coastal zone

offshore conditions at Butterfly ..crystal

Thousand Steps

California Coast

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walking in Laguna Beach

Thank you for not killing me
in the metal-grilled cross-hairs
of your monstrous SUV
as I crossed the street
cautiously, in full view, in daylight,
in the crosswalk where I thought I had a lawful right to be
and indeed once did in a different, slower world
when I could meander and even take a peek upward
at a trail of pelicans
or outward at a glorious pod of dolphins,
but now I must deal with the likes of you
as you fight for space, wrecking the world
with anger and the awful weight of your toys. ~ John Gardiner UCI

trek

I decide to add a swim to my trek, which means doing just half a trek. I start at Butterfly Beach instead of the lagoon and go out and back along the bluff. A 25 minute round trip. I do some yoga exercises on the beach ..take a few deep breaths ..grab my fins and slowly walk out into the water. There’s a tiny swell but it pushes me around big time. I plunge in and slip on a fin in one swell foop. Standing upright in waist deep water ..the other fin proves more difficult. Trying to balance on one fin isn’t so easy. I get knocked over every time I lift my foot. I try rolling with the surf but it’s too disorienting and I end up swallowing a mouthful of water. I try a sideways stance to counter the incoming swells. That works and I slip on the fin ..fall backward into the water and float. The effort to lift my fins upward is substantial though. I can feel the weight of the water more than ever. Pushing down is much easier. So I take short kicks using my ankles as much as possible. That works and I glide along watching the shore zip by. I flip over to swim freestyle but its feels really awkward. I’m too uncoordinated. I flip on my back again and feel the weight of the water on my fins, ankles and calves. Tells me I’m working pretty hard. So I just float for a while and let the swells push me back into shore. I take big steps getting out ..plop my butt on wet sand and review what just happened out there. I counter feelings of discouragement by telling myself it’s going to take a little practice ..that’s all. Perhaps I’ll use the pool a few more times. Anyway, feels good to be back ..w00t!

Butterfly Beach

So Cal

“What is softest in the world
overcomes what is hardest.”
Lao Tzu

Communities in Southern California aren’t developed in tune with the coastal surroundings. They’re invasive. Homes are built over tidelands that are there to replenish the water and beaches. As a consequence ..homeowners are losing their homes to erosion while the rest of us are losing our health and livelihood to foul water. I admit I don’t have much sympathy for the homeowners. My sympathies go out to the surfers who get sick. They’re much more tuned in to coastal conditions.

At sunrise

Cloud  Hidden
Whereabouts  Unknown

Interdependence

Living in California you cannot fail to recognize the interdependence of life on the planet. What we’re now seeing is tuna that originated near Fukushima Japan ..traveling halfway across the globe ..carrying trace amounts of radioactivity .. being served at Sushi Bars on the coast of California.

Oregon coast

Dharma, seek and you will find truth inside your mind, Dharma.

Highway 1

 

Big Sur Sunset 

Photo by Linda Sonrisa

driftwood villager

I follow her into a cove ..through tide pools crystal clear .. into a village made of driftwood huts ..where women pit-bake shellfish and men spearfish in the waters of a lagoon. And I realize that I’ve always been cursed ..trying to imagine what life must have been like on planet earth ..before I came along.

Cartel grows

This story is more about my capacity for self-delusion.

DEA agents investigating Cartels  growing marijuana on California forestland turned up beer kegs, propane stoves, poachers and fieldworkers living in tents. Many of them weren’t even sure where the hell they were ( “Texas ..?” ). Turns out it wasn’t the Cartels after all. Mostly itinerant farmers all the way from Michoacan who were trying to avoid the Cartels and move closer to market. When I heard this I went “I could have told them that ..it’s well-known that Cartels are more into smuggling than farming” and “Michoacan farmers are the ones with the know-how and perseverance to set up camp and live in the woods like that.” Fact is ..I could have told them nothing of the sort. I’d been following this story and I too believed that Mexican Cartels were infiltrating California. I could of only told them otherwise after they’d already told me. Armed with this new information ..I quickly went back and revised my memory for things I knew before. Kind of like revisionist history ..giving me a false sense that ‘I knew it all along’ ..arrogant asshole that I am.

winter coast

The sun is shining 
I step into high tide 
below Shoreline Park 
to see a pod of dolphins 
playing out in the kelp 
and it’s moments like these 
when I don’t believe things 
can get  a lot better than this

