I wake up at 4:15 this morning and peek at the Strands web cam. In a glance, this gives me all the information I need. The beach is completely fogged in and you can’t see a thing. I go back to sleep.

It’s sunny at my house by about 9:00. My son and I are shopping at Sprouts off Estrella in San Clemente and you can see a wall of fog looming just down the street toward the coast. By about 11:30, things look like they are clearing up on the cams and I leave the house at 12:45. It’s become a beautiful summer day.

The parking lot is well populated and I can’t remember the last time I have parked so far away from the stairs to the beach. It looks a lot like it did yesterday: a pretty solid onshore breeze, little surf and lots of people. As I pass by the lifeguard station, the water temperature reads 62. 62?! Well I wouldn’t be too surprised with the onshore winds we have had the past few days. It’s ok. I can do 62.

I get in to the water and it does feel noticeably colder than yesterday. It is brisk and at first I feel like 62 is not at all far fetched but over the course of the swim I’m thinking it’s likely warmer. There are a few warm patches especially in spots where there is dense seaweed gathered over the surface. They must somehow trap the heat of the sun.

It feels super good to be in this water. I was tempted not to swim at all and go for a run in the interest of time but this is feeling like just what the doctor ordered. It’s just the right amount of cold and I let my mind fall into a state of not thinking. It is indeed good not to think sometimes. I don’t think it is as productive as we give it credit for and often anti productive. I find a lot of thoughts that I’d be better off without. As I release the need to think I feel my mind just relax and enter into the tactile experience of this swim. It’s good - real good.

I’m swimming south today and the current, like yesterday, is moving south and I feel like I am swimming at warp speed toward the headlands. I can’t help but wonder what the north bound leg will be like. Those pesky thoughts. I figure it’s gonna be what it is gonna be.

I arrive at the south end of the beach, and as I look north toward Salt Creek, it looks pretty darn hazy and the point off the Ritz is partially shrouded in mist.

I start to swim north and as I breath facing the horizon, I’m not seeing much of a horizon. In fact it is looking pretty darn grey. I stop and inspect the westward view and it looks like the fog is about to make a come back. As I continue along the south end of the beach the fog gets closer and once I’m at the middle stairs, I can barely see the shore. It’s a completely different day out than when I started.

I’m really not that far out as I have been anticipating this and trying to stay relatively close to shore. A boat comes motoring around me and it seems like that boat is awfully close to shore for a vessel of its size. I wonder if they have lost their orientation in this fog. I start to swim towards the shore with the plan to swim right on the edge of the surf. Fortunately today’s surf is small enough where this is no problem at all.

Quickly visibility drops to almost nothing. I can see the golden sliver of the shore just adjacent to me and that is about it. I’m swimming in about 6 feet of water and eventually this becomes just a few feet as I pass over the rocks of the main surf reef. I see a couple bat rays swimming here. It seems like it would be easy for a surfer to fall and land on one but I’m guessing those rays are pretty swift to dodge such a thing.

I’m never crazy about swimming through fog but with the small surf and being so close to shore, I can see just enough and feel pretty confident I’m not going to get lost.

Things stay like this for a good ways and then when I am approaching the northern bathrooms to the south of the main lifeguard tower, things start to clear up to the north. I can see blue up ahead and a clear view of that tower. Just a few minutes later I can see all the way to Monarch point. However, behind my to the south, there is no sign of Dana Point. I can only see as far as the asphalt road. Everything beyond that is hidden in fog.

Just as it is time to turn around, I get just the faintest view of a silhouette of the Dana Point headlands. After another few minutes, there it is in all of its glory and it is like the fog was never here at all.

I swim all the way to the concrete ramp and I emerge onto a shore that looks just as it did when I left it. You’d wonder, with that fog, maybe people would get up and leave. Nope. I think they are all still here. I feel like I somehow swam into the next day and so very much happened in the short time I was in the water. Is it still 2024? Who is president?

I head up the stairs and am just so glad that I swam. That transition from sunny to foggy to sunny was not something I’d want to miss. I hit the shower and it feels even warmer than it did yesterday. Definitely warmer than 62. I take the long walk back to the car on the hot pavement. I bet the fog never even showed up here in the parking lot the whole time I was gone.