Here at Baker Beach there have been some especially low tides lately, which has allowed Greta, Marlowe and me to explore areas of the beach usually underwater.
At the extreme west end we can go around the point and it’s fun to look at the sea anemones and the barnacles that carpet the rocks to a solid line three feet up, the usual height of the water I suppose.
I also love that it feels like virgin territory. No footprints even. And especially there are no leftover food picnics for Greta to scavenge and get sick on. So I’m throwing Marlowe’s ball and trying to get a good angle on taking a picture of the barnacles, maybe an extreme close-up one of those, Can you guess what this is? kind of pictures.
And suddenly I realize that the tide is coming in. It’s coming in NOW.
“Come on kids, let’s go.” I turn to go back around the point to the main part of the beach. They will follow me, they always do.
Yep, they’re right behind me. Whew. That was close. The ocean moves fast. A scrum of water now covers where we just walked. And as oceans do, it recedes a bit before moving even farther up the beach.
He’s darted suddenly back where we came from. Seems he forgot his ball and he wants to
get it. Geez.
I follow behind, and of course Greta comes with.
Good thing I’m wearing my waders.
We are in a little dry area with several inches of ocean water tonguing ever farther up the beach, blocking where I want us to get to….the calm and dry of the regular beach.
I’m not scared…exactly…but absolutely don’t want the water to scoop up the puppies. Marlowe is only 7 and a half pounds, Greta is an even more diminutive 5 and a half pounds. Once they went in the water they were clearly horrified about how hard it was to manage…and they’ve been careful to avoid it ever since.
This is what Wellingtons are for. So I scoop up the dogs, Marlowe with ball firmly in his mouth, and slosh us all across twenty feet of water to the beach.
It’s 8 a.m. And already had my adventure for the day.