La Jolla

The sand at La Jolla Shores is no different than any other beach. Kids use it to build sand castles and adults use it to walk on, letting the soft grit squish between their toes. I slipped off my shoes, my socks, and stepped into the undulation of the water and felt the whooshing sand across my feet.

The beach is a novelty for my family. We live two states away from the coast and where we live, water is scarce and palm trees are non-existent.

The three girls put on their swimming suits and played in the waves, while Jordan rode his long board to the pier and back, fulfilling a desire for that quintessential California experience. Jenelle reclined on a blanket and enjoyed watching the kids play in the water.

A beach is always a good place to watch people: surfers trudging into the water, board tucked beneath their arm and leash strapped to their ankle; a little boy playing with shovel and bucket; teenage girls snapping pictures with a phone; and lovers walking hand-in-hand along the washed-up water. I also spotted para-gliders and a blimp.

I've always wanted to eat a picnic lunch on the beach. With this in mind, we brought a cooler full of food. I sat on the blanket and pulled two slices of bread out of the bag, spread mayo on both sides and placed a slice of salami and a slice of cheese and a few shreds of lettuce onto one side of the bread, then folded the two slices back together. I also opened a bag of chips and another of cookies.

We began to notice a large flock of seagulls hovering around us. Some circled overhead and others paced toward us on the sand. Kaitlyn tried waving them away to no avail. They were after our lunch.

The first sandwich made I gave to Kaitlyn. She paced nervously away from the birds, holding her sandwich against her belly. They persisted to follow. I began making another sandwich, keeping the bread low near my knees on the blanket. During this process, Kaitlyn came running and screaming, chased by a flock of birds, throwing her uneaten sandwich to the ground, and running away. Within seconds, a gull swooped down and devoured it with her strong bill.

Savanah, my eight year-old, took the second sandwich. We advised her to keep the sandwich low and in front of her, and not to do anything that would draw attention to the sandwich. This strategy worked well for two minutes until another gull dove in, not only stealing her sandwich, but pecking her shoulder, leaving a bright red mark. She cried for the next five minutes while my wife held her in her arms.

Now it was my turn to eat a sandwich. I felt the best strategy would be to leave the area near the blanket and clandestinely eat my food somewhere else. I moved twenty yards away and felt good about how I was doing things. I would take a bite of sandwich, then hold it close to my right hip. I watched the seagulls swirl around our blanket, while they all seemed oblivious of me. I had finished half of my sandwich, when from behind me, a bird swooped down and stole my sandwich from my hand! He nipped my thumb during the process. A slice of salami fell to the ground. I shook my head in disgust.

After having managed to eat lunch, I opened my backpack and pulled out a yellow Frisbee. This yellow disc traveled five hundred miles just for this purpose. Like the picnic, I have always wanted to play Frisbee on the beach, and hadn't ever done it.

Kaitlyn and I played together, just tossing it back and forth. It was a little tricky with other people in the same area. Our first several throws were really off-target, tending to turn side-ward and veer off to the right. Any time that a person walked near us, we learned that it was best to wait and let them pass.

Finally, we got the swing of things and were catching most of the throws made to us. My favorite throws were those involving a running catch. We began playing on the dry sand, not far from the water, but soon we were intentionally throwing toward the water so that we would have to run and splash into the current to catch the Frisbee. Sometimes we would accidentally throw well off-course and the Frisbee would land in the waves. But it always washed back to shore. Kaitlyn and I had a lot of fun playing together.

The sun was making its way toward the western horizon on this short November day, and we knew that it was time to move on if we were to make it to Seal Rock. We had spent our day on the long beach that is called La Jolla Shores. This section is extensive and straight. The coast continues south where the flat beaches give way to steep cliffs as the coast curves to the west. Beyond that curve is Seal Rock, where the seals hang out. My friend from San Diego told me that he thought there was a walking path between La Jolla Shores and Seal Rock, the distance between the two being a little over a mile.

