By Butch Freedman
Today the pelicans returned, hundreds of them. I hadn’t seen them for a time and missed them, soaring over the surface of the waves like they do. They’re really quite magnificent. A higher order of birds than the ever-present ravenous seagulls, who today were occupied tearing at the putrid remains of a days-old dead beached whale. You could smell the carcass even out in the surf.
My surf buddy, Stacy, and I were at the same time as all the bird action, enjoying an unusually good day in the surf, catching one wave after another, all well-formed and fast with some nice big drops, the kind that make you scared at first, then elated as you drop down and blast off toward the beach. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that feeling of excitement, of adrenalin kicking through your body, tiring and enlivening at once. I’ve been hooked on boarding for a long time now, and trying not to think of the day my body no longer allows me to get out there. I righteously ignore the signs of my aging torso. And, at the same time, work hard to keep the old bones in shape. Thanks be to the YMCA.
Of course, not all days in the surf turn out so well. Two days before when me and Stace, and Big-Wave Dave went out, the ocean was packed with jelly fish, the little round ones that look kinda harmless, but can deliver nasty stings. Stacy took one look at the little devils surrounding her legs and said, “Sorry, guys, but I can’t handle the jellies.” Dave and I being guys, and thus dumber than Stacy, went in anyway. We caught a few waves, but even out deep the stingers were still hanging around, and the water itself was unusually greenish and dirty. I didn’t want to keep putting my face into that mire or unintentionally swallow mouthfuls which I always do during a long session. Just days before the appearance of the jellies, there had been a “fecal water alert.” And a notice to stay out of the ocean. Officials had tested the waters for bacteria in Oceanside, which is close to our favorite beach. The storms sometimes bring these alerts on. Our town is still on septic tanks, and when over-used, like often happens in the summer when the short-term renters pack into the houses with septic tanks built to handle three or four and are now are coping with a dozen or more needy bodies, those tanks overflow, and the nasty overflow of fecal material drifts on down in rivulets and run-off, straight into the mighty Pacific. We call the run-off stream that appears on the beach, Shitt Creek. Lovely. We did follow the alert and stayed out those few days until the warning was lifted. We do have some good sense.
But all that wasn’t going to ruin today’s session. It felt perfect. One of those special days when you’ve got the beach almost entirely to yourself, rainy and cloudy, not a tourist in sight. Just the flocks of pelicans, looking for a meal, and us looking for the next wave. Surfing is my happy place, or at least one of them. Stacy, I think, feels the same. We returned home, tired and happy. A good day in the waves. I think the pelicans had a good one also.
