a sequel at sunset
The Plan:
Leave home late Saturday afternoon; drive back to our recently discovered boardwalk, arriving in the early evening.
Park at the opposite end this time for easier access.
Take the boardwalk to the dock shelter, plant our fannies on one of many benches, eat some dinner.
Time permitting, amble over the dock a little farther while we wait; return to the shelter to watch the sun as it sets over the bay.
Go home, fully gratified by the non-strenuous serenity of our sunset-viewing adventure.
Write a three-sentence blog about the setting sun. (Yeah, like that was going to happen.)
The Reality:
Left home late Saturday afternoon; drove back to the boardwalk, arriving in the early evening.
Parked at the opposite end this time for easier access.
This is where any similarity to the The Plan officially ended, which is not to say we didn't ultimately have a wonderful night. We just hadn't accounted for all the variables. (And if you were thinking this might actually be a three-sentence blog, clearly you've never been here before and/or your counting skills are abysmal.)
Everyone knows the sun sets in the west. The coast, obviously, is the western-most border of the county. We were well aware our traveling trio would be facing into the sun. That was rather the point. What we didn't know was that the usual ocean breezes--often downright blustery gusts--that keep the shoreline and boardwalks so hospitably clement were utterly nonexistent, an anomalous condition that may be a first in all our seaside jaunts over the decades. The result: that extensive, concrete pathway over the water had essentially become a cookie sheet in a supercharged, solar-powered Easy Bake Oven. In case I lost anyone on that metaphorical detour, we were the cookies.
Though the temperature had maxed out around eighty degrees that day, the boardwalk wasn't terribly uncomfortable for Dennie and me. Hot, definitely, but not insufferably so. Maisie, however, became quickly overheated. We veered our party directly to the dock shelter, as per The Plan, only to find the sun was already too low for the shelter's roof to provide any sunless salvation for our dog. We gave her some water and adjusted the evening's itinerary accordingly.
The New Plan:
Find a shady spot that would allow Maisie to cool off and rest until sunset.
Return to the boardwalk only when that great, fiery ball in the sky puckers up to kiss the horizon.
The New Reality:
Hiked approximately one mile in pursuit of said shade.
Continued walking into until we reached the beach and park.
Kept our fingers and paws figuratively crossed that we'd find a picnic table or bench near a tree with a thick, protective canopy.
Accepted that partial shade was as good as it was going to get.
Claimed the best beach-side bench in the park.
Instantly discovered why, amidst throngs of park-goers, the best beach-side bench in the park had remained vacant.
It took a while for Maisie to settle, but, once she did, we Fitzgeralds were able to enjoy the picnic dinner we'd brought along, endeavoring, all the while, to avoid looking straight ahead, as the descending sun and the light reflecting in the nearby water had reached an intensity bright enough to set our corneas ablaze. Thank goodness for baseball caps. Sure, if the bills of our hats were to do any good, we still had to keep our heads bowed downward, lending us the appearance of shifty ne'er-do-wells and their dastardly dog there to hijack a kayak or rob the locals of the sun itself and the colored-lights spectacle they had so eagerly come to see. (If the latter, we really should have brought a bigger bag.)
In the hour or so that we'd occupied the best beach-side bench in the park--a.k.a. The Sunset Seeker’s Sight-Searing Seaside Seat for Suckers--no one seemed to make a wide berth around us, leading me to conclude we didn't look especially devious after all.
Note to Self: dog-themed baseball caps and a cheery yellow and pink batik bandana for Maisie may not be our best options should we ever actually intend to appear menacing. Plus, "Mommy has some more cheese for you, baby girl. Yes, she does. Yes, she does," spoken in that ridiculous tone humans only use with infants and dogs probably does little to cement one's street cred.
Despite the unscheduled walk over the bay and into the park, we had an abundance of time to rest, chatter, photograph our immediate surroundings in the changing light, and people watch. Sailboats and other sea-worthy vessels were plentiful. A lone paddleboarder toured the full breadth of the bay. Occupants of a two-seater kayak and, later, a group of four single kayakers rowed their way across the sunlit waves, perhaps for the first time, as one of them seemed to maintain control of her transport in only the flimsiest sense of the word. People and dogs waded and splashed in the water, and droves of children attacked the playground pirate ship on the grassy lawn behind us. There was also one sight too hilarious not to capture on film, a joyful Goldendoodle walking upright through the shallows, front paws slapping against the wet surface all the while.
In addition to passing the time in these leisurely ways, our Maisie also went nose to nose in greeting with three other dogs, a first in many years. The prospect of it admittedly made us nervous. Would she simply extend a polite salutation or would she become defensive? Did the years of COVID isolation mean we'd be back to square one with her socialization? Because she is so protective of us, Dennie and I will probably remain a little wary of these interactions, even now, but Maisie conducted herself very well on each occasion. The upside: we won't be quite as worried in the future, though there is still the concern a more aggressive dog might spook her. The downside: our hiking companion who observed but otherwise ignored her canine counterparts in the past now wants to exchange a little casual chit-chat with them all. It was positively precious though to see how happy she looked after these friendly introductions.
Regardless of the evening hours, the park and the boardwalk were almost as busy as they'd been on Labor Day, yet the vibe felt vastly different. A week ago Monday, the rushing currents of humanity seemed to fall into three distinct categories: 1.) The Athletes--people who use the trail for their daily jogs or cycling, 2.) The Sightseers--tourists and people like us who were just there to soak in the beautiful views along a one-of-a-kind hike, and 3.) The Very Local Locals--nearby residents who regularly walk their dogs and/or children across the street for the kind of seaside exercise, playtime, and views that make homes in their neighborhood so highly coveted. A Saturday evening saw fewer athletes, fewer tourists, more local locals, and an unmistakable party mentality. Coolers and backpacks lined parts of the dock. People sprawled about everywhere. Crab fishers cast their nets over the rails, while a group of unsupervised tweens and young teens huddled at the raised shelter, climbing over the safety barrier and plummeting one by one into the sea for a dusky swim.
Farther down the boardwalk, a large group of revelers gathered, each individual donning the same type of headphones, the lot of them dancing in the fuchsia and tangerine glow of the sunset. They appeared to be having a fabulous time while also providing entertainment to the rest of us, something akin to an unchoreographed flash-mob, albeit without the benefit of publicly audible music.
And, so, here it is, the point of these sentences more numerous than three. We did, after all, return to this new favorite spot to witness a glorious sunset. We did not leave disappointed. As the sun neared the horizon and vibrant hues washed over the sea, most activity stopped. People gathered by the boardwalk rails, and cameras snapped pictures by the hundreds. That great flaming star had taken its sweet old time approaching the bay, but once its bottom edge nudged the islands in the distance, in a blink, it was gone. Dennie, Maisie, and I dallied a while longer, watching the changing colors of the skyline from one eagerly claimed unoccupied bench. We were exhausted by the time we dragged ourselves back through our home’s door that night, let alone by the wee hours when we'd finally permitted ourselves to sleep. As for me, between the setting sun, the glaring headlights, and up-too-lateness of a morning person, I was headed for a non-alcoholic, sleep-deprived, bright-light-induced hangover the next day--but it was totally worth it. We managed an accidental workout, Maisie made a few new friends, we witnessed a glorious spectacle, and we collected memories and images both strange and beautiful to share with each and every one of you.