Transformative

Late start today. I leave a little after 12:15 for the beach. Skies are mostly clear and it’s 62 degrees outside. Overall the conditions are very similar to yesterday. Except today I really don’t have to wonder how cold the water will be because I know it will be the same as yesterday. There has not been any major wind event between now and then to change things up. Tomorrow will be a different story. Tomorrow morning there is supposed to be a northwest wind of about 20ish knots. It will die down some in the afternoon but not below 10. Come Monday, I would not be surprised if we lose a couple degrees.

But that’s Monday and there are no guarantees what will happen. Today I know it’s gonna be cool but manageable. The Oceanside buoy finally slipped to 61 degrees today, but what does that really mean? Maybe it means it went from 62.1 degrees to 61.8. Who knows? Perhaps I should be, but I’m just not familiar with the buoy manufacturer and the specs on its temperature rounding features.

Once I round the final bend on PCH past Prado and before Selva, there is a slight change in the sky color from mostly blue to a decent haze over the western horizon. I park and head to the stairs. The ocean surface looks pretty smooth. The afternoon surf report that came out just as I left says an onshore wind is picking up (like it does almost every single day about now) but it’s not really showing itself.

It’s low tide on the beach - just starting to rise from an 0.5. Like yesterday, small to medium sized surf is breaking way way out. The surf is a touch bigger than yesterday. I make my way out and it feels like it takes forever to make my way past the surf. First I walk quite a bit and then I start swimming and have to dive again and again and again under oncoming breakers. They are pretty small and gentle but I have to pause before I am completely in the clear to catch my breath. Then I keep swimming out and dive under a few more and finally I make it. Oddly it doesn’t seem that shallow out here at the primary break. At least my feet don’t touch the floor. Last year I could walk out a ways and then the water would get deeper and I’d need to swim and then it would get shallow (knee deep) again for a ways.

So I begin the swim south and it becomes obvious that there is a current coming from the south. It’s not super strong but I feel a moderate level of resistance all the way to the end of the beach. I see lots of exposed rock near the cliffs. The water rises and falls as the waves build and then break heading toward the craggy mussel covered rocks that are more often than not completely submerged, but not today. Or more accurately, not right now - it’s not like it’s low tide all day long.

I head north and now I feel that current at my back. I can feel the cold of the water slowly creep into my core. The temperature is just at the threshold now where it begins to trigger a different physiological response from my body. I can feel a warmth that is not warmth through the first half of the swim caused by my blood leaving my extremities and heading towards my core and then the inevitable slow drop of that internal warmth over the course of the swim. Still, today, it’s all pretty tame stuff and I am “generally” comfortable. A nice way of saying that I’m not fucking miserable.

I have to right myself several times to keep from drifting seaward. I gaze west towards the horizon with every breach and see the shimmer of the light on this relatively smooth water. It’s smooth but not flat. There is a lot of rising and falling. Looking north then south I watch the beach disappear and then reappear in a steady slow rhythm.

Despite the flow of current from the south, it just seems like it takes a good while to get to my northern turnaround. I look up to the cliffs at the base of the Ritz Carlton and it feels like they stay right where they were the last time I looked. Eventually though, they do get closer until here I am and there they are - we are sharing the same space it seems.

On the final leg south to my finish spot I intentionally cut inland. Eventually I see the back sides of the breaking waves just east of me. Are they east? The angles feel distorted and I end up needing to head back out west again because it feels like I’m getting too close. Then I have to turn around to head north again because somehow I over shot and with the tide as low as it is and the waves I don’t want to collide with the rockier patches that are just south of my usual point of land fall.

Soon I am merged with the surf. It’s just like yesterday. Gentle white water rolls over me. Often it runs out of steam before it can reach me. Where is the shore? Are we almost there yet? I gaze to my rear as I turn my head for air and watch the waves break behind me and then I feel my hand brush against the ocean floor and I realize I am in less than a foot of water now even though I’m at a distance to the shore where I am used to being in at least shoulder high or more of water.

I stand and walk the rest of the way to dry sand. And begin the walk back to the parking lot. This is probably my favorite part of the swim experience. Endorphins are peaking and whatever danger and stress the ocean has for me is now gone and conquered. A couple that sound of European origin ask me how the water is. I love it when people ask because I like to share. My initial response is that “it is nice.” Hmm. Is that right? Do those words accurately capture “how the water is?” I mean it’s not NOT nice. It’s 61ish and nice doesn’t feel like the right adjective. Definitely exhilarating. Transformative? Yeah, I think so.