My last meeting ends at 11:00 and I head out the door as soon as I close the meeting window on my computer. It’s 66 degrees outside and the skies look completely clear. It’s a beautiful day and the clearest morning we have had all week.

As I drive down Golden Lantern towards Selva, I notice a mist on the water just outside of the harbor breakwater. I don’t think much of it. Things look a little more crisp once I get a glimpse of the western horizon beyond Strands and Salt Creek, but the edge of the sky and water is definitely on the hazy side. Still, I can feel the sun piercing through my window and it feels warm on my face.

I reach the parking lot and I can see the breeze slightly stirring the surface of the water but it looks plenty smooth enough. As I walk down the stairs I notice that we actually have waves today. They are not big but they are bonafide, ridable waves. I reach the beach and see that I cannot make out the end of Monarch Bay. It is totally hidden in the haze. One might go so far as to call this fog but that just seems overly dramatic. I’m sure once I get past the lifeguard tower, I will see it just fine.

The beach is beautiful, of course, and it feels good to be here. The water is cool on my feet but not noticeably any cooler than it has been. A couple buoys were down a degree this morning but we are still above 60 degrees. I head out into the water and it feels like the waves actually have a little more punch than they have in a week or more. I start to swim and head north. The water is definitely cool and I can feel it mostly in my forearms but it is very manageable.

As I am nearing the northern bathrooms and the lifeguard tower below the Ritz, it is becoming obvious that there is an approaching fog bank very close. No no no! Well maybe this is just something temporarily passing through. I’m sure it will be fine and certainly much better on the other side of the point here. I’m not sure what data I am drawing from to make these conclusions. So I keep swimming north and I really don’t get much farther before I just can’t see anything past the lifeguard tower. In fact I can barely make out the tower itself. Well gosh darn it (expletive edited for family friendliness). Ok, it looks clearer to the south. What I will do is turn around here and basically end up doing my south route in reverse.

I turn around and I’m right where I would normally turn around anyways and I’ll head to the south end of the beach. I should be able to see the beach the entire way. Of course I won’t when I turn around but that’s a problem for later. I’m not very far down the beach at all before I can’t see the beach. I mean I can barely see it if I stop and remove my goggles. It’s ok. I’m committed to make this work. I have made it this far and quitting the swim just doesn’t feel right. I just can’t stray too far offshore. Sure there is surf to contend with but it’s nothing I can’t deal with.

I must say that the remainder of this swim is an adventure. The fog gets thicker as I make my way south. There are times when I can’t see beach but I can see the faint glow of the color of sand and I can tell what direction the waves are moving towards and I can see white water and I can see a surfer here and then there. Finally the water starts to feel super bouncy but nothing is breaking here. I pause and take off my goggles to take in my bearings. I can hardly believe it but the big rock that I turn around at near the south end of the beach is just about 50 feet away. How did I get all the way down here so fast? I honestly think it is because my mind has been completely occupied with navigation. I’m not able to use the auto-pilot today and actually have t pay attention - very close attention - to where I am going. So there is no time to let my mind wander or wonder, “are we there yet?”

I can hardly make out the edge of the headlands here but I can see it. I swim just far enough to be parallel to that rock so I don’t lose any points or get disqualified by my inner swimming officiant. There is a pelican I spot flying toward me. It’s coming right to me. I have my camera ready and I’m excited. Then a wave comes between us and he hugs the other side of the lip just out of my sight. Oh well, there will be other pelican pictures in my future. I begin to swim north and now I have to pay even closer attention since I am no longer facing the shore.

Just like the swim south, this swim north moves by extremely quickly. I straddle the edge of being too close to the waves and too far offshore. I’m stopping and raising my goggles every couple of minutes it seems. I’m also noticing how comfortable I feel in the water. This feels super good. I honestly don’t know if it has something to do with my heightened adrenaline level or if the water truly is warmer. Whatever the reason, I embrace it.

I can just barely make out the house at the top of the bluff where I started this swim and where I am trying to end it. It is basically right here. It seems like it takes some effort to find my way to shore. I overshoot north and then veer south and eventually I feel the sand with my fingers and stand myself back up. Ok I think I can find my way home from here. Once I ascend the stairs to the parking lot, it is clear skies all over again but even now as I write this, there is absolutely nothing to see from the web cam.

Hidden in the Haze

Behind Schedule