SURFIN' SAFARI SUMMER TWO - DAY NINETEEN - August 29, 2020
There are not one, but two, hurricanes down off the coast of Baja California so the water at Marina del Rey was a nasty soup of swirls and salt foam.
There are waves in such stormslop. The complications derive from their irregular placement, which results in a lot of knocks to the surfer, and from the impressive force with which they hit the beach (and the surfer).
There were decent waves breaking in fairly close to shore and catching one wasn't complete fantasy. There was a guy down the beach having luck so I tried mine. Two steps in and I was under water with a mouth full of foam. I popped up, conked my head on the board and, as Hemingway might have written, “It hurt.”
An inauspicious start that held form throughout the short session.
Windswept beaches getting pounded by tons of kinetic froth offer cinematic-like settings and I decided to just sit and watch the movie wrapped in a towel.
The film included a few flocks of the California Least Tern, which comes out to feed at dusk. They slide along the sand in uniform harmony, each following the others’ split-second swoops and turns. Working together, yet free as birds.
The Tern is migratory and only comes around Labor Day for a few weeks to nest. Its presence at the Marina del Rey beach can be attributed to the California Endangered Species Act. The bird falls into the unfortunate “listed” category, not because people prize its feathers or eggs, but for lack of places to live.
The state law requires a construction project that is going to further gobble up an endangered species’ habitat to “replace” it at another location. So in exchange for a condo project somewhere along the coast, we got three acres of scrubby sand mounds as a nesting place for our lovely feathered friends.
A woman frequents this spot (second life guard stand from the jetty) who approaches seabirds with her phone and shoots short videos of them. She gets very close and they seem to pose for her. I tried it only to get the sorry result posted. This has happened before with other seabirds. They pose for her, she leaves. I try the same, the birds scoot away.
How does she do that? What special, speechless conversation emanates from her to them?
In these fractious, hateful days I long for a saving project that draws out unique energies, such as hers, from every single human; that harmonizes individual capacities, weaves them into a symphony of unrequited, unified earthly glory.
There are waves in such stormslop. The complications derive from their irregular placement, which results in a lot of knocks to the surfer, and from the impressive force with which they hit the beach (and the surfer).
There were decent waves breaking in fairly close to shore and catching one wasn't complete fantasy. There was a guy down the beach having luck so I tried mine. Two steps in and I was under water with a mouth full of foam. I popped up, conked my head on the board and, as Hemingway might have written, “It hurt.”
An inauspicious start that held form throughout the short session.
Windswept beaches getting pounded by tons of kinetic froth offer cinematic-like settings and I decided to just sit and watch the movie wrapped in a towel.
The film included a few flocks of the California Least Tern, which comes out to feed at dusk. They slide along the sand in uniform harmony, each following the others’ split-second swoops and turns. Working together, yet free as birds.
The Tern is migratory and only comes around Labor Day for a few weeks to nest. Its presence at the Marina del Rey beach can be attributed to the California Endangered Species Act. The bird falls into the unfortunate “listed” category, not because people prize its feathers or eggs, but for lack of places to live.
The state law requires a construction project that is going to further gobble up an endangered species’ habitat to “replace” it at another location. So in exchange for a condo project somewhere along the coast, we got three acres of scrubby sand mounds as a nesting place for our lovely feathered friends.
A woman frequents this spot (second life guard stand from the jetty) who approaches seabirds with her phone and shoots short videos of them. She gets very close and they seem to pose for her. I tried it only to get the sorry result posted. This has happened before with other seabirds. They pose for her, she leaves. I try the same, the birds scoot away.
How does she do that? What special, speechless conversation emanates from her to them?
In these fractious, hateful days I long for a saving project that draws out unique energies, such as hers, from every single human; that harmonizes individual capacities, weaves them into a symphony of unrequited, unified earthly glory.
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