I left at about 10:30. The sky is overcast but at least we don’t have the fog we had yesterday. It’s not exactly warm out but not cold either. I know the water is likely a couple degrees colder too. I’m trying to convince myself that conditions are not arctic, because they're not.

As I drive to the beach, I’m fully aware of the state of cognitive dissonance that I hold in my mind. Everything that I see and sense in my physical surroundings in comparison to what has been here over the last month or so argues that we have fallen over a cliff and landed in the dead of winter. All the while my logical brain refutes these ideas. There is a touch of warmth in the air, the water is not yet in the 50’s - not even close.

So I make my way across San Juan creek, through the lantern district and around the bend into the Strand parking lot. I get out of the car and keep the mute button on my voice of winter apocalypse. It’s really not all that loud but I wonder if it might start screaming once I get in the water.

It’s pretty darn grey out here. I really don’t think this is going to be changing any time soon but I also know that things could change pretty quick. I just don’t have any expectation that they will.

I feel pretty ready for cold water today. Despite whatever trepidation I have, I feel like now is as good of a time as ever to get cold. Might as well get started now. My body needs to adapt after this run of tropical grade warmth.

I get to the shore and the light brown fluffy sand immediately feels delightfully warm and my feet sink deep into it. Once I hit the harder wet sand, it starkly turns to cold. I feel the first bit of water splash over my feet and it’s cool but not horrifying. The beach looks nice and peaceful.

I start walking into the water. I see a flock of Pelicans off in the distant horizon. I snap a picture of them but know they are going to come out like little black specs.

Yes it is cold. I eventually take a small jump forward and bounce into the water right in front of me. It’s cold but I’m surviving here. My arms and pretty much my entre upper body is enveloped by a chill and I feel slightly short of breath. Keep kicking. Keep my arms moving. Watch closely the sensations that roll over and through me.

I’m moving back and forth between “oh my god this is cold” and “oh wait, it’s not really that cold.” It’s definitely colder than my Sunday swim two days ago. Damn you westerly winds! I swim south and watch the houses move by and I wonder why they move so slow.

It gets better for sure. I find some warmer spots and the cooler spots do not feel so very cool. The houses start to move more quickly. I’m thinking back to swims I can remember from previous years right around this time when the water is getting cooler but not yet down right cold. The water always feels colder than it really is and thinking ahead to even colder water feels impossible and a little disheartening. I then remember swims in the spring that were truly cold and the hope and exhilaration I would sometimes feel in my body’s resilience. It always gets a little worse before it gets better.

I eventually make it to the south end of the beach. The scenery here is still as grey as it was when I started. The water is pretty clear but there is not much light poking through the surface. As it has been for the past couple weeks, there is almost no surf so I hang out right alongside the first large rocks one sees from shore. The water pulsates and moves below the tops of the rocks and then submerges them again.

I turn around and head north. It feels like I am moving at a good clip and I wonder how much the colder water is contributing to this effort.

I stop once I’m not too much farther up the beach. A small boat that I have seen before is moving fast not too far west of me. The headlands behind me look smaller than the last time I saw them. Just as I am about to start swimming again, I notice a faint patch of distinctively blue sky above Salt Creek just past the Ritz.

I keep moving and stop again and now the point at the end of the Strand is glowing in the light and my first thought is “lets go there.” The water feels a little warmer on my skin now. I hear the faint hum of a motor and look off toward the horizon and don’t see anything. I look in the other direction towards the shore and see that same small boat zooming back in the direction from which it came. It is pretty close to shore.

I take a picture out towards the sunny northern skies and then I spot a flock of Cormorants flying right toward me. I think what perfect timing, but it’s not. My camera is still processing the last picture I took and the birds fly right over me. I quickly turn around and manage to capture their back side.

Soon I find myself beneath the sunshine. How delightful. I see something in the not too far off distance north of me. It looks like a small buoy. It’s not lobster season quite yet. Maybe it’s a diver buoy? The water is nice and clear. I get close and it is definitely a lobster trap buoy. Lobster season begins Friday evening. Someone must be getting an early start. Not sure that’s legal but I won’t tell.

I swim deeper and deeper into the sun. Behind me I can see a distinct line where the cloud front begins and it is moving further west and becoming more faint as I move on. It has really turned into a beautiful late morning here and it wasn’t all that bad to begin with.

The color of the water is a navy blue and its fairly smooth. I can see the water rising and falling in different spots forming natural concave bowls into the ocean’s surface between here and Monarch.

Now here I am right in front of the bathrooms. Time to turn around. I aim along a path directly from here to the bottom of the asphalt road. Slowly, I get closer to shore. Eventually the bottom becomes much more sandy than it is rocky except at the very end there are a few in shore rocks to watch out for.

I get out and have a couple conversations on that asphalt road with some folks about the water conditions. As I walk up the stairs I reflect on how I really did not imagine that I would be making this walk up in the sun and I’m so grateful that I am.