Last week, we had the most amazing string of bright beautiful days. This week, it's largely foggy — we're on Day Three of Fog — but that's life.
So, on one of those erstwhile beautiful days, I wandered down from town to First Beach, where the activity level is/was picking up thanks not only to nice weather and the seasonal advance of the calendar but to nice waves. And a nice scene. Okay, there was some seaweed; that, too, is life. When it gets bad, they'll just pull out the seaweed harvester — one trick of life being to apply the seaweed harvester concept on a personal level, either disposing of or making use of one's crop, one's weeds, even or especially when they're yucky. (Don't you think??)
Anyway, I passed the beach again later the same day with my brother. In a car for a change, headed out-of-town for a change, and I made him STOP — because sometimes it's just so interesting to see how stuff changes when the tide rolls in. On top of being a beautiful week, it was a full-moon week, i.e., a high-tide week. A very high-tide week.
And I went back to First Beach again the next morning (I realize this might seem obsessive), just to see what I might see. Thing is: high tides and good waves and riding waves — happy concepts, connotatively — can wreak havoc. They might even knock you over ...
I don't know about surfing. I've tried it once or twice; took a lesson once or twice. It was hard to balance. I couldn't even stand up. I realize there's no focus here — blame it on Day Three of Fog — but, seriously, when I see big waves laced with yucky seaweed, my instinct is to run away.