I know I must go to Point Reyes when Terry says, "The seal pups meep."
His name is Tracy, but I often call him Terry(*). I have a bad memory.
Meep. Seal pups!
I almost do not climb out of my warm bed into the record-breaking cold, but I do, and I drive over the Bay Bridge, and God(dess) it is clear as a bell! The cold wind blew every trace of smog from the Bay. I see cranes and barges and whitecaps all the way to Angel Island, and beyond. It is record clear weather. I am charged with happiness when I park in SF.
Point Lobos will be lovely!
Tracy comes down and waves.
I go upstairs. We chat. I meet his Lee.
There are several intriguing woode wall mobiles. Lee winds one up. It is a tangible screen saver, with animal presence. Tracy observes, "The clock chirps and whirrs like a small animal." Over time, the pace and sound become mildly frenetic. If I acquire a wooden wall sculpture, it will be an extremely quiet, slow-moving one!
I like to talk with Tracy.
He is quiet, and amusing as hell.
He wants to carpool in my Hybrid. He has driven Hybrids, and good gas mileage rocks, especially in this pristine nature reserve. And indeed, when we get to the cool rolling hills of Pt. Reyes, nothing but a low-emissions vehicle seems ethical.
We leave.
Tracy has great hair.
I feed him oranges, and tell him he looks like David.
But I like him for more than for this resemblance.
From Pt. Reyes, we can see the Farallones! Both chains of pinnacles! San Francisco is spread before us, as if we were barely beyond the Marin Headlands. It is jaw-droppin. It is SF at its finest. "Where is the G-G Bridge," I ask.
"There it is!" Lee hands me the binoculars. It's a happy, crystal clear day!
And the wee meeps, the coffee can rattles, the squalls and snorts and yes, more meeps by little baby seal pups, born only days or a week before! We have arrived right after the seals were birthed, and 20 or 30 mothers nurse on the quiet inner beach. Mike says Point Reyes is a fairly new rookery.
Tracy leads us over a path so treacherous upon the verge of a dead cliff face, I nearly faint with terror. I try to turn back, but the worse it gets, the further I need to backtrack, and I follow along against my common sense...
The outer beach. Wow! It's a sheer cliff!. We have unknowingly walked along a narrow peninsula, and below us are beached juvenile males, perhaps birthed here in previous seasons. (I should ask Mike.) The sun is setting, and we are rapturous. Singles and couples glow in the setting sun, watching the seals and surf.
I stop to watch the setting sun. While my companions billy-goat ahead, I turn and hope for the green flash, but it is too clear. There is only a quiet sussuration, and twilight is upon us.
It was the most fabulous, beautiful day, and the Point Reyes Lighthouse remains to be enjoyed! I think I will drive up there every week, to see how the pups grow and the sounds change. Go during the week, Tracy says, because it's quiet then. Mike asks if they have a docent, and I say they don't need one, the beaches are protected by cliffs.
Thank you Tracy. Thank you.
The elephant seals were on my laminated list.
I hope you send me pictures.
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(* linguistic digression for Tracy, w/a degree is linguistics. Dear Abby recently ran a thread over odd spellings of baby names. A woman said, " My son's name is unique, as he is unique; something he is not but can grow into. And a unique name is remembered." Another said, "Nobody forgets Mary." Thus it is with Tracy, for me. He is the first Tracy have known, so I have trouble remembering his name. It's without precedent in my neural net.)