A most civilized beach

Compo Beach - August 2012

The beaches in Northern California are awesome and beautiful. I love to sit and watch the crashing waves, the sea otters and other adorable critters. I love the fog and the mist, especially when it's baking hot back in the Sacramento Valley. But for swimming? Brrrr cold temps...rip tides...crashing waves...sea weed wrapping around the legs...the threat of a navigationally challenged Great White nibbling on one's feet...it's all a bit stressful.

No Riff and no Raff Allowed!

Compo Beach in Westport, Connecticut is not technically even the ocean, but it is salty enough to feel like it when I got a mouthful. It's on Long Island Sound and is an easy stroll from the very civilized parking, near the very civilized bathrooms and showers. The most uncivilized price of $30 for parking keeps out the riff-raff, but we managed to sneak in anyway - with Debbie sort of sitting on the floor of the van and our extra car parked at a real estate office. Thank you so much Coldwell Banker, we owe you one. Actually we owe you the $30 we saved by only arriving in one car. When Ernst writes the Great American Novel, we promise to buy a beach house from you.

The weather is still unseasonably crazy good. The water was so refreshing. We could really swim, not just fight the waves. Jo and I had a swim race. I think our Olympic chances are really slim, but we probably gave the lifeguard a good laugh. I went in again just as we were about to leave. It was heaven. Some higher waves were coming off the Sound. I was all alone. The clouds were overhead. It was so wonderful. A tune was in my head. The soundtrack to Jaws. I swam my civilized Californian self back to the beach and quit while I was ahead. And while I still had my head.

 

riff·raff

 [rif-raf]

noun 
1. people, or a group of people, regarded as disreputable or worthless: a pack of riffraff.

2. trash; rubbish.