Winter Sunset With Sea Otters

After making my choice on flooring today (see previous post), I needed to get out into the wild and explore, so I grabbed my iPhone, my binoculars, some water and took off for an area I like south of Carmel that locals call Monastery Beach.  There's a State Park walk that is just south of the Carmel River Beach that extends from the monastery beach area north to the river and includes a rocky shore, south Carmel Bay and views of Pt Lobos.  Entrance is free and walking is very easy.

I parked at the entrance gate area and began to look for, well, whatever was there.  I like hiking the area this time of year because the ground is more moist, the grass is greening in and winter skies are far more interesting.  Wintering birds and local sea life are easy to spot, and most areas are usually not crowded.

The coast is ridiculously beautiful from Pebble Beach to points south of here extending another 70 miles or so - the storied Big Sur Coast.  At the time of day I walked, the tide was low, the intertidal zone was fairly exposed and there was only a whisper of a breeze in 65-degree air.  A few other people came and went but I felt like I was alone and free.

Bush bunnies made furtive dashes from one side of the trail to the other but mostly stayed hidden.  Wren tits, sparrows and crows were active but held their songs as they waited for sunset.  Exotic oxalis is blooming now, a vivid fluorescent yellow spot of color here or there.  I thought of pulling them up as they are an invasive species, but it would hardly matter, so I left them.

After gaining the beach in a matter of two minutes, it became obvious that high clouds might offer an interesting sunset later on.  Harbor seals, sea lions and sea otters were visible in the swells offshore, bobbing in a moderate chop and small swells.  Once again, the ocean was soothing after driving and doing errands.

On the distant juts of land that form Pt Lobos, big waves were galloping and surging to the jagged shore and exploding in tall sprays of white water.  On such an undulating coastline, it is common that one area will be protected and relatively tranquil while another area nearby will be getting pounded by much larger waves.  It all depends on the direction the swell is coming from.

The sun sank steadily into the west, now shining, now hidden behind layers of low clouds on the horizon, and as the anticipated time for sunset neared, sea life became more visible.  Egrets standing on rafts of kelp hunted for fish on the surface.  Cormorants dove and pounced on prey.  A pair of black oystercatchers pecked for small shelled creatures clinging to the rocks, and the ever-present gulls circled back and forth quietly.

I noticed a small persistent squalling call that at first sounded like a shorebird, but I located its source - a sea otter pup of a very small size.  Its mother was kept very busy diving for shellfish and returning quickly to the little one to satisfy its roaring appetite.  Sea otters eat something like a quarter of their weight in shellfish every day in order to fuel their metabolism.  They have intensely thick fur that they must groom with natural oils to keep supple and warm.  The otter pup was too small to dive for its own food and stayed put in a small raft of kelp, either busy eating or looking around for the female and squalling.  Each time she came back, he nuzzled her and climbed up on her belly to grab the food she held there while she floated on her back and fed herself and him.

After some time and a few dozen trips under to find food, the mother led her pup south a little way to an inlet and began searching once again.  I looked away for a while and realized I was hearing an alarm call and looked back.  The pup had drifted too close to the rocky shore and was caught in the surf now and had begun yelling loudly for help from the female.  She popped up from underwater and began her own alarm call, which sounded like a scream.  She torpedoed straight to the pup who was getting a good sloshing and tumbled in the waves helplessly.  She got to him in a flash, took him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out to a point beyond the surf line.  Any lifeguard would have been completely impressed with her firm and decisive rescue.  They jostled each other, she making sure the pup was fine, he keeping very close to her.  She licked him all over before relaxing and resuming her search for food.

With the drama over and calm restored for the time being, the sun trimmed the treetops of Pt Lobos with gold and cast glimmers on the restlessly moving ocean.  Wren tits sang their descending call from the brush nearby.  The pair of black oystercatchers bobbed and peeped on an outcropping of beaten sandstone, and then beat their way powerfully to the north where a pink and lavender evening sky waited.

Swimming, Sleeping, Sunning Seals

On a walk today on the Monterey Bay Recreation Trail ("Rec Trail"), the waves were big and sloshy, flopping and sliding up onto the shoreline.  They chugged in to the rock and sand margins of land like an old car with its gears slipping.

Just as loose and lazy was a beach full of harbor seals, whose fat torpedo-like bodies were covered in thick spotted coats.  There were about a hundred of them at the Hopkins Marine Station's protected cove, lying one next to another.  Their limpid eyes peered up at us once in a while, head lifted just long enough for a look and then flopping down again with a sigh.  Flippers stretched languidly and regular deep up-and-down motions of their sides showed how contentedly they were resting.

The bay was dark blue and choppy from a brisk breeze that stirred up the surface in gusts but not so bad that anyone was kept from a pleasant walk along the trail.  We headed from Pacific Grove on the mile or less of flat curving walk.  Out goal was the American Tin Cannery building where we enjoyed a hearty brunch at the First Awakenings restaurant, one of our usual breakfast places.

