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.

The Color of Life

Since November when I wandered off to Hawaii and back again, I have noticed Christmas colors gradually seep into the vistas and fine details of Honolulu and Hanalei and back again to San Juan Bautista, Monterey and Carmel.  Reflections of ochre and forest greens shine in window panes, wet streets, and metallic fabrics everywhere I turn.  The colors have been a curious mix of subtly dark earthen hues and then quick flashes of hammered gold and pounded silver.  The dashes of brilliance have been small, compressed, and vibrant, as if they were fire itself.  The season is pulsing with a tempered organic vitality, a dampened but hardly suppressed vigor that wants to spring free and grow.  There is possibility, a kinetic potential of poised energy awaiting its moment..  A dancer feels it as the moment just before the first downbeat of the music.

It has been a visual feast of a season but a quiet one, one in which delicate sounds have been more noticeable than powerful ones.  That very thing, though, emphasizes the feeling of coiled energy, as if the world has hushed to a whisper and rustle as it realizes the dancer is ready to begin.

I spent a good part of the day with friends in Carmel with Christmas glittering and shining in bits and pieces as we walked to town, and flowing before me on the beach at sunset.  

Carmel is a very small city surrounded on three sides by scenery so beautiful it makes your eyes blur with tears sometimes.  On the fourth side is a highway busy with traffic and human industry.  In the middle of it all is a peculiar and unique collection of people, their homes and their dogs.  Because it is all so unique and peculiar, it is odd.  Beauty and oddity is eccentric and that is really what Carmelites delight in.  Even if they don't delight in it, their peculiarities persist and they remain eccentric.  They insist on doing so many fussy and unusual things, collectively, that it gets to a point that if they did not have their own little city to live in, they might not really be able to survive anywhere else.  They, and their dogs, are rare breeds who require excessive amounts of attention and deference.  But, they are good people nonetheless and care deeply.

All that being said, I still love Carmel.  I don't spend much time in town even though it's very pretty.  Instead, I get to points south of Carmel where I have more breathing room and can feast my eyes on the exact thing that has brought all those peculiar people to Carmel:  The ocean and the land that meets it there.

At the end of the day my friends and I went to Carmel River State Beach.  There, we breathed deeply and stood still.  Christmas faded away from my mind and so did the rest of the universe.  In every direction there was natural splendor, and I was a squeak, a twinkle, a dot.  Then the forces of life and nature get on with their show, dancing with bright banners and pennants, flinging plumes and leaping spray, a booming shorebreak and hissing foam.

There's this thing about sunsets at that particular beach that I saw today:  It is emblematic of change and transition.  Far out in the western sky the blazing sun descends through layers of shifting cirrus clouds, sinking inexorably to the horizon.  To the south, surf pounds and leaps against stalwart cliffs that gradually crumble.  The flying surf atomizes into a drifting haze of mist that drifts inland.  Nearby, the Carmel River flows sinuously but quietly across the sloping beach to meet the thumping waves.  One form of water flows into another and then becomes cloud again, shifting and eddying, lifting and falling.  Gulls and pelicans stitch between breakers and sky, all through time.  None of it needs us to see it; it is fine on its own.

Millions and millions of people have come and gone from Carmel, admired its man-made beauty and determination to be different, but it would not be worth a red cent if it did not have that incredible ocean moving restlessly at its flank.  I saw scarlet, crimson, gold and silver shining in the windows of Carmel, windows decorated with lights and expensive trinkets and goods.  But the colors of life itself spread themselves in shimmering perfection at sunset.  Life is kinetic energy represented in the colors of Christmas that I've been seeing this winter.  Life is waiting, biding its time, signaling its presence in the colors of a golden sunset and every wet reflection and glistening drop of water.

Picnic Walk at Carmel Meadows Shore

With a small tasty snack (sliced pineapple, cheese, chocolate) and some water, we went south to Carmel River State Beach to walk.  There is an unnamed trail on State Park land that you can access by car, or by bike if you ride down there.  Look for a little red schoolhouse called Bay School -- a Montessori school -- that serves as a landmark about two miles south of Rio Rd along Highway 1.  It lies just north of Monastery Beach along the coast.  It's a sharp right turn.  You don't slow down, you end up in the sandbox upside down at the school.  So, easy does it.  

Park along the little road, lock up your car, and start walking west through a simple opening in the fence you'll see there.  Says dogs must be on leash and no forest fires and no camping and no to a couple of other things, too.  But, it's good, free, very pretty.  The trail is impossible to miss and mostly flat.  Generally, I would say the area is called Carmel Meadows Trails, named after a housing area that flanks it on the east side. 

You walk along on the gently curving trail through stretches of local chaparral like coyote brush, wild radish, alyssum gone wild and fragrant as honey perfume, sage, and California poppies.  Almost immediately, you get big stunning panoramic views of Monastery Beach, the Hudson Ranch and Pt Lobos to the south and west.  And the ocean of course. 

The storm surf that has been so heavy lately is still pounding the shore, roaring and rumbling.  As we walked along the trail heading north along the bluffs to Carmel River State Beach, the surf was tremendously distracting and beautiful in the winter light.  The stretch of trail has been punctuated through the years by thoughtful placement of viewing benches that face west.  At sunset, I'm sure all the benches are occupied as besotted happy people gaze at the hammered gold and amber art painted across the sky. 

It's very pleasant to find a spot on the wild shore to stretch out a towel, set up some beach chairs and enjoy a picnic.  Most areas are secluded with easy access and eye-popping beauty in every direction.  Today when we were on our walk, we saw a few groups setting up spots for the afternoon, steadying chairs and spreading blankets, easing themselves down with happy sighs of delight.   

When we'd reached our destination -- the Carmel River outflow -- we sat on a few boulders below the bluffs and watched the confluence of the river and sea.  Some waves were monsters and washed way up the river, around our rocks.  I felt as though we could have been set loose on the current and carried out to sea to sail away.  It was a fine day, an invigorating walk and spectacular waves.  Got a few good pictures, too.   

 

 

A Quickie

Only seven minutes to write today.  Off to work soon. 

Storm hasn't hit yet, but it's lumbering in.  You can feel shifts in temperature from balmy to cool and back again.  This is the west's version of the famous Perfect Storm that hit the northeastern seaboard a couple of decades ago - three major systems that all came together with deadly results - but our version has two.  The warm southern Pacific system is more moisture laden and the more northern, Alaska-originated front is colder and has faster-moving air. 

At this moment, the air is graying with darker and more heavy clouds every hour, but the air is still and folks are out bustling about with their usual business. 

Motivated to get out of our usual humdrum Saturday morning, we rummaged a few things to carry along, and indulged in a few treats from Pavel's Bakerei on Forest Avenue downtown.  Beignet, cinnamon brioche and blueberry scone - all immense, tender and warm from the ovens.  A few paces across the street to Grove Market to buy an organic Fuji apple and a Bosc pear and we were ready for a walk at Carmel River State Beach, which is my favorite beach in the world, hands down.  That oughta get us through bad weather now.  Hearts and stomachs full, eye-popping scenery in a 360-degree panorama, the fragrance of wild alyssum and booming surf.  Staggeringly good morning. Pictures to be posted when I have more time.  Gotta run.