The Winds of Joy

Ahh man it is a perfect day out here in Dana Point. I sleep until 7:00 because it is Saturday and I have nowhere I need to be. It is clear from the amount of light coming in through my closed blinds that the sun must be shining. After opening them I see there is not a cloud in the sky. I do very much like clouds, but I can absolutely appreciate unfettered sunlight. I leave my apartment just a little before 9:30. I am ready for the water.

The forecast is much more appealing today in the wind department. It’s a relatively calm 4 knot wind from the south and not expected to build much more any time soon. The question is how cold will the water be. A northwest wind, which is what we have had the last few days, is the death knell of warm water. Looking at the buoy data, it has come down about another degree since yesterday. One of the Camp Pendleton buoys is down to 62. That said, it’s still in the “acceptable” range. I doubt it will be 62 where I am and even if it is, so be it. It’s going to get there eventually. Who needs warm water with this sun? My answer may differ once I am out there.

From the parking lot, the ocean surface indeed looks pleasant. Not completely smooth but much more calm than yesterday or the last few days. No white caps - that’s for sure. And blue sky everywhere. There is a cloud bank way way way out off on the horizon and that’s totally cool. It might keep me from getting lost out there. I can already feel the ecstatic but pre-delusional effects of the sun and blue sky. I need some cloud somewhere to ground me.

I get down to the beach and reflect on the fact that it has been at least a month since I have seen the Jupiter rock here at the base of the ramp. It’s 5 feet height is completely buried in sand. Up until the Spring of 2024, it would always be here, or at least some of it. However they redid the entire boulder revetment from here to the north end of the beach and moved Jupiter in the process. I’m sure it wont be long before her head emerges from the shore. I wonder what dreams she has had in the meantime. Maybe she prefers it in the darkness below the sand.

As I put my feet in the water, I do notice cooler waters. I don’t trust my senses 100%. There are just so many variables. Ocean water is not a constant temperature up and down the beach and I’m psychologically influenced by my prior reading of the buoy data which only represents a very specific point in the ocean and none of the buoys are particularly close to here. The closest one is probably 20 miles away. I’m still happy to be here and looking forward to the next hour.

As I enter the water, the shallows are super clear and it is just beautiful to look at. The surf report claims the waves are 3-4 feet. Not a chance. It’s 1-2, 3 tops. You just never know with the surf reports. It’s just like the buoy data and temperature. This water is so vast and the swells that show up on the buoys have unique and distinctive properties that impact just which beach will see the most size. Is it coming from Alaska, Indonesia, Tahiti, or just a local wind swell? What was the strength and trajectory of the storm? These storms happen and then it can take weeks for their waves to show up on our shores. Every wave here regardless of its strength is a miracle in and of itself. They are gifts given to us from our ocean. Sometimes, like today, they are gently handed to us and other times they are hurled and land here like liquid lightning.

I walk into the water. It’s so clear here that I don’t worry about shuffling my feet for stingrays because I could see them if they were in front of me. Small waves approach me and splash against my waist and then as I walk deeper they roll over my shoulders. I take a small leap forward with no intention of landing back on my feet. I am a bird taking flight. I am a fish caught and then released back into open water. I am free and swim north. My eyes set upon the tip of Monarch Bay and wander east to the lifeguard tower. The water is indeed cool but it does not take long at all to adapt. It feels good. Whenever I catch myself noticing the coolness, I relax my body and my mind and give myself as an offering to the water around me and take on an inward posture of gratitude accepting whatever temperature is given and it feels perfect.

I am surrounded by a rich, deep blue in every direction both around and above and below. It is so calm here. Soon I am passing the point between Strands beach and Salt Creek. I can see the Monarch Bay Beach club off in the distance. The water is a vast plane between here and there. It is calm but not still. It is alive. For some reason I do not see a single bird on my swim. I miss them. I wonder where they are at and why they are not here. I’m sure there are reasons.

I am so happy to be here. I try to gather all the joy that is around me and float upon its currents. I wonder where they will take me. So many of us and so many times I have not allowed myself to linger in joy. Joy was not intended to be received but only allowed to be given. How can we give away joy that we do not have? I made plans and set a course for my life based on where I thought I was supposed to go but ignored the winds of joy blowing in my sails. I didn’t realize that its vote counted. I thought it was like a child that should be seen and not heard.

There is so much joy in this water. I stare at the horizon and see two shades of joy meeting in the middle just below the clouds that could not possible exist if not for the joy below them. There is a bay of joy whose edge rests ahead of me and becomes the beach to my east. I can hear joy in the children screaming from the shore. There is absolutely no mistaking those screams for joy. We all know those screams and then we grow up and it becomes inappropriate to utter them anymore.

There is this thin strip of bare earth that runs down the steep slope below the homes of Monarch bay. I don’t think it is any kind of a trail. I use it as a marker with which to plot my coarse forward. If I keep following it, I will eventually find myself right in front of the beach club and soon enough that is exactly what happens.

I take in the view and wait for the flock of pelicans that never come. Apparently their joy is somewhere else. I turn around and head back to where I came. As I am passing in front of the northern lifeguard stand and breathing on my shore side, I see a person paddling on a surfboard just a couple feet away and heading in the opposite direction. I stop and say hi. We chat for a bit and I realize I must be a little cold because words do not come out of my mouth easily. It sounds like he has an English or possibly Australian accent. Knowing my ear, it’s probably neither.

I keep swimming and just can’t believe how enjoyable this is. I have already made mental reservations for a walk on the beach after the swim and am eagerly looking forward to it. All is well here. I swim closer and closer to shore as I get closer to the little lifeguard hut at the end of the wooden boardwalk which is where I plan to finish. The water is clear and the sun shines through the surface and glows white on the rippled patterns of sand beneath me. Am I the only one who knows this? I am the only one here. If others were aware of just what it was like right here, I’m certain I would not be here by myself. I consider this post my own little public service announcement.