Foysters

Friday I went to the beach for the first time in much too long. K took me, which was especially fortunate because we decided to go to Torrey Pines, and being the geologist type of guy that he is, it was even more fun than usual. He introduced me to the fossil oyster beds (foysters!) that form a thin, dark, stratum bursting with layered undulating shell in the lower formation, the proper name of which I have of course already forgotten. I believe that the cliffs there are made up of, um, something on the bottom with numerous sedimentary layers caused by a geological process which I can’t put a finger on topped off with the San Diego Formation, which is the sandstoney rock on top that forms all those sinuous rounded sculptures against the sky. I will be embarrassed when K reads this and realizes that all his fascinating explanations have already been lost on me.

I do remember that the bottom formation possibly dates back as far as the Miocene or Pliocene, which is pretty damn old. That would make it somewhere between 23.8 and 1.8 million years old. It was a gorgeous experience to be surrounded by the history and alien beauty of the rock formation on one side and the expanse of waves, sky, and sand, on the other. The ocean was particularly beautiful. It was a cold day, and we were there in the late afternoon. The sky was a hard, glorious blue, and the wet expanse of beach between the waves and the cliffs was mirrolike, reflecting the slaty blue of the sky and the mottled grey and rose of the clouds. The waves were higher than usual, piling up in the distance like turbulent hills, limned with the light of the lowering sun.
The sun had set by the time we began our walk back to the car, and it was very very cold. The cold was intensified by the unexpected soaking I had brought upon myself when I attempted to cross a narrow space between an outcrop and the base of the cliff. It was full of roiling ocean water but didn't look that deep to me. I was wrong--I sank in past my knees and then was too slippery to climb up the wet rocks with any dexterity and flailed and clawed my way up the rock in a panic as more waves rolled in to drench me. K caught my entire ungraceful progress on film from his much drier vantage point, laughing at me the whole time (I didn’t mind--I was laughing even more than he was). I did manage to make it safely up to the top of the rock, but was trapped there by the seawater churning around its base. I had more opportunity to study the situation as I waited for a relatively calm moment, and my journey back was much less perilous and much less wet than my initial mad impulsive scramble had been.

By the time we got back to the car, I couldn’t feel the entire front thirds of my feet anymore. I was wet, sandy, and freezing. But I was happy. A little physical discomfort is a small price to pay in exchange for the full wild beauty of the ocean and sky.