I took a route through the Santa Monica Mountains, putting
along in fourth gear, winding through several short tunnels,
past a winery,
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| It's Livermore South! Or Sonoma County... (Malibu Rocky Oaks Estate Vineyards) |
to the PCH. Pacific Coast Highway. Northbound, to the Zuma
Beach exit, which took me down and around and under the highway to the ocean.
The day was overcast, beautifully complementing the grey blue
green of the ocean.
There were teenagers/young adults playing volleyball in their bikinis, families with tents and blankets reposing on the sand, surfers, wet suits zipped, strolling to the water.
As I walked to what would be my resting spot, a flock of
kids* in black swimsuits swarmed into the water. I was nearing the main life
guard station, where men in that familiar BayWatch red stood observing and commenting
among themselves. The kids in black swam to a buoy and back to shore, picking
up their knees in a high goose step as they waded through the surf. Lifeguard
Trainees, perhaps?
I settled in, unpacking my chair, putting water in the cup
holder, perching my reading glasses on my nose.
It was cold.
Out came the beach towel to do duty as a blanket; up went
the hood of my hoodie; into the sand I dug my toes. Now I was ready.
 |
| Like a Boss...who left her bifocals at home |
I finished reading The Little White Bird (the first novel
where Peter Pan appears), as kids played in the surf and surfers tried to catch
waves (Unfortunately, surfing conditions were terrible.) A young man from one
of the groups camped nearby went out to where the waves were cresting, boogie
board in hand (the boogie board/body surfing conditions seemed excellent**).
A helicopter, which had flown by earlier, made another pass.
And another. And another, getting closer not only to the shore, but to those of us
sitting there.
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| Hello! |
Yep. My spot to relax was in front of the Sheriff
Department's helipad.
The kids in black once again swarmed to the water, this time
with bright yellow buoys.
And flippers. They goose-stepped into the surf, flippers in
hand, slung their buoys over their shoulders and dived into the ocean.
As they came ashore, two (or was it three?) peeled off from
the group and headed towards my stretch of beach. One stood on the shore and held
his buoy in the air, like a signal. The other(s) went back into the water. I
realized they were surrounding the young man who had gone out with his boogie
board. All were able to swim safely back to shore, though the young man's board
was no longer tethered to his wrist. It was several feet away, being pushed and
pulled as the tide came in.
Those were no trainees.
I won't be getting rescued from the water by any handsome,
well-cut lifeguards ever. Because that
water is cold.
Though still overcast, the air began to warm. I pulled my
toes from beneath the sand; the sand itself was comfortable and cozy. My nose
had become accustomed to the salty ocean scent, my ears to the rhythm of the
waves.
I think I know where I might spend the 4th of
July.
*These would be teenage/young adult kids, not elementary
age or toddlers. Though some did
look like they could've been in 8th grade.
**I know little to nothing about boogie or body boarding. Or
surfing for that matter. But the waves seemed just big enough to be thrilling
with those short boards, but far too small to stand up and ride on a surf
board.
