Skulls, Seagulls, and Surf

By | March 29, 2009

Rain again today. (February 11, 2009)

We read, hung out in the van, and finally drove to town (Fort Bragg) to do laundry and pick up a few things. On the way there, the rain turned to hail. But once we got to town, the sun shone warmly and it felt great.

We got laundry going, and then wandered around the shopping center. Tom bought some fabric for his mom, an avid quilter, and some skull fabric for a bandana for himself from an art/fabric store.

Laundry done and ice, cookies, propane, and donut bought, we headed back to the campground, and fittingly enough it started raining again. We stopped at the beach to watch the huge waves (there were heavy surf warnings and high winds all day) and a lady feed sea gulls. She had a huge box of corn flakes and seemed very proud of her ability to control the sea gulls’ flight by scattering corn flakes in one direction or the other. I was both amused and disgusted watching her: amused because she was clearly in her element, disgusted because I hate to see wild animals constantly being fed on human food. (As a side note, the other day I saw some extremely FAT sea gulls outside a fast food joint. What are we coming to… Obese “wild” life. Makes me cringe.)

So, more time spent in the van, rain pounding the roof off and on all afternoon. Reading, drawing lemons, composing a short poem, staring out the window, reading. Feeling a bit discontent, which can probably be blamed on the rain and being cooped up inside a 15 foot box. I can’t help wondering what I’ll see when I look back on all this free time I have now. There is no doubt that I have much more of it than most of my peers, and I usually enjoy it. But right now I wish I had something to DO!

Anyway, at some point before dark, the park rangers made their rounds and told us all that they’re closing the Surfwood Campground. The high swells were coming up the wide beach, washing over the protective dunes, and leaving piles of sand and water in the road—our only exit route from the campground. They had already come through once with a plow to remove the sand, (which left banks similar to the snowbanks back home) but the rangers were having a hard time keeping the road accessible.

So we moved over to the “Pinewood” campground, about a quarter mile away, but further from the raging ocean. It was easy for us to pack up; we just put the bikes on the back and drove away. Took us 10 minutes, tops. But we noticed other campers who had a lot more stuff to move, like the man camping nearby in a bus. It looked like he had put up permanant residence. His bus was up on blocks, he had another vehicle there to get around in, and all over his campsite were signs that he hadn’t intended to move for quite some time. We speculated that the easiest thing for him to do would be to drive to town in his truck and take a motel for the night.

Re-heated salmon chowder for dinner.

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