Or, that's what I call it. Right next to my mom's viewpoint when she was still alive and checking the coast--clear or not--as often as she could.Almost head-high wave, I'm thinking, and a few weeks back now. Maybe a bit bigger--but only knee-high Hawaiian, of course. Looks good for body-surfing, if I could improve my entry and dodge all the rocks on the way in. (There's a line of toothy bits and boulders beneath the white water there in the middle of the scene.) Gorgeous view; glorious in motion.
I'd like to dive out there, to dodge some breakers and the rocks, to shoot some fish and a crazy surfer or two with my water-camera. To search for shards of the sculptures sacrificed out here. Mermaids; duck-heads; masks. I'd hardly expect to find anything still whole, not with that pumphouse working through the seasons.
I ought to take a look, though. Maybe on a flatter day. Slightly flatter. I wouldn't want to miss all of that energy. Would you?
