Storm brings out the show at water’s edge

CATHARINE COOPER

Winter spreads wide her blustery wings and blankets the landscape in

an early December chill. We grab warm sweaters, tall boots and fat

socks, put extra blankets on the bed, and move soups to the top of

the menu. The solstice is still three weeks away, but the fourth

season has clearly made her presence felt.

The weekend was awash with pounding rain and blistering winds --

perfect weather for a long walk along Crystal Cove State Beach. Along

with the open space surrounding Laguna, this expansive piece of

shoreline, with its native vegetation and undeveloped slopes, is

another treasure of South County. While Steve thought I was crazy, he

donned rain gear and gloves and joined me on my exploration. Only

four others braved the stormy weather and the solitude reminded me of

north coast beaches, complete with pounding surf.

Sand piled up in curious shapes and long streamers coursed wet

beaches as the wind shifted direction and speed. Shore birds huddled

behind small piles of seaweed, their only refuge from the storm.

Sanderlings, stopped from their frantic foraging, tucked their tiny

heads under their wings to rest and regain their body’s warmth.

Four arctic terns “parked” themselves at the water’s edge, dark

beaks pointed to the wind. They appeared at ease and let me wander

within a few feet of their resting place. I crouched low, my own back

to the wind and joyously observed their interactions. Unlike the

plover and turnstone, they chose to keep the tips of their feet in

the water, adjusting their location with the ebb and flow of the

waves. Their stark white bodies stood in bold distinction to the

angry blue of the Pacific. I’d never been as close to a tern, this

long-distance champion of migration. I wondered how much of their

15,000 mile southward journey these four had traveled. Terns live as

long as 25 years, and each year travel a distance that roughly

translates into a trip around the world.

At the north end of the park, runoff poured from the storm drain,

formed a fresh water stream and the chance of a bathing ‘game’ for a

number of small birds. Turnstones, semi-palmated plovers and

sandpipers strutted to the top of the flow to begin a “ride” seaward.

Just before they hit the waves, they’d jump out, fluff their feathers

and start over again.

In the cave at the park’s terminus, two lanky-legged marbled

whimbrels crouched in a corner to wait out the storm. Their

multi-colored feathers blended perfectly with the sandstone, and it

wasn’t until I startled them, that they were even visible. I could

feel the flutter of their wings as they flew close to my face.

Gulls huddled down against the tide pool, looking something like

snowballs on the rocks, and everywhere, those with wings made low.

Off shore, a formation of pelicans skimmed along the water’s edge. In

their midst, a smaller bird, not pelican, but not easily identified,

slipped into their formation. I wondered if the smaller bird were

using the pelicans as a shield.

The storm pressed upon the coastline with increasing intensity.

Wind whipped waves churned the surface which continued to hold a dark

and ominous color. In the distance, a tall-ship rocked up and down, a

single sail carrying them northward.

The world was awash in the magic of weather, and my body rejoiced

in the moment. The gifts of leaving the warmth of my house could

hardly be counted. The color of the light. The press of the wind. The

unusually relaxed behavior of the birds in my presence. The

immeasurable joy of rain on my face in a land that, at its heart, is

a desert.

My only request -- more of the same!

* CATHARINE COOPER loves wild places. She can be reached at

[email protected].