Walking on the Beach

There’s something soothing about walking on the beach... the sound of the waves crashing onto shore, the water receding back out… over and over again. I hear nothing else, just the water, the wind, the occasional shriek of a seagull… it calms my soul.

In landlocked Alberta I don’t get to experience this sensation. I have to rely on my Dan Gibson’s Solitudes: The Classics CD to take me to that place. It adds gentle classical music and bird twitter to the waves, and whenever I have a migraine or just need to relax, I reach for the iPod, close my eyes, and drift into that space.

Growing up, the ocean was never far away, and I have fond memories of finding a sheltered spot (“gryde”) in the sand in which to spread my towel and settle down for a while. Now that I have to travel hundreds of kilometers to reach the ocean, I drink it in tenfold to sustain me until next time.

On our recent road trip I got to walk on several beaches, Crescent Beach being one of them. It is a long strip of sand south of Crescent City in Northern California, and at low tide the strip is quite wide. The mist coming off the ocean on this day made the beach walk almost ethereal… me, all alone, at the end of the world.

Most people, at some point or other when they walk on the beach, bend their heads and look for rocks, shells, feathers, and whatever else is washed up by the waves. I am no different, and at the same time I challenge myself to capture a story from the beach in my viewfinder.

The Pacific Ocean is one wild ocean. I have a healthy respect for her and she has rewarded me. We shall meet again.