On The Other Side At Last

I left the house at about 10:00 this morning. The sky is clear and it’s getting warmer now that it is mid-morning but there is still a hint of coolness in the air especially anywhere outside of the direct path of the sun.

On the drive to the beach, I’m noticing the skies are more hazy today and don’t have the same crisp and clearness they have had the past few days. This is particularly apparent on the last few hundred yards towards Selva. I can see the hills just below Crown Valley but Laguna looks like it is lost in haze.

I park in my favorite spot. I am nice and warm inside my car until I open my door and catch the cool breeze. It’s not at all what I would call cold. It’s just…well…November.

I make my way down the stairs. Particularly in the shady spots I catch myself wondering, “do I have to do this? Isn’t there a better way to get in my workout that does not involve cold and wet?” This is all just part of the routine. Even as I think these thoughts I know they are just an illusory screen that stand between me and the ocean right in front of me. The only way to break through it is to get in it. Then I will be free. My small mind can’t comprehend what my bigger mind knows so well. Once I’m in the water, it will be great.

On the beach, I watch the light of the sun shimmer on the surface of the water. Yesterday’s swells are still here. Looking north to Salt Creek, there are some great sets rolling in. There is a combo of NW and SSE swell in the water. Strands and Salt Creek respond to both southerly and northwesterly swells but shine come late Fall and Winter with the more westerly swells. From my perspective where I stand on the beach now, it looks like the waves are breaking way out in front of the lifeguard tower on the Strands side. In actuality they are breaking on the Creek side and not as far away from the point as it looks from here.

The water feels cool but about the same as yesterday. The air right now is much warmer than it was when I was here yesterday at just a little past six AM so the coolness of the water contrasts more sharply with the air. I remind myself that I am now just moments away from breaking this illusion. This both terrifies me and gets me motivated to get on with it already.

It seems like right here at my take off spot, the waves are not big at all. I wait for a couple to break and then I walk on out without hardly a splash. I push off the ground and in I go. A momentary surge of cold and then I’m on the other side at last.

It’s good…it’s good…it’s good. The cold drowns out every thought that could tell me otherwise. The cold pulls my attention to right here where I am right now. I look out to the horizon as I breathe and the cold reminds me that the horizon is the horizon and my breath is my breath.

I’m heading north today and as I get closer to Salt Creek, the optics correct themselves and I can see where the waves are actually breaking. There are a fair numbers of surfers out and I can see some on the wave and others pushing through the crest as they paddle out. I can feel myself rising and falling as the waves roll under me. This place is alive.

I hear the familiar tinny sound of a boat engine and I look up to see where it is and it’s racing just outside of me. A little further north I see another boat parallel to where I am now. As I get closer to it, I try to decide whether I will swim inshore or offshore of it. It looks pretty close to shore. I just aim for the Monarch Beach Club and soon I am to the west of the boat. It’s an Orange County Sheriff boat and I wonder why it might be here.

I keep swimming north and the temperature slightly fluctuates up and down. It’s all good. It’s in fact divine and I try to merge with it. There is nothing here but water and I can empty out my ego and everything that makes me separate and distinct until I lose who I am to this vast, cold wilderness.

I pass the next surf break just south of the bathrooms. I swim by several lobster trap buoys. The beach club gets closer. Monarch Point and Three Arch Bay get closer. I see the tops of several kelp trees pass under me. It feels like I must be making good speed based on how quickly they move. I’m now just in front of the service road that comes out to the beach club. I figure it’s time to turn back.

I’m a little closer to shore on the return trip and I try to keep my eye on the surf pack to judge where I need to point myself. The light gets darker momentarily as I near the point again. There are small little scattered clouds above me. Briefly, water visibility clears up here directly in front of the lifeguard tower but it soon gets obscured as I pass.

On the Strands side, it feels like the surf size comes down considerably. I look south to Dana Point and the water sparkles a path as far out as I can see which happens to change every few seconds as the wakes come and go.

It feels like I have hardly been out here very long at all. The water and the swell and the cold have bent the perceived passage time. I wonder how long I really have been out.

I pass the Niguel Shores blufftop estates and make my way to shore. I keep an eye out for an oncoming wave that never comes. Oh I feel the sand against my fingers now. I sit up and two pelicans fly overhead.