking, keeping ourselves a boat length apart. It was perfect conditions for a paddle: sunny and calm. We said hello to the California sea lions on the howler buoy, all blissfully oblivious of a human pandemic. We floated above the green sea grass and pink coral heads, listening to the waves and the birds. It was quiet, peaceful: No sound of traffic, few planes or boats. The sky was so clear, you could see structures on Catalina 25 miles away. Sure, all that rain scrubbed the atmosphere clean. But fewer commuters means less cars means cleaner air, as other parts of the world have also experienced.

Maybe this isn’t the end, but the opportunity for a new beginning.

 

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Gray Days

Photo by Tim Maxeiner

The news of Space X building its big effing rocket in San Pedro has gone national, global even. It, along with some hot property deals, also led to the predictable headlines about an “upturn for San Pedro.” Maybe, maybe not. As “Marina del Pedro,” an info-rich exhibit currently at the Angels Gate Cultural Center, shows, the efforts to develop this community are as old as the port itself. Curator and artist Tim Maxeiner (discloser: he’s a friend) turned to both historical archives and the contemporary local community to tell the tale of the Port of Los Angeles’s push and pull relationship to nature, industry, people, and business. The German-born egalitarian pulls work from both teens he taught at the Boys and Girls Club and such local artists as Phoebe Barnum and Beth Elliott. I even wrote an essay for it, about waterfront adventures in this whale of a town. The exhibit closes Saturday, with festivities from 3 to 6 p.m. Below is my essay, which will also be in the catalog, available this weekend.

Gray Days

By Evelyn McDonnell

I live on the edge of a forest. It’s five acres large, a potential home to 700 species, and it thrives in winter, when its trunks and leaves stretch high to the sky, swaying back and forth in the ocean currents. Animals feed and hide here in the Giant Kelp: mammals as big as you, who will swim up to your kayak and look you straight in the eye or roll in the water underneath, showing off, or maybe even nursing their young. Schools of fish — sardines or Spanish mackerels — flash silver in the sun, and bright orange garibaldi dart nervously around rock outcroppings, having been pushed out of their nests by crustacean bullies: armored lobsters and their sideway cousins, the crabs.

I live next to one of the busiest ports in the world. Ships laden with containers slip in and out of Angels Gate, like multi-colored skyscrapers moving sideways across the sea. Towering cranes await them, a forest of metal redwoods silhouetted against the mountains, ready to pluck the rectangular boxes off the cargo decks like so many toothpicks hundreds of feet in the air, then stack them neatly on the dock, where they’ll continue their voyage via trains, or trucks — the atoms of the neoliberal capitalist organism continuing their global orbit. Refineries belch smoke in the background, processing the crude black oil pumped up from the bottom of the ocean by the rigs that loom like watchtowers on the southern most edge of my view — the rigs are the south poles, the refineries the north. Between them lie the kelp and the commerce, the dolphins and the dock workers, the whales and the freighters — the urban wild landscape of San Pedro, my adopted home.

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Sunset, Cabrillo Beach, Dec. 22

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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.

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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.

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