December 28, 2020

Marrowstone Island.

We made it there and back again today—the boys relived their younger days running around the bunkers and reminiscing about the annual family school retreats to Fort Flagler while I swam in Mystery Bay and combed the beaches for shells and watched the clouds change colors in the sky while our dog ran amok following his wet nose.

The park near the boat launch was mostly empty, and after parting ways with the boys whom had requested “alone time” to pal around, I parked the truck and was halfway suited up when it dawned on me that I had no one to zip up my wetsuit.

With a quick glance around I located a group of picnickers and got the help from a nice woman bundled head to toe. The wind was cold, blowing south across the expansive park, a treeless open space with overnighting RV’s here and there and water on three sides.

At the humble boat launch I looked northwest at the curving spit stretching out a half mile or so, edged by calm clear water. Dressing outside pre-swim was a new experience for me, and I fought off a decent chill before hitting the water. The goal is always to preserve as much body heat as possible before and after swimming, and in this new place already feeling chilled I knew I needed to use caution, get moving quickly and be mindful of my time in the water and how I was feeling.

I stepped clumsily over hidden boulders beneath the surface as I prepared to swim, dipping my face several times, and breathing out long into this new watery landscape. The novelty of swimming in a new place, an hour from home was thrilling and my excitement with taking on this winter challenge and the anticipation of seeing new under water delights distracted me from the cold.

Face down and underway I sailed in close along the shore, passing a few strangers, glad to have a few eyes following my progress just in case I had any trouble. No trouble came my way, just a steady swim over a sandy bottom, speckled with an occasional clam shell.

As I reached the point, the waves rose up and a strong current began pulling me away from shore. I lifted my head just in time to receive a large wave hard into my face, an instant reminder that I was but a speck and of no consequence to the massive forces of nature. I was but a small twig bouncing around, with little strength compared to the world around me.

My mind quickly clicked in to high gear and I took strong breast strokes towards the shore as I caught my breath from the last big wave. A few strong pulls later I found my footing and walked back against the strong current, one with the force equal to a good sized river. I had to lean forward to make my way, as my feet slipped in the soft sand and tiny pebbles below me.

I tried a few strokes against the current, but the water was too strong and I wondered if I might be forced to walk the distance back along the beach.

I kept pushing hard and finally the current eased up, allowing me to take the water again the way I love most—arm over arm freestyle, alternating my breath right and left, blowing steadily out, motion and weightlessness and a quiet mind.

The sandy bottom was etched in wave patterns, highlighted by brown sediment that had settled into each valley, creating an even pattern across the floor. Large brown shoe prints meandered here and there along the patterned bay floor, and I wondered whom those prints belonged to. I was surprised to find the footprints still intact, several feet below the water. A good reminder to tread lightly. We all leave a mark don’t we?

When I reached the boat ramp I dashed to the truck, hands bright red, feet growing colder with every step.

My mutt greeted me, a welcome friend to see after my first plunge in this new place. Two pairs of wool socks, the truck’s heater blasting and two mugs of steaming cocoa later and I felt terrific and ready for a walk.

Purple and grey clouds dazzled the western sky, trimmed in pink, as my dog and I retraced my route out along the curved spit. To the south the water was still, and to the right on the north facing side of the beach large waves sloshed about pushed by a strong wind.

Rocky decided to defficate on the beach, and with one measly plastic bag—with holes no less—for me to use to clean up the mess, I was forced to cup the carefully wrapped gift in my hands as we made our way to the nearest garbage can. The upshot was that I laughed out loud as I realized that my hands were happy, being gently warmed—by dog shit. It’s rather amazing what happens when you discover hidden gifts in unexpected places.

After a short drive to the lighthouse on the other side of the park, we stepped onto the beach while a flock of seagulls scampered about. My curiosity with their unusual behavior was explained seconds later as we stepped up over beach logs to find a humpback whale carcass rotting on the beach. A nearby sign instructed to not disturb the carcass or take the baleen.

The creature was once massive, now a shrinking shell of its once living self. I texted the boys to share this discovery and fetched them from the top of the hill to come see the humpback before the darkness fell.

We ended our day sitting nearby on a log, the boys sipping cocoa and smiling ear to ear from a day well spent, while the pungent smell of decomposing whale flesh wafted by.

On the drive home we stopped at the old general store in Nordland, a favorite of ours from Fort Flagler visits—and photograph the now shuttered store and “ice” hut across the street. We were saddened to see it had closed, but a warmth shown bright from Christmas lights and ornaments hanging from the old rafters, and a brilliant Christmas tree stood all aglow across the street.

Tonight as I rinsed out my wetsuit in our bathtub, I thought about my son and his good friend giggling in the truck, my swim today, and the whale. I was glad for the many gifts of today and the lightness.

As I hung my suit to dry, I smiled even bigger as I considered that I swam in the same waters as that whale. I hope her end wasn’t premature, that her life was well spent.

Today was a good day. There have been enough bad ones lately, and I wish for the world oceans full of singing whales and beaches and old bunkers overrun with happy children giggling with their friends.