Today during my swim I saw an extraordinary thing. Well, actually several extraordinary things.
Where to start the story is the trick. I wish to draw you in and make you hold your breath in anticipation to find out what good things I found in the salty waters this afternoon.
Like my swims, a good story is much like the journey I go through to move from one element—earth—to another—water.
It begins with the desire to find an interesting setting, varied and forbidden—with just the right amount of danger, but not too much. Of course, for me that always includes cold water, and even with many swims beginning off the same beach or muddy bank, the setting I find is always original.
The cast of characters always changes too, and of course there is the main character, with a challenge or some trauma or drama to work through or overcome, or a quest, involving interacting with interesting characters along the way that include moments of hilarity, tension, regret, wonder and sometimes transformation.
And all stories, like my swims, involve love. And loss. And renewal if I’m lucky.
Which leads me to today.
My story began on a brilliantly sunny beach, where a man and his dog were meandering home I suspect. As the main character, I was on a mission to dash into the frigid water as quickly as possible, in search of my center, myself. A simple quest. I have been on this quest many times—
As I passed the man and dog in my selkie suit, I was delighted to see the water kissed with little waves, gently lapping the shore.
“It’s nearly perfect out there. Enjoy,” the man said.
“Thank you,” I replied.
These kind words, the clear water and bright October sun helped ward off the cold water surprise that I soon encountered. I grabbed handfuls of water and after a thorough liquid self flagellation, of at least a dozen rounds of mad splashing, I dove under and headed south.
After holding my breath for the first eight strokes, I came up for air. Yes. My adventure was off to a good start, I felt strong and free. Elated in fact.
I swam past two plate-sized moon jellyfish, pausing to study their liquid dance. I felt joy, the only word that fits, at being in their world, sharing their water, drifting through their home.
I fell in love with swimming. Again.
My next encounter was with a large school of little brown fish that hovered comfortably around and above a boat ramp, unperturbed by the rising waves which forced me to swim harder to get the precious air I required.
I enjoyed the company of a couple crunchy old crabs, decorated with barnacles, resting quietly below me as I passed by on the surface.
Back at the road end, I was ready to end my short swim, my cautious inner voice telling me I shouldn’t get too cold, nagging me about the fact it is nearly November, I’m swimming solo, blah blah blah.
But the thing was—I felt strong. And warm enough. And I didn’t feel alone. Seagulls soared and cried above me while two crows kept busy dive bombing an eagle perched high in a fir tree not far away.
My swim wasn’t over. Taking a tight left turn I pulled and kicked with ease through the cool green waters out to the set of pilings where a seagull perched, standing watchful like a miniature lifeguard, ready to blow his whistle should any tomfoolery occur.
As I paused to reflect on my quest, to take in the view of distant mountains, the solitude above the waves—no—among the waves—I looked skyward at my lifeguard gull, looking to bond with this feathery fellow. Feel one. A red heart sign nailed to the piling on which he perched read, “Take Your Time.”
And just as I was feeling the oneness of it all, content and centered, my seagull friend let go a big splash of white poo near me and took flight.
I laughed out loud. At myself. My feigned seriousness. The lesson about finding my center? Be light. Ease up. Let go and take flight.
After recovering from my private giggle, I swam north to the mouth of the bay, over this familiar beach, my eyes lazy as all was so familiar. I’ve swum here enough times that I have begun to memorize the lines of white clam shells and dark areas of crab grass and seaweed along this path.
And of course, as life always goes, a final surprise awaited me.
I had turned south, ready to finish my swim, my mind drifting to a half baked dinner plan—involving eggplant—when my eyes caught sight of something pink.
I braked in the water, as much as one can “brake” suspended in liquid, as my eyes scanned around to locate this strange sight.
A light pink Pom Pom? Fluffy pink seaweed? A remnant of a plastic toy?
I hovered a few feet above it, gulping mouthfuls of air deep into my lungs so I could study this thing facedown in the water until I figured out what it was.
My excitement, and slight fear, set in as I soon realized that this satsuma-sized thing was moving, undulating, pulsing of its own accord. This fuzzy tentacled creature, with no discernible head or behind, fins or gills, and flecked with what looked like tiny brown slivers….was alive. A creature.
It looked alien. I floated facedown, studying this small life, and waved my hand nearby, startled as it hovered close. Almost instantly, this little being started sinking to the rocky floor, and most astonishing to me, changed color. Before my eyes the pink faded to the lightest brown to almost translucent, or so it seemed, and I completely lost sight of it as it camouflaged itself.
Sadly I struck for my exit spot, sure that I must have killed it by startling it. I felt remorse, disappointed with my fear that led me to wave my hand so close to this little being.
Back at home I shared this discovery with my son, Aidan. We were both excited, and curious. A quick look online, and I was able to figure out two things—
1. This creature was likely a nudibranch
2. I didn’t kill it—some nudibranchs can camouflage themselves. I startled it and it wanted to get away.
So that is my story.
My quest to find my center again, was, well, mostly a success I’d say. I made some friends, had some challenges, pushed myself, overcame a little fear, had a laugh at myself, encountered my first nudibranch (I think) and made it home to tell the tale.
Seagull poop be damned!
Mary Swims 
💦🦀🌻❤️🌻🦀💦