Got the Sun On My Shoulders and My Toes in the Sand

 Beautiful autumn afternoon.  A break away from the office with thoughts of a much rougher ocean on the other side of the country.  Grateful for the peace and quite of our little Bay.  

 I headed to King Salmon; closest beach to campus so easy to get a nice walk and still not spend too much time away from the office.  I parked on the road outside Gil's parking lot and walk along the tiny jetty to the beach.  As I walked, I was joined by thousands of sandpipers (variety unknown to me) swooping overhead in that way they do, in their amazing ballet, mysteriously able to travel en masse bobbing every which-way without collision.

 I did catch them resting in a cluster as I walked along the shore, huddled tightly ...until they were disturbed, perhaps by me or perhaps by the urge just to fly.

 I could have watched them all day.

  Then they disappeared.

Throwing It All Away

A robin is NOT a sea bird. The robin gets the worm, right? What could this guy possibly be looking for in the sand? Perhaps he was just there to greet me as I headed out from the parking lot on the South Spit.

The beach at the south end of the spit is great for driftwood hunting and these would make great focal points in my garden but there was no way these would fit in my car or even on the roof rack. What must these have been like floating down the coastline? What must it be like for a fishing boat to encounter a floating tree on the water?

I found two floats on my short walk along this lonely stretch of sand. I also left with a bag full of bottles and caps and various other scraps of trash including a bleach bottle and a big 10-gallon pot that had likely held a substantial "plant" of some sort up stream.

Some of the trash was clearly left behind by beach goers, beer bottle left to mark the spot they held while enjoying the beauty of the sunset. Other detritus washed up on the night's high tide, flushed from hiding spots on the rivers or dropped from boats. We must learn to take care of our ocean so she doesn't have to regurgitate our trash from her bowels.

In A New York Minute, Everything Can Change

Oh how I wish I left work just a moment earlier. Instead of that one...last...thing.... Even so, as I headed home from campus, I could see the glow in the western sky. I had been warned all day by the flashing red of my Weather Channel desktop, alerting me to the heavy surf (and the "recommend you stay away from the beach" admonishments...HA!).

The spit is so FAR. It's so close I can SEE it but so far away when you want to BE there. I have to drive north to drive south again. Not sure I'll make it but I'll try. Traffic is in my favor as I go around the golf course and through town. Turning on to 255, towards the Samoa peninsula, I can see I'm not alone. I'm not the only one heading that direction, taunted by the warm glow in the winter sky. Not the only one for whom those "High Surf Advisories" is an invitation. Driving over the bridges, I sneak quick glances to see the enormous orange ball. Dropping. Too fast! Slow DOWN! Wait for me PLEASE!

As I sit at the stop sign waiting for the seemingly endless line of (four) cars to pass, I stow my purse and pull the straps on my shoes. No time to make it to the far end, to the harbor mouth where the final drop would surely be most spectacular. I pull into the parking lot at Samoa Beach, finding a spot easily, tear off my shoes and grab my camera. The howling wind convinces me to grab the raincoat I had taken this morning. I run. Through the cold sand, over the rise, JUST in time. The ball has dropped halfway into the water. The heavy surf roars but I'm sure there must be a loud sizzle as the cold water quenches the sun. I can't draw my eyes away from the orange sphere slowly.....slipping....

..under. The few of us at the beach watch the sky change from orange to dark, muddy blue. No doubt others were farther up the beach - this is a show not to be missed. We wrap our coats around our bodies, breathe deep. And head home. Lord I love this place!

