It's winter break right now, or it is for another 24 hours, so I take a detour to the beach on my way to Maine. I don't know why I expect February in New England to be warmer than it ever is, but I am surprised when I check the outside temperature: 12. Yup, twelve degrees Fahrenheit, which is damn close to what we here in New England call "snot-freezing weather," when your inner nostrils ice up as soon as you open your front door.
However, as those of us near the coast will attest, any day and every day is a beach day, so off I go.
Maybe I'll explore, I tell myself. Maybe I'll park in a few different spots and get some different shots. Maybe I'll drive straight up the coast from Salisbury after ..., after ... After what? Looking at the deserted stands and arcades and trash barrels? Driving past the empty motels and boarded up bungalows?
Nah. Screw that. I'm going to The Wall.
The Wall is a popular surfing spot, and the waves, when they're cooperative, can be impressive and constant. The only shops are down the street near the bath house, and even then there are only three or four businesses tucked into one small structure. This beach is a true beach-goers beach. No frills, no teeny-boppers with arcade prizes and sticks of cotton candy, there is convenient parking thirty seconds from the sand, and no noise from the street due to the massive retaining wall to curb erosion. At low tide, the sand stretches for a mile or more. At high tide, about two hundred yards of sand are all that remain uncovered, but the large granite rocks protect sunbathers who dare to defy the tides and ride it out until the sand, wet and refreshing and cool, reappears within two hours.
What greets me instead is a surprisingly calm ocean and strong sun against the rocks. The ocean is nearly motionless except for small laps of water that gently stir along the sand with no more power nor pomp than a placid forest pond. The raucous surfing mecca of the area is smooth as a glass serving tray. If I didn't smell the sea in the air, I'd swear I was overlooking a lake.
I wait a long time, nearly fifteen minutes, for the ocean to get moving. The swells start out about one hundred yards, but by the time they reach the usual breaking area, they gently overtake the tide already resting at the edge and disappear into nothingness. Finally, a small wave breaks no deeper than ankle height (if I were actually in the water, which I am not). I wait until another wave comes and then another, breaking with a bigger sound but no bigger finish.
All in all, in the twenty or so minutes I am there, I see maybe three or four small waves. I also see maybe three or four people walking along the sidewalk above me and on the other side of The Wall, but looking left to right I realize that I have the entire beach, all mile-plus of it, to myself. There is not one other single soul on the sand or rocks, though I do see recent paw prints and sneaker tracks, so I know I'm not the first one here today.
