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straits, channels, canals-- mostly things of the past, when it comes to contemporary minding of geography. they were once means for opening routes, interactions, possibilities. and they still are.
only now we swim them.
36 degrees in clearwater brighton today. the sand marbled, desertlike, by the constant northeasterly wind of winterbeach; a periscope near the ocean parkway jetty became a long-necked swan sailing in with the current. bright sun makes an enormous difference in the air temperature despite a frigid wind blasting patticaramelissacristianjonathanmichaelme, now a robust six playing penguin huddle-n-switch to escape the draft. melissa, cara, michael, then patti swim, emerging in burnt umber and fireorange red. our turn. the clarity is a welcome distraction from the absurdity. we need a new sport! j. shouts, again.
low tide and a crystal clear sea, nothing on the seafloor but shells and light reflected. i have more energy to swim when I don't sight madly for the sun. hands go numb, but my kick feels strong and it also keeps me warm. it took me nearly fifteen minutes after the swim to feel the cold hit my back-- long after everyone else was done shivering. I feel tired, but strong and acclimatised.
last night, on my way out to the earthrise record release party, a loud thump-- i had to crouch down to see what had fallen under Bubbie and Abie's highboy. a lump in the dark. smooth stone in my hand-- it was a rock, collected from a small beach on puget sound in seattle after a kelpyclear starfish swim in that strange cold green. the rock went in my pocket, and came out again on the train downtown. purple-maroon of rusty ships, glassy smooth, with striae of what appears to be granitegrey pumice caked with seaschmutz green. a beautiful, kidney-shaped conglomerate of rocks and ages, seas and lands, times and places and history, all in my palm.
early rehearsal tomorrow cuts into my last possible beach day-- this was it! next swim in chile. we're ready...
madames et monsieurs, les jeux sont faits.
a quick shout-out to Gilles Chalandon, who hit the beach with us on New Year's eve-morning and made it all the way to the jetty in 34 degrees and the snow! he is one tough petit gateau.
just another day in the deep-freezer out in Brighton. the water dipped six degrees over the past day, down to a terrifying, tendon-twitching 34. honestly, compared to the sandstorm on the icy beach, the water felt warm. my hands bear the brunt of the cold-- my inner furnace was unruffled. by the time Cristian, Jonathan and I hit the beach-- on second shift, after looking after Melissa, Patti and Michael-- it was a full-force gale.
amazingly, after my hands returned to normal, the rest of my recovery was minimal. two years ago, when we first experienced this sort of cold, it was so awful that we basically got in and got out. two full winters of acclimation and our bodies are far more capable-- the adaptation is truly physiological.
the ocean was lovely and wild, with icy waves whipping us into the froth. the surf in my face when I tried to look for Cristian ahead stung between my teeth.
I'm glad we don't have to swim tomorrow.
it's cold. headed to the pool in the snowy pre-dawn, relaxed but muscle-tired from three days in a row of chilly, chilly swims at brighton-- one snowfilled beachwhite silver-laminated frigidip on the last day of 2009, just in time to catch the lowest point of the week, 34.5 fahrenheit, and feel the taut tendons twitch in my hands as I pulled, like vibrating steel strings; then a joyously warmer jetty-jaunt on the first day of 2010; today, a chill wind whipped cold icedroplets into my face-- pellets ricocheting off my blue swede goggles-- and a frigidair wind made me want to stay in, anything but get back up there in the sandstorm and flurries on the beach. thankfully, it'll be summer in the southern hemisphere...
I'm honored that Kathleen Cook has graciously sponsored my Beagle Channel effort with a really classy swimsuit.
This is going to be a photogenic effort...stand by for Bond-worthy photos, with frogmen. eleven days to take-off!
