The Beachcomber

 The Beachcomber

You can hear the morning rumble of thunder and then some type of decision must be made: do I go beach combing or not? It could be risky. There is no penetrating sun and the sky is one grumpy looking stretch of dark, menacing clouds. The cloud heads are building up like an advancing army poised to attack. There is a good chance of very severe weather. 

But the elements whisper to you like a big adventure brother inviting you to go on a great quest. The Southwest wind has been strong and steady since yesterday and the night tide has brought in all types of treasures.

Will the rain hold off?  

The super sexy hot weather girl that you drool over every night promised sunny blue skies and just a terrific summer day. Even if she is dead wrong you will find it in your heart to forgive her.  

There is a small window of opportunity. The decision to go later will not be very beneficial. If you decide to abort the mission then Callahan will surely be there and he will claim all the wonderful treasures that the night tide has brought in.  

You detest Callahan in the exact opposite manner that you lust after the sexy weather girl with those icy blue eyes and the hourglass figure. The beads of time keep falling and not in your favour.

Well, which is it going to be?

A another round of thunder marches past and the voices inside your head are at war.

The wind is strong and steady assuring that the waves will be rolling off like an assembly line.

You realize that it is now or never.  

In ten minutes, you grab a quick bite to eat, dress in your beach combing gear and pack a snack including two bottles of water: one cold and the other completely frozen. The latter will melt as you walk down the beach.

You lock the door and head out aware that it could be a very negative experience. But the magnetic pull of the curiosity of what you will find is too irresistible.  

You light it up in the morning darkness moving down the road as the blackness coddles you like a loving mother.  The park is only ten minutes away and if timed perfectly, you will arrive just as the friendly, gate girl starts work.

You also need to keep an eye out for that loathsome nemesis Callahan. He is tall, bespectacled and a real pain in the butt.

As you drive by pictures of the lake are interspersed between the cottages that dot the shore. The water is angry frothing at the mouth like a vicious dog.

You get to the bridge and cross it and a flash of lightning comes down on the lake like the hammer of Thor. It starts to rain and your heart sinks. But the drops are slow to fall and it stops as quickly as it began.

The cute girl is at the park gate and waves not even bothering to check your pass. There is a wave back and a smile. In less than five minutes the car is parked and the adventure is ready to be experienced.

You step out on the beach and the wind hits your face with tremendous force. It is hot; there is a mixture of stale air, dead fish and algae. It is already starting to heat up, but nothing compared to what it will be in a few hours. This is another reason why you hit the beach so early in the morning.  

The waves punish the shore creating their own clamour so they can be seen and heard. The light has not completely shoved the darkness away, but there is enough guidance to make your way down the beach that is littered with treasures.

Will the rain hold off?

Less than five minutes into the walk and the first fishing lure - a real nice one - all shiny with brand new hooks appears ready for the taking. It is going to be a great morning.

You pick it up properly so not to rip a finger open. In a second, you toss it in the large plastic bag and stash it in the backpack. Hopefully, there will be lots of visits to the plastic bag on this very stormy, disruptive morning.

There is no sign of Callahan. Maybe the big chicken didn’t want to get wet or slept in. This puts an extra spring in your step. There is a touch of anxiety because once he shows up it will be a competition.

There is another fishing lure nicer than the first one. It is really shaping up to be a great day.

There has been a lot of night activity. A huge log probably weighing several tonnes floated up probably over night. It wasn’t there a couple of days ago. It makes one wonder of how insignificant we really are in the universe. Humankind is capable of incredible engineering feats, but mother nature trumps us at every turn.

In the grand scheme of things we are a second point of view in the universe.

For a second the sun comes out and there is hope. But then the clouds move in and it gets dark.  

It gets so dark that you stop walking for fear of stepping on a nail. You stretch out your right arm and can’t see the tip of your fingers; this is how inky gloomy it is.

Is this the end of the universe?  What if God is tired of everyone’s nonsense how we hurt each other for no real reason? There is so much strife in the world and unjust and unfairness. The Almighty has decided to end life on the planet and begin anew. At least, you will die doing something you love.

Five minutes go by and the leaden sombreness has not lifted.

Then the sun peaks out like a child playing a game.

