Saint and Human Get Soaked

When you live by the ocean, you come to think you understand it. Or maybe, you understand how much you don't understand, retaining a healthy respect for the unknown.

But sometimes we get a little too comfortable. Or distracted.

This morning we were reminded of this when Daisy and I went out for our walk. As we headed down toward state park, we noticed the sign about unpredictable surf. Glad they post that for tourists, we thought. We observed the water pouring high on the beach, normal for winter but not as intense as the past few days. Over the weekend, the waves rolled so high and forcefully that we chose not to venture down to the sand.

But this morning, the sea had settled a bit and the wet, sparkling sand looked very inviting. We got all the way to the north end and the gray-blue spikes and spires of crashing water amazed us with their beauty. It had started to rain, but I was dressed warmly and Daisy had her fur coat.

When we turned around at the end, Daisy began to act antsy and pull. The rain began to pour. I looked down toward the middle of the beach and could barely make out, as I peered between raindrops, three people. They accompanied what looked to be three to four rollicking dogs. Were they heading toward us? Or turning back because of the downpour? We kept walking and I squinted to see better. We reached a spot where we had to cross a little stream. Here freshwater pours down the hillside and meets the waves. Just as I discerned that the group had turned around, I noticed a wave coming. And a big wave at that.

It was too late to turn back and too wet to turn forward. All we could do was stand there, with one wave sloppily coming around front and one rapidly advancing behind.

My soaked legs and feet

They call these "sleepers," big waves that emerge out of what looks like a calm sea. I planted my feet as the water swirled around us and I could feel Daisy getting lighter. Stay, Daisy! Daisy, stay! (I should have called, "Swim!") I encouraged her and held on. The water washed up to my thighs but Daisy managed to stick with me. Finally the flow subsided and we plowed forward and out of that dangerous spot. She shook a couple of times, and I could see sand sprinkled all about her coat.

I'm not sure whether having to swim against a rising current was more frightening to Daisy than those dogs down the beach. As soon as she got free of the water, she began to press forward toward the other animals, lurching right and left and pulling hard. All I know is that when we got home, she wanted a hug and was very, very tired.