A Day at the Beach

Photo courtesy of JP.

Paddle Practice and Sharky Vibes

I'm not a particularly brave-hearted soul, and I was reminded of that this past Sunday when I took a very conservative approach to my solo paddle-out from Blind Beach on the Sonoma Coast.  (And free diving or kayaking or surfing alone doesn't prove anyone brave or foolish, as any waterperson--especially, any surfer--will tell you.  That's just the routine.  If you always wait for a buddy, you'll deprive yourself of water-time.)

On Sunday, the two surfers who'd been the only ones out in the water came in as I was unloading my gear, and no one else came out to surf or kayak or dive for the next three hours.  Who can blame them, really?  The surf wasn't delivering here, unlike choicer spots down the coast, and the spot's firmly between the seal-pupping grounds of Point Reyes/Bodega Bay and the Russian River sandbar.  All the guides and guidebooks say to watch for sleeper waves, rip currents, and sharks.  Now, sleeper waves, I can watch for and live with; rip currents I can use and avoid; but those sharks?  I'd rather not have to consider the Landlord at all.

The day felt sharky.  I don't think it would have felt quite so sharky if I'd had a dive partner like my pal Keith or Gerald or David from Connecticut, whom I've never dived with, but who would be good anyway.  Or maybe this day still would have.  Sometimes having a buddy in the mix just solidifies the illusion of innocuousness.   I have kayaked the Marin coastline, setting forth from Rodeo Beach, Drake's Bay, and Tomales Bay without feeling so much of my skin crawling.  Same with the waters off Monterey, Carmel, Santa Cruz, Mendocino, and beyond.  I've been diving the Sonoma Coast for abalone off and on since 1978 with not a single shark sighting and not a single curtailed dive because of sharky feelings, so I'm not one to over-react . . . . I think.

(Note: In the photo above, you can see my rocket fins, the best choice--I say--for the kelpy, rocky-shore waters of Northern California: stiff, medium-length, properly heavy for ease of surface diving.  Also, I caught the lift of the wave here; that's why you can't see much in front of the kayak.)

Now, I paddled conservatively, as I've said.  What does that mean?  On the one hand, there's how and where, and on the other hand, there's the question of equipment.  Let me take this latter point first.

When I paddle solo--which I often do--and conditions aren't just flat, I prepare to be tossed or knocked from my kayak at some point, and I assume I'll get overturned due to waves or backwash or something.  (Really, I don't usually consider sharks, and the dive knife on my inner left calf is to comfort my fear of fishing line, not my fear of toothy carnivores, though I've taken my share of ribbing for carrying a knife whenever I dive, California or Hawaii.  I figure if I'm going under, I want the tools to make sure I'm coming up.)  So how do I ready myself for getting knocked out of the kayak and getting back onto it?

I wear my fins, my Rocket fins, once I'm away from the beach.  With my fins, I can catch up to my kayak, and I can vault back onto her (Sofia).  So, fins on my feet.  Also, this go-out, I had my mask-and-snorkel around my neck, ready to be pulled into place if I had to do any serious swimming after the kayak or into shore.  I had a squid lid also, pushed back around my neck, just in case I wanted to do some free diving or if I were separated from my kayak and needed to make a long swim.  (I also figure the squid lid pushed back on my neck helps to shield my skin there from the sun; as someone the dermatologist has a few choice words for and that nitrogen-burning tool every year, I am trying to keep the sun damage to a minimum while still kayaking and diving and all that.)  Also, my various gear bags with water, sunscreen, neoprene gloves, dry/cold gear, and so forth is all secured to stay on the kayak and not entangle me in case of an upset.  Likewise with the kelp anchor/towline.  Sometimes other kayakers look at me funny for wearing the fins, but I'd rather be ready than cool, frankly.

Now, how I paddled was also conservative.  I kept doing laps back and forth between my launch spot (which would ideally also be my exit) and the various rocks/pinnacles to the southwest.  I checked the landing scenarios for various places along the beach there and the probable ways I'd need to handle such beach landings.  Boring considerations for most folks, but I actually like the practice and feel much better after doing such work.  I practiced surf landings, particularly staying on the back--not in front of--the waves.  Again--as I mentioned in one of yesterday's postings, such practice is usually better in a solo go-out.  Partners often get bored with what can feel like routine or simplistic maneuvers.

