There was a break in the weather the other day, so I made my way to the beach instead of hanging upside-down in my urban cave. On the way there, I came across a boat stranded on the beach, which had been wrecked there by strong winds that had been continuously blowing from the Pacific. I had been woken up early that morning by breezy gusts rattling the door, and the sound of the rain lashing across the window glass. So, it was no surprise to see the crafts strewn along the beach.
Storm after storm has been hitting the coast for weeks, or as the media likes to call them, atmospheric rivers. I can count in both hands the number of sunny days these past few months, and that's barely hyperbolic. Welcome to the very wet coast. Compound that with the fact that the sun has been setting just after 4 PM, then you got a recipe for a very gloomy atmosphere indeed.
To say we have a problem with illegal boats is an understatement. Unfortunately, many people take to the ocean in less-than-ideal crafts and congregate along certain points near the bay. I heard that during one of the recent storms, it was pure pandemonium there. The boats sometimes do not have anyone on board, no working motor, and are not properly tied up. So, you can imagine boats floating adrift everywhere and sometimes crashing against each other as gale-force winds blew a narrow atmospheric band of mayhem towards the rocky coast.
I didn鈥檛 walk the whole length of the beach, and I saw three shipwrecked crafts.
That haunting glow in the sky above the bridge made it to the six o'clock news. It's an odd but totally natural phenomenon this time of year... or so they say 馃懡
I found a spot at the beach and took out the espresso machine while keeping an eye on the clouds that looked dark and foreboding. It was around five, and the fading sun was putting on a show on the twilit firmament. Across the water, I could also see the lights of the boats glittering in the encroaching darkness. The tide was a little high, but the ocean, as its name implies, was nice and pacific with waves lapping on the shore.
The machine has different parts that make it possible to use a standard coffee pod. Once the pod is safely secured in its chamber, then water is added from the top, the lid is closed, the power button pressed twice slowly, and the machine emits a beep followed by a cycling light that indicates the water is being heated. Serious engineering.
As the machine heated the water, I looked at the ocean and saw the small boats there, and the massive cargo ships in the open water. Three seals appeared on the surface, looked around, and dove back in rippling waves. A pair of ducks glided by, quacking softly in the evening atmosphere.
The lights on the coffee machine were still flashing from top to bottom and back.
The sound of Canada geese echoed across the air.
Flying in the lengthening shadows.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity (9-10 mins), the machine beeped and began to pump out the espresso goodness into the waiting cup.
It was six degrees Celsius outside, so I welcomed the warm bitter brew. This machine was a brilliant invention, I decided.
Raindrops began to fall. I finished the last bit of coffee and looked out across the ocean where the boats floated in the stillness.
On the way back, I encountered a Great Blue Heron doing its great-blue-heron thing.
Hunting alone and in silence.
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