A Gray Haze of Nothingness

I got up this morning, opened up Surfline on my phone to check out the Strands webcam and my heart sinks when I see fog. Lots of fog. In fact, that was all I saw. I’m not planning on swimming for another few hours so maybe it will burn off by then. I know this is wishful thinking.

At about 6:15 I take my dog out for a walk and things are not looking good. I can hardly see the Eucalyptus trees in Sunset park just a block down the street. However, up the hill I can see sun and blue sky.

At 7:00 I decide I’m going to drive to the Strand, run through the harbor and then just see what the fog situation is then. At worst I’ll get in a nice run and at best I will get in a bonus swim. Maybe if it’s still bad I’ll just get in the water since I am already at the beach and swim around just a little bit.

The run is good except my left achilles is sore and I have to walk for about a half mile to ease the soreness. I’m hoping this does not develop into a problem. I have not had to visit the elliptical machines in months and I am in no hurry to go back.

The fog does not appear to be rapidly burning off, but perhaps there is progress. It is much more thick to the north as it usually is but I can see Dana Cove from the harbor bridge. At the tail end of the run on the bluff over the strand, I can see water. I can’t see very far and I can’t see Monarch Beach but maybe I can do this. I can see the south cove pretty well from the center of the parking lot.

What water I can see is smooth and glassy. There is some leftover surf from a swell that peaked mid-week and is now easing. I’m feeling more confident that this is going to be fine. The horizon is indeed soft. Well, it’s not even really visible. I just see water disappearing into cloud at a point that seems far enough into the distance for my comfort zone.

I change into my trunks and head down the stairs. When I reach the asphalt ramp I see a flock of about half a dozen pelicans swoosh down right in front of the little Strands lifeguard station. I reach the sand and then the water. It’s cool but feels good on my feet.

The beach looks pretty misty in all directions. I step in and move past a small set of shore breakers. Then a larger wave comes in and I bob over the crest just before it curls and breaks. I feel my body rise off the floor and then slide a bit towards the shore and then hear the wave crash.

I start swimming south and the cool water feels super refreshing especially around my burning achilles. I watch the sandy bottom below me and what appears like a massive dust storm rise and then settle as waves roll by. Then I see isolated rocks and bits of exposed rock here and there and finally, once I reach the distance I intend to keep from the shore, I spot large islands of rock clusters and swaying kelp and occasional schools of small silver fish.

I want to see another one of those flocks of pelicans swoosh right over or beside me. I see a couple random pairs but nothing so graceful and dramatic as that flock I saw coming down the asphalt. Soon I reach the southern end of the beach and shortly thereafter turn around.

I’m feeling so grateful that I was able to get this swim in. I really didn’t think it was going to happen. If I hadn’t come here for the run before hand, I may have never come for the swim since I have to leave for something in Laguna later in the morning.

As I swim north I stare into a gray haze of nothingness. The coolness here hovers just on the edge of comfort and not so comfortable. However not so comfortable is pretty tame and mild and I don’t need to be perfectly comfortable every moment of the day. There is something to be said about allowing for voluntary moments of uncomfortableness. There is a difference between uncomfortable and suffering. Suffering is a reaction to uncomfort. Don’t get me wrong. I do plenty of suffering but right here and right now I am somehow given the grace to take any discomfort I may feel in the water and let it propel me forward.

When I get near the north end of the beach, I can see the light of the sun penetrating through the fog and onto the hills just to the east of PCH across from Salt Creek. I think of waiting to take a picture until I turn around since I am so close but decide that I better take it now because these things can change in an instant.

When I do reach my turnaround spot, I can see surfers scattered on the other side of the point like black specs. The surf is mostly calm here but every now and then a couple nice waves make it through.

I swim back to the ramp in front of the asphalt. I keep going until I feel my fingers reach the sand and then I let a small wave break just on my shoreward side which sort of catapults me into a standing position. I can feel my tight achilles and walk on up the stairs.

There is still plenty of fog here but it is definitely waning. It seems clear through the lantern district and then just past Golden Lantern heading down the hill towards Del Obispo, there is a large fog bank hovering over southern Doheny and Capo Beach. I get home and from here you would never know there was any fog anywhere.