Thousands of tiny pieces of plastic, a few millimeters in diameter littered the sand, dotted the seaweed left strewn by the tide.
We were combing Point St. George’s beach for trash and anything that might have washed up from the 2011 Japan tsunami. This included part of a buoy, several plastic water bottles, a lot of rope bits and other random debris – several buckets’ worth of garbage. But the microplastics defeated us – too numerous and too small for us to make any but the slightest dent.
In the meantime, the sun shone, a light northwest breeze picked up and the tide swelled in. Conditions looked promising for our next move – a quick surf at South Beach. We’d been warned that a jet ski contest might compromise our good time and parked at the north end to minimize any interaction. (The controversy over the contest had resulted in poor attendance, which worked out very well for us.)
Bobby came out with me for the first time in months and, of course, caught a wave within a few minutes of paddling outside. I envied his easy athleticism for a moment, then was awash in happiness to see him having a good time. I caught plenty of my own waves, easy waist-high, longboardy rights that seemed like they might fade out, but kept peaking back up until I was almost to shore. Ridiculously fun.
I watched a couple preteen girls catch whitewater on softtops and flashed back to all the times we’d brought our kids and their friends to South Beach. Nostalgia threatened to flatten me for a moment. Oh, my little children! Now all grown up and catching waves in Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara. I miss them, miss surfing with them. But glad they took this gift I was able to give them out into the world. I smiled, and paddled for the next wave.