After paying the parking fee, we drove out onto the white, sandy, seaweed-covered beach to find a decent parking spot. I say that seaweed covered, but in truth there was only a rim of seaweed on the shore.
My first look at the waters of the Gulf was a little surprising. The water was a sandy color, as opposed to the tropical blue, which I had envisioned. The waves seemed to continually crest and roll into the shore. The sea is untiring.
I couldn't resist the chance to ride these small white caps. They were small, but a few of them swelled past five feet tall. I ventured out into the salty abyss, wandering about a hundred feed from the shoreline. There is an amazing difference in the water level between two waves, when the water level is near my knees contrasted to the wave itself when, I am lifted several feet off of the bottom.
The waves did not seem to diminish in either frequency or strength during the two or so hours that we spend there. However, there is something to be said for letting the ocean have its way with you. The sense of something greater than yourself is ever-present. As I allowed the waves to carry me, several of them struck me with such force as to allow the undercurrent to pull me under. One particularly strong wave had me doing flips under the water. The experience is exhausting.
I made my way to the shore in order to dry off and soak up some rays. I was surprised to see tiny clams digging back down into the sand after each wave uprooted them from their homes. Life is everywhere here.
After drying off it was time to head back to Jason’s house. Alas, my wave-riding adventures had come to an end.
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