I’m leaving early today at 6:00 so I can be back in time to take care of my son while my wife and older child are out for the day. It’s mostly cloudy out. It looks like the sky wants to be overcast but there are a few splotches of blue standing their ground. Based on the webcams, the beach looked totally socked in. The surf report was a little confusing. It said average spots were knee to stomach high and top spots were pushing waist high. Unless my understanding of human anatomy is incorrect, stomach is higher than waist.

I’m thinking on the way to the beach how this drive is a sort of meditation. My body doesn’t feel totally committed to the swim but yet here I am and on my way. I’m not focused on the effort behind getting myself into the water. It’s all just going to happen. I’m here in my car at 6:00 with my swim trunks on. Where else would I possibly go?

As I approach Selva which routes right towards the parking lot, my nerves spike and I realize what is happening here. It’s real. I really am going to get wet. I don’t have any choice in the matter. I mean I do but the choice has long been made - predestined and encoded into the fabric of my life today.

Well those splotches of blue sky have made their homes into large holes here over the ocean and the coastal hills. It’s subdued but quite nice. I listen to the birds as I head down the stairs and let their songs distract me from thinking of the cold. Today I remember to notice that the large sign down at the bottom of the stairs that has been advising of the county’s beach maintenance work has been removed. It has been replaced by one of those nature interpretive boards that talks about the seasonal ebbing and flowing of the sand and how the boulders may be completely buried in one season and exposed in another, which seems very topical to the work they just completed.

Speaking of ebbing and flowing of sand. We have gotten back about a foot since yesterday morning. The sand covers one corner of the ramp and is just a few inches below the other corner. The tide is quite low and with the mix of cloud and blue sky, the beach is stunning. By the time I get to the water’s edge in front of my usual take off spot, I realize that I am standing right at yesterday’s high tide surfline. There is even less surf today than yesterday and yet the water looks more active. It’s not chop or wind disturbance but it is just super wavey all over.

I make my way out and the sky just looks so dramatic. I know that I’m going to have to stop staring at the scene around me and actually start swimming if I want to ever get back home. So I dive under the next oncoming wave and off I go. The water feels about as cold as it has. I’m starting to believe the 59 degrees reported on the surf report. I remember when I started doing this almost exactly 4 years ago, the water was in the upper 60’s. The next year the temps reached the upper 60’s by the end of April. This year and last year we have not been quite so lucky. However I’ll take 59 over 54 any day.

I head south and marvel at the sky above me and revel in this roller coaster of an ocean. I really am not sure what direction the current is headed this morning. The surface is so bouncy that it feels like it is coming from every direction. Part of me is thinking what the hell am I doing here and the other is proclaiming how awesome this is. I’m trying to relax my mind and release the end goal of the swim, which is to finish. I just can’t be obsessing about the end right now, because that’s not where I am right now.

I’m getting closer and closer to the south end. I see my big rock come into view and I’m gauging my alignment with it and the shore. Soon I judge that the alignment is where I want it to be. I stop, raise my head, and there are large exposed rocks just 15 feet in front of me. This is no surprise - the tide being as low as it is - but it is a little jarring with the ocean pushing and pulling me and I quickly kick myself away to add some distance.

After scanning my surroundings and admiring the yellow light faintly painting the tops of the hills in Laguna Niguel, I head north and set my sights on that iconic (iconic to me anyway) lifeguard tower below the Ritz. It looks so far, but by the time I reach my next turn around point, it will look much much closer.

The light and clouds subtly shift along my north bound journey. I watch a rift in the distance casting luminous light onto the water. The clouds are dark grey here and bright white there. Here they look like a gauzy canvas and there they are highly defined explosions of vapor.

About half way up the beach I see something that is not water or sky floating on the horizon. I wonder what it is and stop to look. It is some sort of a one man vessel. Maybe a large jetski? Hard to tell exactly. I hear music playing and I say hello but don’t hear a response. There is a lot going on out here so it is hard to tell if I just missed their reply. I continue on.

I’m looking for that buoy I saw at the end of yesterday’s swim. I know I’m probably fairly close but I can’t see it anywhere. The ocean is so rambunctious that it would be easy to miss. Those bathrooms are getting closer. Those I can see. The water looks a bit cleaner on the northern half of the beach. Last night the harbor water was cleaner and I did not see a brown hue on the water as I passed Doheny on the way here, but coming down the stairs, the water did look brown. Hard to say if that was red tide or just the shadow from the clouds. It was red tide for sure. The southern half of the swim I could see that familiar brown cloud hovering below me.

Well here I am. I take a look all around. Still can’t see that buoy and I head south to finish the swim. The water is not getting any warmer. There are a few spot that provide some relief but those spots are few and far between this morning. Once I’m half way to the finish from my northern turn around, I lift my head and that buoy is practically right in front of my face. Well this is exciting. I’m right here. I can see some writing on it and swim up a little closer to get a look. Ah I recognize this one. It lacks a creative name like the others, It just says “Lifeguard - 300 meters.” It looks like something has rubbed off parts of the ink since I saw it last year.

I head back toward home and soon I am standing upright and heading for the ramp. Well that was great. Cold, but great.