January 25, 2021

A few days ago I enjoyed the company of a few young children to the beach for a fresh air break during a late afternoon art program where I teach on occasion.

The cool winter sun was perfect, drawing out the incredible colors all around us, lifting our spirits and our voices to match the lightness we all felt together.

Exploring the beach with three elementary aged children involved a fair amount of treasure hunting, rock throwing, leafy fort investigating and, my favorite, critter seeking. We walked beneath the ferry dock where dozens of clams sent up miniature fountains of saltwater, catching us on the back of the legs and on our muddy shoes.

We looked for hermit crabs and sea glass while I described a moon-snail to the girl present who had never heard of them before, and explained that if she found any clam shells with a perfect hole in the top then we’d be certain moon snails lived nearby.

And I told her about my moon snail shell collection and my chilly swims in the Salish Sea.

Beneath the ferry dock I spotted a glistening white and pink spotted mass near a piling, and together with the children we determined it was a sea cucumber. Barely moving, we tentatively touched it’s wet jello-like body with our finger tips, and decided it was best to leave it be and not try and move it into the water.

A visit to the beach, any beach, is always an adventure, and this one didn’t disappoint. As we headed back to the art school a blue heron set down in the shallows nearby. Like a force stronger than himself, the youngest boy walked slowly towards this great bird. I knew it would take flight in time, as it stood stock still eyeing us unblinking, like a feathered statue.

I recognized myself in this boy, captivated by a creature of the sea and the air, wishing to touch it, be near it, feel its feathers, ride on its back and fly low over the water.

The blue heron is a mighty bird, quite common where we live, but eternally beautiful with giant wings and a croaking cry that is unmistakable and haunting.

On the other end of town, a few blocks from this beach, is a rookery—a heron colony—with dozens of twiggy nests perched high in the maple trees. In past years I would visit in springtime, to listen for the cry of hatchlings, and watch for the parents to return with food for their young. I don’t know if the nests are used anymore, as last spring they appeared abandoned, possibly wiped out by eagles or other birds of prey.

Counting the nests is still possible, especially in winter when the trees are bare. Perhaps in springtime this year they will return, or perhaps they have set up a new colony elsewhere.

Today I returned to the beach, a different one, under sunny skies , but this time alone, in my swimsuit and wetsuit, eager to shock my system into gear after several days of very low energy. Sloth like, from head to toe.

Streaks of pink and purple clouds edged the sky far to the north and south, and the southerly wind sent me north into the still bay along with the fluttery waves.

The water is getting colder still. I don’t carry a thermometer, but judging from my hands that continued to ache as I swam into the bay and the cold throb that made me cut my swim short, I’d reckon it was 44 or 45 degrees. The beauty kept me going today, and if it wasn’t for the sunlight turning the water to gold, I doubt I would have made it in or stayed in as long as I did.

I’m so glad I went. I doubled back to do an extra lap along the spit, as my hands finally surrendered to the cold and I wanted one more ride with the wind at my back. For the final leg south I had to focus all my thoughts on my breathing as splashed over the bouncy waves, sometimes only breathing to one side as the waves tossed me about making dual sided breathing difficult at times. Between the wind and cold water, I had less air than normal, and swam close to shore so I could stand to rest or exit if need be.

But once I reached the landing the second time, I took to the deep waters, reveling in the richness of all that water. I hovered, peering about, wishing to be a seal.

In my element. For a magical moment or two.

When I took to the beach, the crispness of the swim set in, and I felt more awake than I’ve felt in days.

The Salish Sea casts many a spell. The pull of the water remains undeniable and the gifts she offers, in kind and time, in wing and icy sting, in shallow and deep, in clarity and solitude are beyond measure.

I wish for everyone to feel the peace and clarity that I find in the open water.