Developing a Tolerance for Paradise

I left the house a little before 7:30 this morning. The sky is mostly cloudy but it has a sort of tropical vibe. There is still lots of blue sky scattered about and a light breeze.

It's cooler than it has been in a couple days but not at all cold. I drive through Dana Point and today doesn't quite have the summer time shine of recent swims. Still it's nice. Very nice and I know the water is going to be pleasant.

I can feel the cool in the air as I step out of the car. I miss the late morning heat of the sun I've had the past couple days. It's quiet here. There are large ominous clouds over the ocean surrounded by an outline of blue sky. The water looks textured but still.

The tide is low and the beach is beautiful. The surf is small. Surfline says 3-4 but I'm not seeing it here.

Mmmmmm. The water does feel warm. I may feel warmer once I get in the water than I do right now.

The shallow water here is super clear and I can see the sandy bottom below perfectly. No stingrays in sight.

As I walk out into the water, the sun is just coming over the bluff behind me and I can feel it's heat hit the back of my shoulders. Can I just remain standing right here for the next hour in lieu of a swim? No. Doesn't count.

I start to swim and the water feels nice but just a tad cool. This is the cool experienced by someone used to swimming in mid 70s water tht sits under 78 degree air. I try to recall the real cool of spring and this is something entirely different.

I lament the end of summer but I worry of losing my tolerance for cold water. Instead I seem to be developing a tolerance for paradise.

I'm swimming north and I lift up my head to notice the end of Monarch point. I'm still well inshore and the lifeguard tower is just ahead and the sand glows gold all along side of me.

I lower my head and watch the sea grass on the rocks swaying back and forth with the small swell.

I cross the point and the water is not nearly as clear now but I'll tell you what it is. Warmer.

I don't necessarily feel like I am being pushed but I feel like I'm gliding quickly over the water with little effort.

The clouds and the sun that leaks through the cracks creates an interesting contrast of light and shade all around me. The cliffs behind me below the headlands are almost black and void of color or detail. The Monarch beach club and the sand in front of it are well illuminated. The water in front of me has a matte like finish with light reflecting the grey clouds over head.

I'm getting close to the beach club already. How can this be? I'm not ready to be done. I wish I could clear the day’s schedule and swim to three arch bay or 1000 steps. I keep swimming and decided to turn around once I'm right in front of the restaurant which seems to take about two seconds.

I see the sun shining bright over the golf course and a golden line tracing a path back to the sun glows on the water.

As I swim back south, the shore and the slope behind it are dark in shadow. There is a group of about 30 people all with red shirts running on the beach. I assume it is a cross country team from one of the local high schools.

I still feel like I am maintaining a good pace. It’s like the ocean surface is made of butter and I am just sliding along. Do I even need to keep moving my arms and legs? Will inertia take over and carry me all the rest of the way?

It is getting darker and darker here as the cloud cover fills in over the water. I still see blue light east of the bluff. I'm sure this will all burn off some time today.

I begin to see signs of surf as I approach the point. Once I am in front of the main break, the surf pack is just about 40 feet in shore of me. I take a picture and feel creepily voyeuristic doing so. I'm not asking for consent.

I cross over to the strand and I see schools of fish close to the surface. In fact I see flopping activity above. Then suddenly I see a bird coming in from above the cliffs. It swoops down right on to the water and snatches something with his beak, puts up a small struggle and then flies away with a fish. I think the moral of this story for the fish is don't be flopping about on the water.

I finish off this delightful swim. As I walk up the stairs I imagine what I would say if someone asks me how the water was. Are there even words? Perhaps ineffable is the best response. Well, nobody asked.

Just as I'm getting into my car, a woman is asking her companion where they should go for breakfast. Neither can settle on a place and both want to defer to the other. One is listing off Bonjour Cafe, RJs, All about the cake. She keeps listing them off and she is standing about 4 feet from me. Finally I tell her I think Bonjour would be the right choice (it's so obvious) and they settle on Bonjour. My work is done here.