Another day and I still can’t find much of a reason not to get in the water. Santa Ana winds are due to arrive mid-morning and last until tomorrow afternoon. So might as well get in the water before that happens. Despite the forecast for 70+ temps today, it’s colder and drearier than it was yesterday morning. Skies are mostly cloudy and while there is some blue sky to be found in spots and patches, it just doesn’t feel like the light is managing to penetrate. It’s like snow that won’t stick.

I leave just a little after 10:00 and then realize I forgot my camera a couple blocks out. So I turn around to retrieve it. The forecasted gusty offshore wind has yet to arrive. The air feels calm and the water looks glassy as I drive by Doheny and later into the Strand parking lot.

I head down the stairs and still have that nagging anxiety about the forthcoming swim. Coexisting with this anxiety is absolute certainty that the swim is going to be great. How do these seemingly opposing emotions share space together?

I contemplate this and wonder maybe because, although I know it will be good and my day will be transformed by the experience for the better, the swim itself is not going to be easy. That’s a fact. The cold is challenging. It’s not like some kind of trough of suffering that I must pass through to reach the pearly gates, it’s just intense. That is the best word for it. The entire experience is sensory saturation. Once I am in the water, that consumes my entire inner and outer universe. There is no room for anything else.

Here I am walking down the stairs and I am warm and relaxed. I like being warm and relaxed right now. I pretty much always like it. This sense of warmth and relaxation will be but a memory in the water. It won’t even be a memory. But you see this is part of the beauty of the experience. It is pure experience. I am aware of every inch of my body and how the water moves over it and not a whole lot more. It’s beautiful and a gift from God or whatever you want to call that thing we can’t see but penetrates all things.

There is something strange out on the water way out just past the boats. It’s something floating on the water, but I can’t tell what it is. Is it organic or synthetic? It’s some kind of golden-brownish smooth blob of something.

When I get down to the beach, the tide is just starting to rise above a 1 foot low. The surf looks a little smaller than yesterday. There is supposedly a building WNW swell that is very selective, due to it’s long period, to the Winter stand out breaks. Well this is one of those, and there is definitely some surf, but I’m not seeing anything noteworthy.

As I set down my stuff, my friend John is walking the beach and comes up and we discuss thermometers. I still need to get one. Based on last night’s water temperature report, the water here has been about 57 for the past couple weeks. That sounds about right.

I get in the water and, like yesterday, it feels like the waves are breaking farther out than usual but fairly normal for this time of the year especially after a large swell like the one we had over Christmas. I walk and the water quickly gets deep but the sand is piled up all over the place and I step to the right and rise up a foot or so. Then I just keep walking and walking in thigh to stomach deep water until I am nearly past the surf. Well I guess this is where I start to swim.

One thing I have noticed the last couple weeks is that the initial plunge does not feel as jarring as it once did. I don’t know if this is because I have risen to some kind of new evolutionary plateau or if I have just adapted for the season. However I do feel more adapted than previous seasons. Sometimes I wonder what this experience will be like if I keep doing this for another decade. I’m about 5 months shy of half a decade now. After 15 years will I be perfectly comfortable in the cold? I wouldn’t be surprised. Only 10 more years to find out. I’m sure it will fly by.

It’s a lovely grey day out. Everything feels hushed and calm. There are no surfers in the water today which is kind of rare. Maybe they all got scared off by that weird blob way out in the water that you can’t see at all from down here.

When I get to the south end, like yesterday, I can see this is where the bulk of the surf is breaking. It’s breaking just to my east right between me and the big rocks. I see the peak of one wave rising and then its crest catches the offshore breeze and it quickly rises a couple feet just before crashing down into the cliffs below the headlands. It’s cool to watch.

Now I swim north and over this half hour stretch from the headlands to Salt Creek, this entire environment metamorphosizes. That offshore wind intensifies from just a few knots to about 15. It’s offshore so thankfully it does not make for chop. Rather the surface of the water becomes sort of wrinkled all over like sand sitting on a vibrating surface. I can even feel the wind as I am swimming in the water. I can feel the spray of my splashing arms and legs raining over me. The clouds shift too. I see more blue sky to my west. The clouds that remain look blown out and spread apart - more thin and wispy. The day still doesn’t feel sunny but there is definitely more light. A sort of dark light.

I can feel the cold penetrate me and I in turn focus on penetrating the cold. I feel my body resist and in response I try to relax especially around my neck, shoulders and chest. As I do this, the cold softens. This is not my imagination or some kind of euphemism. I honestly feel the cold subside as I try to adjust the posture of my attitude toward the cold to one of acceptance.

Well here I am at the north end of the beach and it’s time to swim back toward that asphalt road that I can see now in the distance. I feel a rush of excitement as I begin this stretch. I know that I made it. The cold has not and will not conquer me. I am free to enjoy these last 10 minutes and relish the remainder of this experience.

I do just that and soon swim to shore. A wave breaks just behind me and I lower my head and watch the white water rush forward over and ahead of me. I stand in waist deep water, take a few steps closer to dry sand and then sink in a trench down to my shoulders. I swim a couple strokes to get past this and rise again to thigh high water.

It’s an entirely different beach now from the one I last stood upon just over an hour ago. There is a good wind blowing that was perfectly calm when I entered the water. There is light shining on the water in earnest. Parts of the ocean surface look electrified by the direct sun and the surrounding water that sits under the thin clouds is a dark dark blue. Magical stuff.