Otter Pelt Short

Keeping track: buzzcut 2013.

Hydrodynamic.

S-P # 51+

Fiat Dux

(Tip of the beak to UCB and to EHS for the title.)

Playing Pirate

Or, Winter White, Monterey-Style.

After kayaking on a bright January day.
Pacific Grove, CA.

(Self-Portrait #51+)

Macduck . . . On The Blasted Heath

The title makes no real sense, but I'm rereading my favorite of Shakespeare's tragedies, Macbeth, and so I'm indulging myself.

Self-portrait #51.

Banquo:  The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
          And these are of them.  Whither are they vanished?
Macbeth:  Into the air, and what seemed corporal melted
         As breath into the wind.  Would they have stayed.
                    (Act I, scene iii, 79-82)

Ego and Alter Egos

Self-Portrait at the Studio: October 21st, 2012.

Friend:  You always look so at peace with yourself.

Myself:  I delete those other shots.

Fox and Shark (Both Goofy): Being Glazed / Kiln-Bound

I've heard it said that every piece one makes is a self-portrait, but that doesn't mean that the similitude hits the mark or strikes the proper chord, to mix some metaphors.

M D U

At the end of the day's paddle to Emerald Bay and back, from my kayak I spotted two lost SUP paddles on the lake bottom, paused and considered, then continued up the shore 30 yards or so to beach my kayak near the path to my truck.  I described the paddles to the staff at the Baldwin Beach Kayak/SUP Rentals and their probable location.  I figured they could use the paddles; I like to share stories and finds, especially as I was ready to load up and leave.

On second thought--for how could I resist?--I grabbed fins and mask, and swam back to search for and, ideally, recover the two paddles.  Despite my efforts, I couldn't spot them again, but one of the staff took advantage of my info to recover one paddle from the bottom.  Score.  She used a stand-up-paddleboard, which gave her better perspective--that standing vantage--to scan for the "treasure".

Still counts, I say.

I love finding stuff.  I like when other people find stuff too.

For example, my best friend's wedding band from the bottom of a lake or another friend's truck keys from the Klamath River.  But those are stories for another day.

Lake Tahoe temps: 68 degrees in the upper layers.  That's pretty cosy after swimming in 54 degree Pacific Ocean water.  Diving down just a dozen feet meant finding the distinctly cooler waters that Lake Tahoe is famous for, however.  

Along this stretch of Baldwin Beach, I spotted two SUP paddles on the bottom--or I'm pretty sure there were two paddles.  I don't think I spotted the same paddle twice, but the kayak-rental staffer only found one.

Here, you can see how she's scanning the bottom from that standing vantage for those paddles.

Narcissus At Sea? Diving Like A Duck?

The myth of Narcissus: fatuous overly-self-absorbed fool looking into a body of water and being pulled under by a water-nymph--as I'm recalling from memory, for it's been a while since I've read my Ovid . . . .  (How long can I really go without checking whether I've remembered correctly or not?  I may have to time this one.)  Wait.  Am I confused by the tale of Hylas and that sexy Pre-Raphaelite painting with all those water-nymphs I've got posted in the garage next to the posters of the famous Pre-Raphaelite mermaid, of Xena, and of Scully lifting weights?  What about N's metamorphosis into a flower?  (Tick, tick, tick.)

Or, to take the myth more seriously: looking deeply for self in any reflective pool, body of water, mirror, lens of the camera . . . .   Note the consequences, the dangers, of paying the wrong kind of attention, of distracting yourself, of inattention . . . .  I'm not trying to revise away the cautionary value of the original tale, but what can you see if you never look?

Unmythologically, these last few years I've been watching the signs of age--the lines, the gray and white hair amidst the brown--with something like fascination.  (I compare the gray in my hair to that in my father's hair, at different ages, in different photographs.)  Sometimes I fight the feeling of aging, working out harder, pushing myself physically and mentally, taking greater risks, and so forth.  

With my recent and 51st birthday--those three seventeens--I've been working to get back into shape, working to do the things that make me feel alive, no matter the years or the lines or the aching muscles.  Today, I put in two useful, playful hours in the kayak, paddling fairly steadily, reacquainting myself with North Coast kayaking, attuning myself to the light swell amidst rock gardens, practicing my surf landings on a mellow day, tasting the salt.  (I'm more anxious about sharky conditions, though I'm not sure if that's a measure of foolishness or wisdom finally kicking in.)

I'm a bit of a fool, whichever way you replay the tale, the myth, but that's all part of life, isn't it?  I'd far rather be a bit foolish than so many other things a person could be without any tincture of Puck in their veins.  

Dive like a duck, and keep on paddling.  My current foolish motto.

Kayaking off the Sonoma Coast.

Racking up the boat after a good workout.   Blind Beach, Goat Rock State Park, Sonoma County, CA.

(The marks on my face are from a recent visit to the dermatologist, who burned off the developing skin cancer spots on my temples and my cheeks again.  A life in the sun has joys and consequences too; don't forget to use that sunscreen!  I slathered three or four times today and wore a hat . . . most of the time.)

Kelp Tattoo Four (+ 1)

I love kelp, love swimming amidst the strands of a single kelp plant and amidst the kelp forests in general.  (As I've mentioned before, I even have a kelp tattoo as a mark of my devotion.)

I love taking photos of kelp, as I was doing here off the Breakwater in Monterey . . .

. . . and then my amphibious Canon Powershot flooded.  Sad story, but at least I got these shots.

Time-Travel: A Mere 34 or So

Or, 2 X 17 versus 3 X 17.

I was probably 34 in this shot, and I looked like a child, don't you think? That's Motley as a kitten! She's 17+ now.

Here, I'm 51 now, and you can read the trail of years in the lines and in the gray and white on my head.  I've gotten quite a bit of sun here too, but that's all good, a sign of summer and outdoor activities.  Slather, slather, with the sunscreen.  (6 feet tall and 170 pounds, so that's not so bad; I've dropped 19 pounds since December 30th.  And, I could be in a bit better muscular shape, but that's what summer's for too.)

Just keeping track.

Book review or preview or tempting taste to be posted manana.

Monterey Bay Yesterday: Five Shots

Monterey Harbor and off Cannery Row.

My other amphibious camera--the one I use free diving--flooded, and so no underwater shots . . . yet.

Scylla and Charybdis

Anger and Stupidity, in other words.

Monstrosities that will eat you alive, or swallow you down, or both.

Or, perhaps, as in my own case a little too often for my liking, you become the monster, or the maelstrom---or even both--yourself.

And that's no way to live.


(Birthday reflections: improvements and amends to be made.)

Anticipation