Sleeping to the Sound of the Sea

 

My alternate title was, “After the Invasion” but who wants to relive that episode?  Certainly not me. 

Greetings from Crystal Cove State Park, an absolute gem in the (hit and miss) California State Park Campgrounds.   My first time camping here was in Salt, with Alan, Rosco and River, on the night we moved out of our “Movie Star” house in Laguna Beach and into our 19’ Airstream (2011).  The park had just opened and we were too exhausted from that incredibly busy day (weeks, really) to appreciate the view.  Having stayed here numerous times since, I have made up for it with countless hours of staring.

But let’s talk about my hasty leave-taking from Morro Bay State Park:  I had planned to stay there a full week but my last three nights were to be in the middle of that tent-filled encampment so there was no way that was going to happen.  Despite the exorbitant cost, I booked three nights at Flying Flags Avila Beach, a place I have stayed at many times to varying degrees of enjoyment—but I was desperate.

I found myself thinking, on the very short drive between the two, that I do recall times when camping at Morro Bay State Beach was not fun—for the same reasons as this time.  So why was I so unhappy and desperate to leave?  And this is the problem with living alone (might be the only one as far as I can see):  You lose the ability to adapt.  Because you never have to compromise or do something that you might not want to do, you forget how to adjust your mind, how to look for the good in something even if it is driving you crazy.

So it was attitude adjustment time.  

The weather continued to be warm and the beaches filled, so I knew that it was likely to be crowded at Flying Flags as well; I was just hoping that the pricing would keep a little class around and maybe I wouldn’t be treated to a parade of people in their flannel pajamas and slippers heading to the bathrooms each morning.  But above that, I concentrated on the fact that families were out having fun and kids were outside and not attached to an electronic device.  These are important things.  Valuable things.  I pledged to make the most of it.

And what did I get?  Two nights of absolute heaven:  Parked in the dry camping area with no one next to me, Beagle’s back door open to the sea, Opus and I sitting outside Beagle in the warm breeze just staring at the boats in the harbor, the porpoise, seals and otters.

Those few days were filled with long morning walks (of course), a quick stop at Kracken Coffee for a bacon date scone (holy lord almighty), pickleball or paddling, reading, swimming in the ocean, and falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the shore.  (A particular benefit of this RV park is that you can walk to Mersea’s at the end of the fishing pier and grab a Crab Louie Salad (twice) or grilled fish over steamed vegetables and rice (once).)  Ya, I haven’t opened a can of soup for days.

Trying to force myself into new experiences (to help me become more adaptable), I decided to launch my paddle board from the beach.  Usually I launch my board from a marina or dock where there are no waves breaking.  But I challenged myself and launched from the beach, pushing my board over the breaking waves and hopping on—I felt like a surfer! 

And what a treat it was to paddle in the ocean!  After the calm of Puget Sound and Morro Bay, to be on a board with the energy of the waves beneath you, out beyond the break, floating over the large swells—it was delightful!  Fortunately, it was cool enough to leave Opus in the Beagle—I didn’t want him out there in the waves and with the many, rowdy and loud seals.

Riding the waves back into shore I managed to hop off without a problem, dragging my board up to the dry sand and returning for a nice swim.   I lived in the area for three years and never swam in the ocean; it was always too cold.  But with El Nino, the water is warm enough for a good long swim.  (It helps to come out and lay on your hot paddleboard which has been soaking up the sun.)

My third night there a giant A-Class Bus Like Thing parked next to me—his slide outs actually touched my picnic table—so I was happy to leave.

I stopped for two nights in Santa Barbara but not at the Ant Farm.  I landed a spot at El Capitan State Park, another of my oldies but goodies, and it did not disappoint.  With my new attitude toward the (is that screaming or just laughter?) loud children and packed campground, I was happy.  My first spot was nestled in the eucalyptus trees with no one next to me, and the second night I moved up to #124; a spot I found years ago, way at the end of the campground.  There are only four spots back there and they are parallel to the ocean.  I parked so Beagle's front door opened to the sea.

And so here I am on the first night of my last week in California, happily ensconced in an end unit where Beagle’s door opens to a lovely view of the canyon and her back door opens to the ocean.  Seven more nights of sleeping to the sound of the sea.

-K