The waitress mentioned, after we told her about the surf, that a scientist from the Marine Station had spotted elephant seals hauling up on the beach there, an unusual occurrence.  Staff there have hopes that the large animals will make the cove a regular haunt so that they can be studied and protected.  The Station is a jut of land where a collection of buildings houses labs and libraries for grad students from Stanford to learn about marine life.

Once we were full to the brim with our meal, we walked back along the trail and took a good long look at the seals to see if we could spot the larger species.  None were to be seen, but the harbor seals were fine looking and very well fed.

More seals surfed in, sliding up on the beach on their bellies and then humping up to higher ground where they simply stopped to sun themselves for a while.  If a bigger wave rushed up to them, they simply lifted their heads and tail flippers up, barely inconvenienced by the swishing ocean water.  Every so often, one or two seals would ride a large rush of water back out into the little cove and take stock of the day with their heads periscoping around, eyes blinking calmly.

Just watching the seals made me sleepy, and I developed a lethargy that only a nap could cure.  Must have been the blueberry-wheatgerm pancake I'd eaten, but I'd rather blame the somnolent seals.

Pupping and an Inscrutable Clerk

Today was horrible.  Houses were pretty and flowers were beautiful.  Everywhere were clean sidewalks and neatly kept homes where people were quietly safe, well-adjusted and productively useful.  A lady was gently brushing oak leaves off her car, littered there by the tree overhead.  She looked content with her chore.  Another young woman was pushing her baby in a stroller; both were attractive and seemed to have no worries or concerns.  A dog on a leash sniffed a fence, didn't even lift his leg on it, looked so benign that I thought he was stuffed.

It all gave me a feeling that I was walking in a strange sensory deprivation zone.  The day was featureless and, well, plainly okay.  Sedate and peaceful to the point of tedium.

I was rather upended by so much of nothing wrong, to the point that it felt that something was actually awry, but I couldn't imagine what it was.  There was absolutely nothing going on.  Everything was fine. I wanted to scream.

I went back home and sat staring out the window for a while, my mind dulled, completely uninspired.  

I went for another walk later in the day, down to the post office, where the iconic symbol for the day emerged:  A very formal, emotionless but polite Chinese clerk waited on me.  I've seen him several times before, and he is always in tip-top form when at his station, always gives the ultimate in efficient, careful and perfectly regulated customer service.  He never makes a mistake and always treats everyone exactly the same as everyone else without even an iota of variation.

"May I help you at this window, ma'am?"

"Yes. I'd like to send this by certified mail."

"Would you also like to have delivery confirmation?"

"Isn't that redundant?" He waited for me to clarify my question, but I was at a loss.  He embodied inscrutability.  I didn't want to blither idiotically, but his silence seemed to encourage it; however, I held my tongue and quieted down.  He saw that I was ready for his explanation.  

"It adds a signature to the routine that the delivery person has to use when the parcel is delivered, ma'am."

"Well, no thank you, then."

"Very well.  Will there be anything else today, ma'am?" He asked, waiting for the next direction from me, confident that he could complete anything without fuss.

"No, thank you.  Here's my card."  His bearing was imperturbable, distant, efficient.  I wanted to tip his boat over, stick a rose between his teeth and turn on some sizzling Latin music.  Then, I imagined he could probably read my mind and considered me to be a lunatic.

"Debit or credit, ma'am?"

"Debit."

"Staple your receipts together?"

"Yes, please."

"There you go. Thank you. Have a very nice day." He handed me my card and receipt folded neatly together and bowed his head to me.  I listened carefully for the sound of a gong, muffled in the distance, but all was quiet and well under control.

I left the sanctuary/post office, walked down to Central Avenue, past the Centrella Hotel, downhill to the rec trail and then east along the waterfront for about a mile.  The ocean was blue, the sky was also blue, houses were neatly painted and birds circled picturesquely.  I found myself sighing a lot and wondering if there was going to be anything at all interesting about the day.  

Over near Hopkins Marine Station, signs and fencing had been placed warning away the public.  Okay, here we go, I thought.  Maybe a dead body had been found or a ship ran aground.

Nope, it was pupping seals.

I played with the word:  Pupping.  People don't pup; we aren't found to be pupping.  I was able to breathe normally again.  Something interesting was afoot.  It wasn't exactly mayhem, but it was better than the rest of the flatlined town had presented.

Pupping happens every April.  A few particular beaches that are small in size and well defined by rock outcroppings become home base for female harbor seals.  Dozens of pups are born and spend the next two months or so in the confines of the beach with their moms.  Crowds always gather.  It's Nature in full view, wildlife that's usually hidden in dark places.

The female seals were lying side by side on the beach sand, speckled torpedos with fur.  Only two pups were visible today, both curling up their flippers and lolling around in the soft sand near their mothers, clearly enjoying themselves in the sun.

A day that was nearly ruined with perfectly ordered uneventfulness was saved by wild animals lying around with their newborn babies.  Not earth-shattering, but it saved a horribly fine day.