We set out on a journey to see the seals: two parents, two teenagers, two kids, and several feet wearing flip-flops. We followed the beach south, hoping to find a foot-path soon. A brick fence crossed the beach, perpendicular to the water, but not reaching the water. I didn't see a sign that prohibited us from crossing this point, so we continued.

The brick fence must have indicated a point of demarcation, because now the beach was nearly empty and the sand had recently been raked. A long rustic building, in the same color of the brick fence, sat at the beach's edge and a table with white linen, wine glasses and utensils wrapped in white napkins with a pink bow tied around them sat outside one of the rooms of the building. At the far end of this exclusive beach, the sandy shore abruptly ended and the steep cliffs began. No foot path here. We definitely felt like we were in the wrong place and found a door to enter the building where we could quickly exit the other side. (We later learned that this was the private La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club.)

Instead of navigating a sandy path, we now found ourselves guessing which La Jolla street would be the best to take. All led uphill. We walked along Spindrift Drive up to Torrey Pines Road. The distant cliffs were now out of site and the sun was inching ever closer to the horizon. Jenelle was complaining that we would never get there in time, and she had good reason to do so. Cars zoomed past us at speeds that forced us to keep all our kids to the far right of the narrow sidewalk.

We knew we were close to the ocean, but all the houses on our right side blocked the view. I knew that the view they had out their back windows must have been amazing.

The next street sign we came to read Coast Walk. This was certainly our best bet. We followed the narrow paved road down a short hill where it ended and a foot-path began. Hallelujah!

The trail ran along the edge of a high cliff. Far below us the crest of the waves crashed into black rocks at the foot of the cliff. The pier and the shore that we just came from were visible across the vast corner of ocean.

To our left, literally just off the trail, were the backyards of large homes. Ahead of us, perched along the crevices of the cliff that bent inward, hundreds of black cormorants dotted the face. Where they overflowed to the top of the cliff, we watched them up close, only steps away from the trail. Not only were there cormorants, but also seagulls and pelicans. Splats of white guano stained much of the cliff-side.

The view from this vantage point was amazing. But with the sun already dipping below the horizon, I knew that Seal Rock would be difficult to reach with any kind of suitable light.

We enjoyed what we could, which at the moment was plenty. Below us, a rocky promontory with a wide tunnel or arch stood defiant in the water. Waves beat against it and water moved freely through the tunnel. The passageway was short, I knowing that because I could sense the light from the other side. A lone man with a swimming suit sat at the tunnels edge, hanging his feet in the water. The maps name this promontory as Goldfish Point.

We walked around a bend in the trail and found exactly what we were looking for: seals. This wasn't Seal Rock, but whatever its name was [La Jolla Cove], it was full of them.

A low wooden fence separated the trail from the seals, or sea lions, and a little gate allowed access to join them on the other side with plenty of signs warning tourists not to get too close. And there were plenty of tourists, mingling, but not too close, with seals and cormorants.

Most of the seals lolled on the rocks, occasionally rolling around and barking. They reminded me of a wailing corpse in a horror movie, with no arms and no legs. When one decided to move a considerable distance of a few feet, he raised his on his back flippers and waddled up the rock.

They were used to the human crowd, and didn't appear to shy way from anyone. I watched one sea lion raise his head and spew air at a young teenager. The startled boy jumped back. I think the seal was only playing with him. Several of us smiled.

Other sea lions dropped into the choppy water to take an evening swim. The blue water, now taking on a shade of darkness, tossed them like a washing machine would toss a shirt. The water appeared cold to me, but I am sure that the seals were content and completely within their realm.

Anxious tourists took advantage of the final minutes of light that their cameras would allow and snapped portraits of themselves with the seals.

As for us, it was time that we started making the journey back to our vehicle. The lights around La Jolla were now illuminating and some reflected far into the ocean. The last hue of sunset rested over the city. Even in the darker light, the white-capped waves could still be seen twirling toward the bay.