Borrowed Time

I wasn’t planning on swimming today but conditions remain so great and I’m not terribly time constrained so it just seems like the right thing to do.

When I get up it is 60 degrees outside which is warmer for this time of day than it has been in several days. I check the local buoys for water temperature data and it looks like everything is about the same as it has been for the past couple days. Well at least it’s not colder. I must say that this December has been very pleasant in the water temperature department. It’s getting cooler ever so gradually but it’s usually in the 50’s by now and this 62-63 degree water sure beats 58. Still, it feels like we are living on borrowed time. It’s just gonna take one decent storm to push us over.

I leave about 9:15 and skies are clear and not quite as hazy as they were yesterday. I get to the parking lot and the surface of the ocean looks pretty smooth. The sun feels super great on my back over the entire walk to the shore. The closer I get to my starting point, the more surreal things seem given that I will soon be in the cool water and the texture and timbre of my experience will be very much different.

Well here I am. Still no surf and still gorgeous - not that these two attributes always coexist. I start to swim and let the cold flow through my core. I head south today. I enjoy watching the beach and I keep pretty close to shore since nothing seems to be breaking here. The energy of the water settles all around my skin. After a few minutes it starts to feel “normal.” Well maybe not entirely. It seems like there is nothing normal about the overall experience or the specific sensation of the water. I just feel like I have reached a state of equilibrium.

I get close to the south end of the beach and I can hear two distinct voices. I look around and see no one and then see two surfers about 75 feet inshore of me. Good. I’m not going insane. I hang out here and let myself drift just past my turnaround rock. I watch a few birds fly through the area and just can’t seem to get a good picture of any of them. They fly so close to the surface and even the smallest of waves temporarily blocks them from my view. It seems like I can see north so clearly.

I head north with music in my head the entire way. I intentionally played piano for five minutes before leaving which I hoped would tune my mind to the frequency of the melody and this turns out to work. I drift further offshore and I can feel the wind pick up but it is still relatively calm. It is so beautiful. The water and sky are a rich blue. I see a school of small fish swimming just in front of me. Despite the fact that I am constantly moving forward, the fish continue to appear as though they remain stationary. The light of the sun shines over the water and as I look west to the horizon it is just one huge and vast landscape. It is so plain and minimalistic - just water and light and air - but it hides this amazing diversity of life and currents and chemical interactions. Just one of these more observable ingredients needs to change in the slightest and everything can look completely different but still amazing.

I see a hydrofoiler off in the distance just in front of the lifeguard tower. I rarely see them here. In fact I am not sure if I have ever seen one right here. I’ve seen them down by Doheny and deeper into Monarch Bay but not here. It looks like a ton of fun. It also looks expensive.

Just a little further to go until I turn around for the final stretch back. It’s all great. I look below the surface and there are different shades of blue and grey in front of me. Visibility is not great but what I do see is beautiful. The light shines through the water and it radiates and fills the upper couple of feet with a bright luminescence and grows darker towards the bottom. The water feels coldish but good. It makes me feel alive.