As I drove into the parking lot, I could smell the pungent aroma. Of kelp on the beach, decimated sea critters pounded into oblivion by the large swell, and the small reef exposed at this low tide. There were two dozen kids in the water, and not all of them were surfers. There were people on the beach in various stages of dress, with varied accoutrements of fun nearby. There were body surfers suiting up, photographers with numerous lenses, sand explorers with metal detectors scanning the beach, and others just watching. I waited for the sun to peek around the point.
There’s a nice swell moving into the area today and tomorrow resulting from the Pineapple Express pounding the Bay Area. I watch as the body surfers exit the water, hair in their eyes and snot running, grins of exhilaration that will take hours to fade stuck to their faces. They remind me of the years spent at Zuma, Mom on the beach and us kids in the water until we were forced to get out. To me, there was nothing like that lift the swell gives you as it goes by, or the delayed “water quake ” as you hunkered on the bottom, waiting for that bigger wave to pass through. I always got out sunburnt, salty, and grinning knowing I was going to sleep well that night.
There are youngsters on the beach with camera outfits that cost more than my car. Parents proudly watch, watchers gauge the wave height vs their own courage, and gray whales and sailboats wander by offshore. Whitewater shoots in the air, and a turquoise-jade colored wave reflects the sun shining through it.
Many go to Church this Sunday morning. I’m already there.