The path

to Haskells

Freedom

to do naked bong hits
photo courtesy of Coral Reefer

Hot and sour soup

“By the end of the century the oceans will become hot, sour and breathless.” ~ French oceanographer Jean-Pierre Gattuso

The West Coast already provides a jarring glimpse of this. Acidic waters from the deep ocean slosh onto the continental shelf off of California and Oregon. Acidic waters melt away the bottom rungs of the food chain that nourish salmon and other fish. Rising acidity is also toxic to fish larvae and can bring on bizarre behavior. It scrambles the senses of the orange-and-white clown fish making them vulnerable to predators. It’s already looking like the beginning of the end of the seafood industry in California. Ask any salmon fisherman

West Coast E Street

 

She’s still surfing Lower Trestles ~ Orange sunshine always burned in her veins ~ Now I hear she's got a house in Fairview ~ And a style she’s trying to maintain ~ Well, if she wants to see me ~ You can tell her that I'm easily found ~ There’s a spot beneath the bridge ~ Under the  tracks on the edge of town

alfa driven

Flying home on hwy one at midnight. Top down, hoodie up ..bomber jacket and goggles against cold night air. Hendrix on. Dialed in to my transport vehicle. Cashed in my chips earlier and ducked out of Newport Beach so I could be in Santa Barbara by midnight.  No traffic now ..just white lines and yellow flashing lights to guide me on the dark twisty roads of Malibu. Ocean moving to my left. I dunno ..just don’t have the fortitude for weekends in LA / OC anymore. While passing through Summerland the air turns fragrant ..like incense. Feels like home.

 

transport vehicle

Hwy one

Continued from [link]

San Francisco (1977): The next day Russ and I go for a walk around Lake Temescal ..get stoned in a wooded area ..drive across the Bay Bridge ..stash the car ..and go on a walking tour of The City. He shows me how you can get anywhere in San Francisco by using cable cars, muni, taxicabs and the Bart. The next morning we go for a walk around Lake Temescal ..drive across the Bay Bridge ..stash the car .. hang out at the Mark Hopkins hotel and attend the APA convention .. asking irreverent questions at a symposium on juvenile delinquency. The guy sitting next to us is doing his internship at San Quentin. Says he’s counseling an inmate who threw his co-worker off a telephone pole while they were repairing the line. When he asked him why he threw his co-worker off the telephone pole, the inmate replied “..because I didn’t like the way he looked” as if it were a perfectly legitimate reason. “Now I’m on edge” the intern says “..and you wanna’ know why? Not because I’m sitting there talking to a psychopath, but because I’m sitting there wondering what he thinks about the way I look.” 

 

Along the way I remember eating at fish restaurants in North Beach .. giggling while watching a floorshow at Sutter’s Mill ..another one on Broadway .. going to see ‘Beach Blanket Babylon goes Bananas’ at Club Savoy ..and falling in love with San Francisco. A few days later Russ drops me off on highway 101 near the airport and, in spite of his objections ..I begin my hitchhiking expedition back to LA. 

 

Continued ..

Hwy one

Rusty: One of the more memorable events of my life occurred during the summer of 1977, between college and grad school. I rode up to San Francisco with my friend Russ ..then hitchhiked back down the coast, on my own, camping-out along the way. But first we were going to spend a week in San Francisco. Russ is from the Bay area, and since this was my first visit ..he was thrilled about having me there to show around. Our first destination ..as well as where we were going to stay ..was his father’s place in Berkeley. On the way up, Russ told me that he had planted marijuana in the garden during spring, so he was rubbing his hands in anticipation of ‘the harvest’ ..unless his dad had mistakenly ripped them out while weeding (he told me his dad wouldn’t know the difference). This did not turn out to be the case, however ..and we were in for our first surprise. When we arrived, his dad was in the kitchen ..trimming and cleaning freshly dried marijuana like a pro. The aroma hit us the moment we walked through the front door. Stunned, Russ rushes in screaming “Dad, what are you doing ..?!” He shows us the other packages in the freezer and tells us how his girlfriend had turned him on ..and how they found them growing in the backyard ..and how it was helping him with deal with his anxiety (Russ’ dad was an executive for an energy company). Now Russ’ biggest concern is how to divvy up the ‘bounty’ between him and his father ..who was like “Oh, those were yours ..?”

 

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