You start walking again and find a tattered five dollar bill.  

There are a number of dead fish on the beach and the pack of gulls is always a couple of hundred yards ahead. They peck at the carcasses and strut about like teenagers trying to prove their coolness. But as soon as you approach they take off.

One foot in front of another and soon the feet turn into meters and the metres turn into the first mile. You stop and look down the beach where the water and the sand melt into each other. Far beyond that is where the rocks start and there is no beach. This is the desired destination if the rain holds off.

So far the beautiful weather girl is doing a great job.

If it does rain, then let it. There is nothing more refreshing then a solid downpour. But, the down side is now that you are a mile from your car you will get super soaked.

Suddenly, you stop. There is a good-sized racoon in front of you. It looks up from its breakfast - a dead carp - and doesn’t look too happy to be disturbed.

It is a stalemate. It would make a great still life painting. A beachcomber out on a morning stroll against the dark, agonizing sky with an angry lake pounding the soft, brown sand. A racoon caught in the moment, its mask vibrant and the wild eyes threatening. But it is afraid.

After a couple of minutes which seem like an eternity, it shuffles off leaving breakfast behind. You smile having won the battle and continue the journey.

There is still no sign of Callahan.  

Up ahead, the flock of gulls continue to peck in the algae and strut around. Their cry is sharp, a warning of impending doom? They certainly do not hold a candle in the looks department to the cherished weather girl, but maybe their weather predicting skills are slightly better?

Amongst the dull grey and white variety of gulls is a crow prancing around like a minister. There is also a great blue heron. It towers over the others like a tenth grader amongst fourth graders.

They are aware of your presence but don’t acknowledge it. This is a game they play at every stop. You halt not wanting to disturb any of them. Then, the crow bolts and panics the others. The great blue heron takes flight with tremendous force. It is breathtaking.

The walk continues and your lure count is now seven, plus a five dollar bill.  

Up ahead, you spot the gull with the lure in it. It appears injured and all tangled up in fifty yards of string.  

The bird attempts to escape but it doesn’t go very far. The lure is imbedded in its foot. You have to be careful not to be bitten because they eat carrion and there mouths are full of nasty germs and possible diseases.

There is only one solution.

With your trusty stick you lightly tap the bird in the head hard enough to knock it out, but not too much power to kill it.

You have a three minute window of opportunity and you have to work fast.

Just then it starts to pour the rain driving into you like tiny pellets.

But there is more to being a beachcomber then collecting fishing lures and the occasional monetary reward. You are also an environmentalist, an Eco-warrior and the gull needs to be saved. This is why you never disturb the driftwood or collect shells or stones or fossils.

So you work diligently untangling the mess of string and prying as gently and quickly as possible to remove the rusty hook from its foot. The main hook is in there pretty deep. But, you are a surgeon with the most delicate touch and expert hands; this is not your first patient.

The driving rain is relentless and the wind has kicked it up a notch. The sand crystals peck at your face like the gull would if you hadn’t given it a crude anesthesia.  

The storm is in real time and the waves are now genuine monsters. They crash to shore with tremendous power; the noise is almost deafening. The waves roll up to your feet the water cool and embracing.

But like an athlete in a pressure situation, you drown out all of the natural elements to concentrate on the task at hand.

The work is almost completed. Just a few more precious seconds and it will be done.

Finally, the lure is yours and the nest of string is piled on the beach. The gull awakens and squawks before it runs off into the rough waters to escape. You don’t even get a proper thank you, but smile because it makes your heart swell that you saved the ingrate bird.

The rest of the walk is anti-climatic. It rains for about ten minutes and stops. On the walk back, it starts up again, but then once again finishes with a whimper.

You stop where the vehicle is parked. You face the lake and feel the omnipotent power of mother nature as the wind whips up the lake into a frenzy. The sand pellets hit your face and there is even a spray of water.  

There is garbage floating up and it breaks your heart. There is all this talk about the environment, but there seems to be more polluters than those that actually give a damn.

You make it back to your car and someone has put a lure around the mirror. You know it isn’t Callaghan. 

You head out of the park and another beach combing adventure is over. 

Maybe, if the wind continues to blow and the storm hits harder tomorrow morning will be another good day?