Atomic Chaos
Finally the winds have calmed. They have been blasting from the northwest with heavy surf since Tuesday (2 days ago). This morning as I walk my dog, Ocean, through Pines Park, I can see the surface of the water and it looks much more benevolent than I have seen since early in the week. The big scary factor now is beneath the surface. Water temps have taken a free fall. The buoys are between 53 and 55 and the surf report, which rarely talks about temperature, calls out the fact that the temps are between 52 and 54. That’s pretty much as low as it gets here.
What happened to 58? One may not know that there are about 5 million degrees between 52 and 58. Not intuitive but I assure you it is true. Don’t believe me? Come see for yourself and I’m sure we will land on the same page. Well it’s probably going to be a short swim. Still, I want to get into the water and at least experience this. It’s not that often it gets this cold.
I get to the Strand parking lot at about 10:45 and there is a little bit of a southern breeze blowing now but the ocean surface looks fairly calm. I can see shadows in the water as I walk down the stairs hiding the rocks and kelp. The tide is pretty low but rising and it looks like we have lost some sand. There is about a one foot step off the end of the concrete ramp to the beach and the Jupiter rock is nearly completely exposed now. In the summer you can hardly make out the top few inches.
I step into the water and at first I am thinking, “no big deal,” but after a few seconds my feet ache. I settle my stuff on the rocks and head for the water. It’s a little cool out but it is a beautiful day. The sun is shining over a clear blue sky except for some rather large fluffy clouds to the east. There is some fairly minor surf in the water and I start to head in. The ocean floor is all wobbly. I sink down to my belly and think I will start swimming but then I rise to knee level water. Finally I am right at the edge or the surf and I dive into the face of the next wave and I’m off to the races.
Oh…my…god…it is cold. My throat and upper chest feel like they are trying to contain some sort of atomic chaos below the skin. Soon my legs go nearly limp. I need to trust that this is all part of the process. It is a sort of death and resurrection one must go through. I don’t think I have ever experienced the initial cold shock quite so strong as this. I stop swimming momentarily to gather myself. I honestly don’t know how much of this is physical and how much is psychological. Am I just psyching myself out with that 52-54 degree rating in the surf report?
My body stabilizes and I resume swimming and after just a couple minutes I think I see a dolphin just inshore of me. I stop and indeed I do see that. There are two moving north and I watch them silently glide below the water and then pop back up just for a second about 20 feet further down. I turn myself around to head south again and I see another dolphin just a few feet in front of me. It dives under the water and I put my head underneath to see if I can see him or her. It is is so very close. I hear a distinct dolphin squeal but see no dolphin. I come back up and then see it pop up north of me a ways. I look around to see if any more are coming and it looks like that’s it. I resume and remember it’s cold.
I just keep moving south and eventually my body reaches some kind of an agreement with the water and I magically grow comfortable. However it feels like I am behind a rather thin partition that separates me from the cold. I’m totally down for a shorter swim today and I hope the swim I have planned is short enough.
I keep moving and I’m mindful to stay as close to the shore as is sensible. The water is a beautiful blue color and I see the tentacles of kelp twirling and twisting in front of me. I see a surfer heading my way and it looks like he is rushing. I don’t see an oncoming wave and I wonder what is the urgency. Then I wonder, is it me? Is he racing out to rescue me? Do I look like I need rescuing? I just keep swimming forward and there is no rendezvous between me and the surfer.
I am nearing the end of the beach and getting to that part where the surfline veers sharply offshore. I’m so close and just don’t have it in me to contend with the possibility of breaking waves close by so I decide to turn around just a little early. Also, if this cold gets to be too much, I’d prefer to find out close to my finish spot and not in the section just in front of the wooden boardwalk where the shallows are extremely rocky and exposed right now. I do feel pretty good, but there is an energy at play here that I think could eat away at my comfortable shell pretty quickly.
I head north and sure enough about half way back up the beach, my hands lose there dexterity and eventually my fingers are all spread apart and I can’t will them closer together. I feel like my arms are just plodding over the water. I am nearing the finish and there is no way I am going to do the northern wing of the swim that I usually cover. I see my landmark house on the bluff and realize I have overshot it a bit and then aim myself south again. I make it. I stand myself up and the sun feels so good.
I grab my pack and head up the stairs. I place my hands on the metal railing and it feels so warm that I want to stop and curl my whole body around the entire length of the bar and embrace the metal for several minutes. Hey, maybe make a day out of it. I figure that will probably raise some eyebrows and I might be embarrassed to show myself here again so I decide that regardless of how I feel, I will commit myself to acting like a normal person at least until I am inside the privacy of my car.
I look at my pictures and discover I was in the water 40 minutes as opposed to my usual hour or more. I don’t feel guilty at all for cutting the workout short. In fact, I feel like my body is still in workout mode until well after I get home and put on warmer clothes.
