My hero, again. I love watching otters (from the cliff, here, or from the water) in surf zones. I love how they can be so nonchalant, so immersed in the task at hand (finding and eating food), and seemingly unconcerned with set waves or swell in general. Otters ride those waves, all waves, as they like.Years and years ago, I was watching one otter off the Gazebo Rocks near Asilomar riding out a pretty fierce swell and was struck by the apparent effortlessness in ways that either I keep getting struck by or that I just hadn't noticed. Maybe I should put it this way: watching that otter swimming amidst storm sets schooled me both in poise and technique. I started consciously imitating that otter as I played in the surf zone at Lover's Point and in surge channels all along that rocky shoreline. I had thought I'd been relaxed in surf before, and I had been back in my prime with Keith and Charlie and the gang, but aging demands mindfulness as well as brute training. Dive smarter; dive like an otter.
This otter kept snatching snacks off the rocks below and munching away as the small waves of the day rolled through. I liked hearing the crack of rock against shell as the otter used his chest as a kitchen-anvil.
This is the same otter posted in the photo yesterday. I like that photo for the color contrasts of the water as the wave moved through and for the interlacing of foam and ripples that hint at the action of the water beyond that moment.
(I'm not happy with my prose here; I haven't been clear enough, but I'm going to post this and revise later.)
