Wonderful Things

Yay - no fog today. I started my day with a walk with my dog, Ocean, to Pines Park. It’s a morning ritual that I love. I can look out on the water and see all the way north to Dana Point just past the harbor. The ocean surface is calm and glassy. It’s mostly cloudy but with plenty of brushes of blue sky mixed in. It’s also north of 50 degrees at 7:00. These are all wonderful things.

I head to the Strand a little past 8:45. There is an organized group of beach walkers gathering up by the bathrooms. I head down the stairs and the group follows about 50 feet behind me. The cold water anxiety is just starting to set in. This is progress actually. A couple years ago, I’d start getting nervous the night before a swim. I try to just relax and take in the silence in the air around me. I look out on to the ocean in front of me and ponder the vast emptiness that stretches out for forever and hides a world abundant with life and activity below its surface.

Tide is a little lower today. The high is still a couple hours away and it will only be 5 feet. There is a man fishing on the shore and I drop my pack on the rocks just short of where he is standing. I turn and walk towards the water just as that group passes by.

The water looks calm now and as I am starting to walk out, a set of larger waves comes. I decide not to wait and go ahead and start swimming. I duck under each broken wave and pop back up through the white water. Eventually the set completes and I keep swimming west until I am past the last of the bubbles.

It really is a beautiful morning. There is plenty of light coming from direct sunshine and lots of clouds scattered about to add just the right amount of drama. The surface of the water is smooth and reflects the light and clouds and I can see lines of curling peaks spraying mist with the offshore breeze all along the coast.

The water starts out feeling about the same as yesterday. It’s cold but not overwhelming and it takes a little longer for the sting to fade. I swim past the surfers that sit just between the asphalt road and the middle stairway. I wonder if any are the same surfers that I watched from my home on the web cam. I feel grateful that they are here and helping me to make out the size of the surf before heading out.

I’m waiting for that warm patch I swam through yesterday and find a cold patch in its place. The water gets more turbulent in the last few hundred feet just before the headland cliffs. I try to veer slightly more seaward to put a good distance between me and the big rock that dominates the water here.

I pause to take in the scene and a large group of Pelicans come flying in from the north. They swoop down to just above the surface about 50 feet outside of me and then rise and pivot west to round the point. It’s a beautiful thing to watch and I feel fortunate to be here to see it.

I look north and I can see the Ritz sitting over the lifeguard tower off in the distance. The sun is shining on the cliff and its bare face glows golden brown like a beacon between these two beaches. It’s the same beacon that guides me all along my north bound leg of this swim. It glows brighter and brighter and with more definition and detail as I move closer.

There are times where I feel resistance in the water and wonder just how fast I am moving. Then I see the kelp trees ahead of me like dark shadowy masses. They get closer and closer until they take on shape and my hand catches and presses down on their leaves which then rise back up and catch my kicking feet.

I want to stop and take lots of pictures but I also want to keep up with the cold. I feel like there are two sides of this cold. On one side my mind is overwhelmed by the intensity and I give way to panic and sink to the bottom of the ocean. On the other side I relax and rest in the faith that the cold gives me life. It’s totally up to me which side I swim on. Either side is all the same water. I think I have chosen the right side.

I reach the northern end of the swim and as I stop I feel my body warm as it heats the water around my skin. I’m lined up with the northern bathrooms and I can see the colors on Monarch point as if it is just an arm’s length way. I’m almost done now. I swim south and cross the gap between those bathrooms and the first house (or castle) on the Niguel Shores bluff.

The light is exquisite here and I have to stop for a better look. Just before resuming my swim I look south and see the sun shine pink on a line of wave as it transforms into white water.

Soon I am swimming directly east to shore. A set of waves is breaking behind and over me and push me into shallower water and I can feel my feet standing on sand. Just a couple more strokes and I’m now in thigh deep and walk to my pack.

There are a couple guys just standing and looking at me and then I hear my name. Oh it’s John, my friend from church and a friend of his. It seems like John is always talking to someone and introducing me to them. We chat for a bit and discuss the merits of fins. John, a former Newport Beach lifeguard, always swims with fins. A prudent move for sure.