I was also conservative in not going very far out and in limiting myself to moving between rocky points against the swell.  I have more control going against the swell, pushing against the prevailing energy, exactly the way a hiker or climber has more control going up against the pull/push of gravity than going down with gravity.  When I'm headed down swell or down current, essentially at some point I'm surfing or floating/flying at the mercy of the surging waters.  Against the current, I have some little control and the illusion of even more, both of which I find comforting and helpful.  Another time, I'll head beachwise with the push of the waves, for I need to practice those motions too, riding or self-arresting as needed.  I should also find my helmet, if I'm going to be as careful as this posting claims.

Finally, I paddled conservatively because I held off on paddling out to Arch Rock, which you can see here in the distance or in earlier postings in greater detail.  According to the satellite maps, there's a deep drop-off just on the other side of that arch, and if the great whites aren't cruising between the dry sand and the arch, they are probably cruising just there.  Classic stalking topography.  Also, frankly, I've taught Susan Casey's The Devil's Teeth about the Farallon Islands and great white sharks the last few semesters and all these rocks poking toothily up from the waters reminded me just a little too much of the topography featured in her book (which I discuss here) and in the various YouTube videos I'd screened as research for teaching the book.  The day felt sharky, I was alone out there, and too many certain images flashed through my wonderfully/horribly imaginative mind while paddling.

Another way I paddled conservatively--or another way you can see the anxiety--was that I was loathe to put my feet and hands into the water.  Now, I was wearing a surfing wetsuit (5/4), useful for getting tipped into the water or for free diving, but I was getting awfully heated on this glaring, overcast day.  Usually, I just put my feet over the sides to cool down, often when I want to take some photos and can appreciate a bit more stability.  However, with my fins on those feet, I felt it would be unwise to heighten the similarity to the favorite prey item in the silhouette I was offering to any lurkers below.  And if you find that sentence convoluted, you can gauge my superstitiousness accordingly.

I'm not a particularly brave soul, and my often free diving solo for the last twenty-plus years doesn't alter the fact that I don't go looking for trouble.  And so I'm saving the paddle-out to Arch Rock for a team effort.  Or, if Gerald isn't available, I just may work up the nerve through gearing-up, practice, and a less vibey day to paddle out solo anyway.  I really want to check out that arch close up.  I don't think I'll be free diving down to take snapshots of the urchins and abalone, however.  Free diving there would seem to be pushing it, don't you think?

Blind Beach Go-Out

Part of Goat Rock and the parking lot for Blind Beach, Goat Rock State Park, Sonoma County, CA.   After I entered the water, I paddled along the protected inner edge here.  

The rest of the lower portion of Goat Rock.  Another go-out I'll head around to the right here.

The view to the southwest from Blind Beach.  With the camera, all that looks further than it is.  Since I was soloing here for the first time, I did laps back and forth from Goat Rock to and into those rock gardens and pinnacles.  I like checking my exits and watching the tide, swell, and wind patterns at a new place, so being solo meant it was easier for me to slow down and check out the conditions thoroughly.  Of course, on such a mellow day, there's only so much change to be considered, but I feel better about future go-outs there.

A view that always draws me closer.

I tried to catch the texture of the water, but I didn't quite succeed.  The swell patterns from bouncing off all the different rocks and being directed by the different underlying channels produced a lively, frothy, pointy effect.  (I'll review my other shots to see if I have a better photo.)  Here, just a sample of texture that also keeps me going out onto (and into) the water.

 

A different angle on Arch Rock, a paddle-goal I'm saving for another time, ideally with my dive partner Gerald.  The photos make the arch look further out than it is, but I'd say it's no further or only barely further than the arch out from Van Damme State Beach.  (Are you reading this, Gerald?)

The view of my entry and exit point: Blind Beach and Goat Rock.  I spent about two hours on the water paddling back and forth, paddling through rock channels, and just floating about, observing the patterns of water and wind, getting comfortable again.  The ocean's a different beast, even on such a quiet day, than the Russian River, that mellow meanderer.  There's always a fierce energy in even the smallest lift and drop of a wave that I find seductive and entrancing.  

Note how the overcast never really lifted too.  This is probably about noon or a bit after, and I'd hoped for sunnier skies.  Still good; still counts.

Blind Beach Shots

10 a.m. Blind Beach, Goat Rock State Park, Sonoma County, California.

It was foggy enough that I decided to kayak the Russian River instead of the ocean.  I could see that I had a fair entry point here at Blind Beach, but I couldn't see what all I'd be kayaking out and about to see.

Imagine my surprise when I returned at 2:30 p.m. to Blind Beach: sunshine and a fine prospect.

Maybe Saturday I'll return to this spot and head out to Arch Rock.  That's the plan at present.