The Tide Is High and I'm Holdin' On

Tides have been running pretty high or, as we call it..."the ocean is full". Once again, it's been ages since I've been on the water and, as always, I wonder if I remember how. It doesn't take long being afloat when it all comes back. Paddling is relaxing for me and I do it for me. As much as I like it, it's not my only entertainment. I took a week off earlier this month and never got on the water, though I got in the garden and on the beach. On the beach, I tend to augment my walks with litter collection (you take a bag to the beach, too, don't you?). And like my beach walks, my paddles tend to be a opportunity to keep trash from endangering marine life. Not far from launch, I spotted something sparkling in the water. At first, I thought it might be the head of a harbor seal. Or a bobber of some sort attached to a fishing line in the rowboat that passed. As I approached, it became clear that it was a bottle...a 40-ounce beer bottle, bobbing happily. I tossed it at my feet in the boat...my first "catch" of the day.
It was a stunning day on the water. With the water level so high, it was safe to explore up Eureka Slough, behind Jacobs Avenue towards Murray Field, without worry of 'beaching' when I take my eyes and mind from what I'm doing. Wildlife was limited to a couple egrets and a heron who stood by only moments then left in a squawky huff when I dallied too long trying to loosen another bottle from the water's edge. After just a couple hours on the water, I ended up with two 40-ouncers (what is it with the people who drink 40's of Steel Reserve?!), a couple chunks of foam, a bag of/from sunflower seeds, a rubber glove, a small blue ball of some sort...and a cigarette pack. Could have gotten more, including a soccer ball but I hesitate to get too far into the shallows when I'm alone, lest I get stuck and have no one to pull me out.

I will leave you with one last shot, taken at the surface as I approached the railroad trestle coming home. A gorgeous October day on the water. If I did it more often, it wouldn't be as special.

She Needs Wide Open Spaces....

Feels like ages since I've been on the water. I stayed close to home, opting for the bay on the heals of a good negative tide that landed at 7:30. I thought late morning would be a safe bet to ride the flooding tide so aimed for Eureka Slough.This seemed like an odd place for a patio but the view would be nice if they turned the chair around.

Zoom in to those big chucks of driftwood.

Peek-a-boo, egrets....I saw you.

I'm thinking that super-negative tide required more time to refill the bay because, after being caught off-guard by the shallows a few too many times when I wasn't paying attention, I returned to the harbor. I paddled around the docks until the fishing boats started coming in. Rode the wakes a bit then, when it became a little too bumpy out there, I called it a day. A good day on Humboldt Bay.

TOSSIN' AND TURNIN'

...splashin..
... and churnin...
.... blowin'...
.... and goin'....

how I love a good storm.

Highway To the Danger Zone

I was spoken to. Beckoned to the water as if by Sirens. The words...."high...surf...advisory" flashed on my Weather Channel Desktop, calling me to the sea with that mysterious force. The afternoon had turned gorgeous, at least in this piece of the world, at this moment. I had to take my lunch break at the water.

Driving out Table Bluff, dipping into then climbing out of Tsunami Hazard Zones would not normally be a concern but, after Saturday's 6.5 quake followed by news of the morning 7.0 in Haiti, I felt a bit squeamish. Funny how such things make us so aware of our mortality. As I reached the bottom of Hookton Road, at the far south end of the spit, I reconsidered the drive out to the end. It's only a couple miles out but I found myself calculating that I could get back to high ground in about three minutes if I ripped along at 60. Truthfully, the jagged potholes at the far end of the spit would probably rip the suspension from my low-lying car at that pace but, right or wrong, I decided I could save myself in a pinch.
To witness the larger waves - and size DOES matter - at the south spit, waves would have to come from the South and these were from the west. But what the surf lacked in heighth was offset by quantity. I walked the beach briefly, enjoying the pounding layers of surf, crashing on top of each other and the foam, tumbling happily up the sand. Nice fat juicy waves in the channel rose above the level of the jetty though they clung to the north side of the channel with few splashes to deter the fisherpeople on the side I walked.

No rocks. No big waves. But a winter lunch break spent on the beach with small waves is better than a lunch anywhere else.

There are Places I Remember ...

New Years Day at the Breakers, the sheer volume of water contained by the waves coming up the channel was amazing.

Breathe deep the salt air.....

The ocean warms the soul, even on the cloudiest of days.

Nobody on the Road, Nobody on the Beach

I have the week off work but still had to make a trip to campus for a meeting. Afterwards, I decided to head out Hookton Road for a walk. The sand is finally warm again yet I had the beach entirely to myself. The low tide offered up a handful of goodies to please the beachcomber in me and I was intrigued by fragments of what were surely huge sand dollars that were too fragile to survive the tumble to shore. I would love to find one of those gems intact.
It turned out to be a perfect day for beach house hunting. I spied a couple real possibilities. First, this cozy little number - the perfect little hideway to cuddle up with your (really small) sweetie for an evening mai tai (or maybe Sex on the Beach?) The architect is unknown though obviously there was some Native American influence. Faced to appreciate the gentle southern breezes, this little number will be the perfect spot to enjoy the Humboldt sunsets.

