I wanted to see how much surf a Category 1 Hurricane (that’s as weak as they come) could kick up on Gooseberry as it passed about 400 miles to our southeast, so I went down to Gooseberry near high tide this morning as Katia passed by us headed in the General direction of England. What I found impressive was the slow rolling majesty of the rhythms that created one of those wonderful natural symphonies as waves crashed on the rocks or beach and rolled small stones against one another making slightly different sounds both coming and going.
This was first apparent on the causeway. I used my little Casio Exilim to grab some video -probably more than some want – but hey, relax, stop what you’re doing, and come on down to Gooseberry – at least in spirit. You’ll have to imagine the wonderful smells of salt air and seaweed, but here’s what it looked and sounded like. First, on the ocean side.
And then on the Buzzard’s Bay side.
As I walked out towards the west beach the tree swallows were having one of their conventions on the first little hill just past the parking lot. They have a strange rhythm of their own that served as a sort of aerial allegro passage to accent the surf symphony.
Entering the west beach I just wanted to stan quietly and absorb the majesty of it all. One thing that fascinates me is how the distant waves are breaking at one angle, the closer waves at a much different one.
Speaking of breaking – getting old does get a bit frustrating. Not only do you fall more, but you do it in a sort of slow motion. You know it’s happening, you have time to think about it as you’re going down, but you no longer can stop it. No damage here. My dignity was lost long ago and the camera lens was protected by a clear filter, so while some wet sand got on the filter, it didn’t get on the lens. And my feet stayed dry – just!
Despite it’s teasing lick at me, I still considered the ocean soothing – so here’s one more take from within Katia’s wake.