I wasn’t planning on swimming today. However at 11:00 the sun was shining and there is only a light breeze in the air. As I am looking at the beach cams, things look lovely. A storm is expected to arrive today. In fact there is a 99% chance of showers in just a couple hours. So it just seems like it would be a shame to waste an opportunity before this window is slammed shut.

I get ready to go and I am in my car just a little past 11:15. Things are already beginning to deteriorate. There is a bit less blue sky above than there was just a bit ago. Still things seem nice enough. There is a house at the very end of Camino El Molino that I pass as I exit my Capo Beach neighborhood. It has a flag on a pole that is mounted on its roof. This flag serves as one of my early warning indicators of current wind conditions. Of course it’s never early enough. If I have made it this far, there is no turning back barring a tsunami warning. Anyways, the flag is waving fairly vigorously. That’s fine.

I pass Doheny and the water is starting to look pretty stirred up. It’s not choppy yet but thngs are no loner what they were an hour ago - that’s for sure. When I get to the parking lot, the sky is undoubtedly more grey than it was when I left my house. There is still some blue here and there and I still have no regrets for coming here.

When I get to the beach the tide looks even lower than it was yesterday but according to the charts, it should be about the same. All I can think is that the surf is smaller today and maybe that is pushing less water onto the shore. What I love about this low tide is that I can now actually see the sand in the sand bar. I can see the inner trough that now looks like a small pond. It looks less rocky today and yesterday than it has over the past couple weeks.

That tractor is still here working the beach at the north end by the bathrooms. However that dug up section here at the ramp looks like it has been healed. Either they covered it over or the tides took care of it on its own.

I set down my stuff and head for the water. My last few swims have held only a mild level of agitation as I mull over the thought of getting wet. I’m not crazy about the oncoming cold and if I wanted to get myself all bothered by it I’m sure I could, but I take solace in the plain fact established by past experience. I just have to do it. I just have to actually get wet and allow my body to feel the cold and then I will find my thoughts changed and my outlook indelibly altered as the water has its way with the energy that passes through my mind. I know this, and as I walk into the surf even though it feels unintuitive to say the least to dive into the water, I do it knowing its the only path to overcome the anxiety.

And it’s done. I’m in the water and swimming southwest. It definitely feels like I am swimming against something. As I look to the beach, it feels like I’m not really moving. However I do see the shadows of rock and kelp beneath me pass by so I must be making some kind of headway. My goggles get all fogged up and eventually it bothers me enough to make me stop and clear them up but the water is so agitated that it really doesn’t make that much of a difference. Almost the entire swim feels like I travel through a blur of swish swoshing water bouncing in front of my face.

I’m not in the water long before any memory of blue sky is erased. Wait…was it ever blue? It’s about as grey as it can ever be right now. Still no regrets. I’m happy to be here.

At the south end, the low tide draws out the rocks here. Just a few more feet south and I’d be in a maze of large rocks that are usually completely submerged. I turn around and immediately the tone and timbre of the swim alter as the current now pushes me forward. Before you know it I have traveled the entire length of this beach and am in front of the northern bathrooms.

The water feels about the same as yesterday. I can’t say it is warmer but it’s for sure no colder. The light out certainly isn’t doing it any favors. When I can actually see something other than sheets of water over my goggles, I see white puffy clouds just under darker, gloomier grey clouds. They sit just above the horizon and, in this foggy vision, they look like white water from a freshly broken wave. Uh…oh. Did I miss that tsunami warning?

As the water rolls over my back and head, it brings dream like thoughts. Moments of my life spray scattershot onto the ocean’e surface in front of me. I lose any sense of a linear time-line here. Out here past the surf, past, present and future are but a single block of time that encase my body. Memories disperse into the water with every exhale and fantasies, hopes and worries loom just on the horizon and drift into the coves past Three Arch Bay and into Laguna.

There are brief instances where I reassemble my sense of who I am and wonder where I am and how much further I have to go. The thought of another 20 minutes seems overwhelming. I lean into the cold and find a home in my exhaustion where I think I can ride out this time in the ocean. I remove the world that rests on dry land from my consideration and there is only this that remains.

Well it’s time to tun around and once again, everything changes. I’m pummeled straight on again and again and again by moving water. I try not to fight it but just to dig into to the energy of my stroke. I just resign myself to thinking that if it takes all day to get back, well, then it takes all day. The current is absolutely stronger than when this swim began but I can still see the ocean floor move beneath me. It’s like Einstein’s general relativity. Objects move faster here than they do onshore. I wonder am I aging more quickly than I would if I were sitting on the beach?

I turn eastward and head directly for the cliff. Before long I feel my hand hit the sand below me. I stop and come to a standing position. Again, my perception of the world is transformed. What seemed like a fierce tempest just moments ago calms into a beautiful coastal vision before me. I walk across the shallows transfixed by the wonder of these clouds and water and sand. I grab my pack and I’m cold and I’m tired and I’m so happy I came here and I am so grateful this place is here to come to. As I pull out of my parking space, it begins to rain.