This second diamond-in-the-rough is more spacious - perfect for the growing family. Taking its cue from Mother Nature, this little cottage takes full advantage of the flotsam and jetsam of the area, using both rope and chip bags for gingerbread. An outdoor fire pit makes it a natural for entertaining. Although faced due west, sand carried on the strong winds from that direction do add to the coastal decor of the room living area.

I will present these options to Mark and we'll check the budget for a vacation home. If not available for purchase, perhaps we'll just visit and share the sunset with the residents.

LOW BRIDGE EVERYBODY DOWN....

I finally got out on the water again today, a freakishly beautiful November afternoon. The tide was nearly finished its flooding so the water was high in Eureka Slough as I headed up from the bay. Passing under the old railroad track west of 101 ... duck! Maybe Eko or one of the other "old timers" can tell me what building I passed? I think it was maybe 1st and X Streets, behind Target. It says "NMPCo" and "1904" on it. I paddled up the slough nearly to Murray Field then decided it was time to get back and get dinner started. I got a little help from the tide as I paddled back to the bay. The water was clear enough for a good reflection of the freeway. A little sun on my skin. A little excitement, riding the wakes of a couple of jet-skis. All in all, another beautiful day.

HELLO COWGIRL IN THE SAND

Hope and I took Vince for a run on the beach today. Humboldt was out in force, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather.

The water looked oddly thick, like cold lava that rolled up the beach, wrapping our ankles with November chill.Vince apparently had plans to be elsewhere. China perhaps?

A girl, her pooch and his poop. We clean up after ourselves.
UPDATE: A gratuitous after photo for ya, CPR.

I'M YOUR CAPTAIN AND I'M FEELING MIGHTY SICK

I get very content in my ruts...my boxes. And stepping outside the proverbial box isn't easy. Not impossible but not easy. Taking an intro kayaking lesson at Paddlefest two years ago was one of those times that I dabbed a toe outside my comfort zone. Then wading further into the abyss, I took another lesson with Hawk at Humboats. I took a couple demos with Greg at ProSport. I took a few classes with Marna from Kayak Zak's, including my own personal prerequisite, Rescue and Recovery class (I thought it best to know for sure I could get myself back on board should I somehow fall out). I spent a Saturday afternoon falling out and getting back in a kayak, using a variety of methods before I was convinced I was ready to purchase my own vessel. A couple of weeks ago, I finally bought a Kestral 140 in highly visible Mango yellow. With a bit of engineering, I was finally able to transport the beast on the roof of my xB and decided that Paddlefest was the perfect opportunity for the virgin voyage. Stepping out of the aforementioned comfort zone generally comes with butterflies. This time, butterflies were non-existent. Instead there were Tasmanian devils whirling my morning mocha into a froth. We got the kayak on the roof, strapped on and tied down and off I went to the launch ramp. I knew I could do it but was afraid I couldn't. I had intended to join in a 10:00 tour of the bay and Eureka Slough so had the incentive of a schedule to goad me along. I loaded safety gear, donned wetsuit and personal floatation device and was on the water by 9:55. Couldn't find the group tour anywhere. I hadn't really paid much mind to the location, presuming it would be an obvious gathering of kayaks but, alas, I was mistaken. So, I took a two-hour tour by myself.

With some effort, I paddled against the incoming tide around Woodley Island watching all the while for the promised boat parade and Blessing of the Fleet scheduled for the Maritime Expo. How did I miss an entire parade? I was REALLY looking to get some fallout from that blessing. But I did have fun exploring those quiet corners of the Bay. Sneaking a photo of an egret was not so easy. I'd pull my camera from it's little waterproof box, get it focused right about the time the current would turn me away from my quarry. I'd set the camera in my lap, steer the bow back around just in time for the damn bird to fly off. *sigh* I WILL get better at this.
I pulled out of the water about noon and called Hope, who had planned to come down and demo a kayak or two. When it turned out she was uneasy being out there alone, I put back in and joined her on the water.

So I've done it. I loaded. I unloaded. I put in, took out and loaded up again. By. My. Self. YES! I say to heck with the box. I have successfully built a staircase out of my rut.