Early morning swim today at 6:30. I have no meetings before 9 the skies are clear and it is supposed to be on the windy and choppy side by mid to late morning. So I might as well swim now while conditions are good. And they are indeed good.

I’ve been eyeing the buoy data the last couple of mornings and the south wind has been good to us. The camp Pendleton and Oceanside water temps are solidly in the 70s and San Pedro is at 67. I’m eager to test this data with a real world swim!

Still there is something about the early morning hours that always makes me wonder, “is this really a good idea?” I am warm now. Why ruin a good thing? The best I can do is to put myself on auto pilot and just program in the coordinates for “happy place.”

As the coastline comes into view driving past Doheny, I see a large, thick marine layer far, but not too far, off shore. I wonder is it coming or going? Well I’m half way there and I’m not turning back.

When I get to the Strand parking lot, the water looks peaceful and smooth. The marine layer still hovers in the distance but I pay it no mind - well that’s not entirely true but I at least try to pretend.

As I head down the stairs I feel like I have passed the point of no return and the water I am looking at in front of me is inevitably about to enfold me. I am about to die to my dry warm self and resurrect from that water as something new.

The tide is low on the beach but in just a few hours it will be quite high - over 5 feet. I see two women make a B-line (whatever that is) to the water and start splashing themselves. They are doing this in a joyful and almost giddy manner. I feel the water with my feet and I think that the water is exactly where the giddiness is coming from. This is indeed warmer than earlier in the week.

There are two men near the spot where I begin my swim and they are just playing in the waves. That summer that seemed to runaway Wednesday afternoon with the fog must have missed us because it is back and has brought a party with it.

As I head out into the water, I notice these deep divets in the shallow sand as the water surges westward and is sucked in by the oncoming waves. The wave then breaks and the water rolls over these indentations and as it moves over them and then again gets sucked back out, they form their own little wavelets giving the surface here a turbulent texture like walking through a witch’s cauldron.

I dive in and swim south. It’s good. There is no bite with the coolness. Immediately I feel like I have pierced through a veil and it is hard to believe that I was just on the other side. I try to imagine the life that I had on that shore and it feels so far away. I have finally awoken from that dream.

Everything about where I am right now is beautiful. The water is smooth and reflects the pale blue sky. Overhead there are small puffy clouds held motionless in a mosaic of other like clouds. We are still in the shadow of the bluff on the other side of the shore. Soon, as I pass the little lifeguard station at the bottom of the asphalt ramp, I see the sun just peeking over that cliff.

The water looks dark but that algae bloom from earlier in the week is mostly gone. I can’t see the bottom but the water does not appear cloudy at all and I can clearly see my hands and arms in the water below me. The water feels so great and warmer than it has in a couple of weeks. No it does not have some of those crazy warm patches I swam through on Tuesday but there are no cold patches here and the water feels just as warm a few feet below the surface as it does along its upper crust.

I make my way for the cliffs below the headlands. As I look east at the beach, I just see a shadow and can’t make out any details of the houses so I can’t tell if I am just half way down the beach or if I am nearly at the end. I try to keep myself from looking up in order to maintain the sensation of mystery. Does it really matter where exactly I am? I feel like I possess just enough information and no more that I need to travel through this moment. Any more would just be excess baggage.

I get to the end eventually and see a small pack of surfers further inshore from where I am. As I look north and gaze toward Monarch Beach and then Laguna Beach beyond that and San Pedro even further, I notice waves in the water near the lifeguard tower. There are always waves in the water of some size but this looks more active than it has been in a while.

I start to swim north. I feel like I am settling into a rhythm here. The initial southern leg of the swim can often be a little disorienting as I try to gather my bearings and ease in to the fact that I am going to be wet for the next hour. There is a sort of vertigo that can fall upon me as I get caught looking forward in time to the end of the swim that has only just begun. I feel tossed back and forth between beginnings and ends trying to find my place in between.

I feel like the mind meld between myself and ocean is well underway now. The water transfers its memories into my mind’s eye through the vehicle of breath. I see that horizon from the perspective of morning, noon and night. That kelp rooted to the floor as silent watcher of all of these things reaches and touches my toes as if to acknowledge that it sees me too.

Eventually I am on the other end now. How did this time pass so quickly? I can hear what sounds like a mechanical contraption just a few yards away and I recognize it as the breath and stroke of another swimmer. At the same time I feel my whole body rise and I notice the shore become small as a wave passes on its journey east. I can see a mist blow westward off of its crest as it curls just before it breaks.

I head south again and finish the swim. That ominous marine layer from earlier in the morning seems long gone now. I swim gradually closer and closer to shore. I’d like to merge with some of the larger waves making their way in for the weekend. I see a small group of swimmers gathered on the shore that appear to be of the same group belonging to the swimmer I saw a few minutes ago.

A wave does come in and break before I get fully upright but it’s nothing special really. Those dips in the sand are still here and are still fluffing up the water. I make my way towards and then up the stairs. The other swimmers are about 50 feet ahead of me. It is still a beautiful morning and it’s not looking like that is going to change any time soon.

When I get to the showers up top and see the other swimmers, we all comment on the warmth of the water. It’s the type of thing that you just can’t NOT mention.