Seaweed blooms under a bright sun, a bath of brown flecks and pollen and happy stands of reds and greens crowd the shallows.
After we sort the barnacles beneath our tender feet, our legs jumping upwards like a dancer over hot coals we bumble awkwardly over biting stones, reaching the water’s edge at low tide. I keep my focus on the blue-green-brown water. Our destination. The place I go to breathe and let my mind and eyes wander, restore, seek and find.
The sun is hot, a freakishly warm day in April—the wetsuit feels excessive. Until we submerge.
Getting in is easy, at first. Then the cold sinks in. We’re awake!
The sea is calling me, promising an adventure, a reprieve from the dry world of hard edges and solid thoughts and stiff fingers and a burning left foot, aging…I know the water will soften me yet again and remind me that my youth lives on inside me forever.
Swimming in saltwater is what I know. Still. All these years later. The smell of salt my favorite of all smells. Better yet if it’s baked salt, heated by the sun and rising off of the sand flats brimming with mountains of seaweed and spitting clams. Heaven. At age three I went to the beach alone and stepped in to my knees, frightening my parents. And about then I also recall a trip to the ocean and the shock of being knocked down by my first big wave. Face down in sand and icy cold water, I felt my smallness then, but from that moment I think my awe of the ocean was born, a realization of it’s power over me. The crash of the waves, never ending and the limitless beauty—the vastness, the mystery of it took hold of me, never to let go.
Oh sand! What relief to our sore feet. The barnacle dance is over for now. There it is, once in and a few nervous steps out through brown fuzzy water so thick with pollen and algae I think of soup—we cannot see our feet in a foot of sea water.
Curiosity stays. This new swim feels slightly ominous, the visibility near zero, thoughts of sea lions push in. Yes, definitely too cold for jellyfish, I think. They will be here soon enough. Summer is fast approaching.
Wondering what life lurks and blooms, begins and ends, dances and dreams down here, I sink in, breathe, stroke, bubbles, breathe, stroke, bubbles. Repeat. My muscles relax, my hands stay cold while my face gets warm. Just keep watching, keep looking at the world right in front of you. My mind bubbles between clear thought, no thought, a waterfall of memories and then I return to the view of nothingness before me, a shifting palette of dull colors, flecks of brown and green, and strings of white bubbles. My own breath outwards.
I pause, and start contemplating flounder aloud,
“Maybe we will see one today!”
And Liz, “Oh no! I hope not!“
“It’s okay. They prefer the bottom, not us.”
But no, we will see no flounder today. The water stays murky and the sun is bright, and my face goes in and I dive down, and pop up through the thinnest top layer just slightly warmer, so thin I wonder if I have imagined it.
We swim south from the Pt. White pier past empty buoys in a line like lost marbles, bobbing gently over small waves. Both of us minding and not minding the muddy view. We opt to stay in the deep, visibility is so low our hands brush the bottom a few times when we drift into the shallows.
Sometimes it is better not to see what’s right below you….right?
The view is sparkling water, then a field of watery light swirling in hazy brown, the bottom no where in sight, then houses and beach and trees to the left, then water again then sun sparkles, as I take in breath right, left, right, left.
How the mind flutters and wanders out here. Should I be worrying about sea lions? How do the seals manage to not run into things when the water is so murky?
My left foot begins to ache, I let it float behind me.
We stop to gaze about, heading for the shallows again, hoping to catch site of the land below us. It is no better, dimly lit shapes appear inviting doubt. Our minds catching on the dark shadows of things we cannot identify. We head back out into deeper water, happier to not see anything but water and bands of sunlight.
We swim headlong into tall seaweed fronds bursting with pollen, or seeds or both. Whichever, the cloud bursts are impressive. Mystery solved. The cloudy water is bursting with new life and we are lucky to be here.
The blue sky above holds not a single cloud—while we swim below in water made entirely of living clouds.
Back to the pier we swim amongst the pilings, searching for life, but only spot barnacles . My heart drops as I again find no starfish. I wonder how many decorated this pier when my father roamed these same waters as a child.
We swim north, seaweed swirls in the shallows. Boats pass by in the deep. Dogs and people stroll along the rode nearby. Birds sing. We swim.
Life. We found it.
On our final turn to shore, Liz let’s out a gleeful shout,
“Alright! Let’s do this!” a giddy call to finish what we started. A celebratory salute to what we accomplished already. The murky water be damned.
I feel awash with gratitude to be in the presence of such exuberance.
I smile.
We swim easily to shore, blissfully aglow in the gift that is the Salish Sea.
Mary Swims 