By Staff
Barking
The smell of fishy air is strong in my nose. I hope it goes away, filters out. But the perfect moment in my trip is just about to begin.
We walk down from a higher vantage point to get closer to the sea lions.
They are so playful, snorting water up, sparring with each other, and just sunning themselves.
I have a smile on my face that surely should split my slightly sunburned face. But I don't care.
People crowd the viewing area of the sea lions. The fence is lousy with tourists. There are platforms to stand on, to get a better view. I just want to get closer, to photograph these carefree creatures.
Orrk orrk ork, the sea lions bark. One slips into the water with a splash. I see him/her underwater, poking her/his head up. Gliding. Disappearing from view. I hope the swimmer resurfaces, so I can get a shot.
One huge sea lion basks on a float all by himself. I can admit my genderbias here and say this is probably an old grandfather sea lion, taking up all the room. Not moving much. Just sleeping. He's gorgeous. He surely must be fed well. They all must be fed well.
Some of the sea lions haven't been in the water for a while. Their soft brown fuzz is much lighter. I want to pet them. To feel how soft they must feel. To touch the sleekness after they've just been in the water. Their bodies wet, blackened.
Some of the sea lions posture. They vie for space. Some are all nestled together on the same wood float, comfortably settled in for their afternoon nap.
I remark to my also-happy friend that they remind me of kittens. All piled up on top of each other without a care in the world.
Perhaps everything reminds me of cats.
But they occasionally scratch at themselves with their flippers, and I admire the agility. Like a cat. They do nothing except be admired all day, like cats.
They spar, also like cats. They vie for coveted spaces. Like cats.
And maybe that's part of why the sight makes me so happy.
There's an occasional moment of unhappiness in my spying on the sea lions.
We notice one has a terrible sore on its body. And another moment comes when I realize that while I'd like to spend all day here, or forever, we must go soon.
We do go, and back to the noisiness of the pier/tourist traffic of San Francisco.
I've had my perfect moment of the day. It's one of those times when you wish time would just stop. Where you can be content to lose all thought. To watch the water - sometimes marred by the swimming forms of the sea lions - undulate, to slap against the pier structure.
To listen to the orrk, orkk of the sea lions. To envy them.
I wish I was still there, but that I was the only one. I wish I could touch them. I wish I could get in their minds and understand them. I wish I could touch them.
I wish I could go back.
I had other really good moments during the day. I met up with my friend Jan, a former boss of mine. I looked through the window of her hotel room to see a grand vista, passing over Berkeley and just spying a misty view mostly obscuring what Jan says is the Golden Gate Bridge.
We had a lovely brunch and drove to Oakland so we could catch a ferry to San Francisco.
The kid in me admits I'm quite delighted to go on even short boat rides. We happily take pictures like the tourists we are of Alcatraz and the Bay Bridge as we pass under and by.
We wander around the pier, push through crowds enjoying the warm weather.
We marvel at how nice it has turned out. It had been cloudy and looked like rain when I was driving in. And we eventually did not avoid the rain.
Sprinkles start pelting my soup in a bread bowl, and we seek shelter as we wait for the ferry back.
We're both tired now. We want to go back. We talk some more, catch up on all the things we miss when we haven't seen each other for so long. We stare into the brown water at the dock, waiting for the ferry. I'd like to lose myself again in the water, in the light it catches.
It has been the perfect day. And we have a ferry ride back.
I still have a long drive ahead of me. I must pass through the mountains again. I see windmills and would really like to stop and take pictures of them. But I think that if I stop, it's going to keep me from getting home before dark.
But I thwart myself in the end. I stop at a rest area, and tell myself I never can sleep longer than 10-15 minutes in the car. I know some people would worry about safety, but I think I'd be a lot less safe if I fall asleep on the freeway.
I wake up, startled. I don't know where I am. What time it is. Where I'm going. What day it is. My mind is foggy. I'm in the car. I glance at the clock finally. I've slept an hour. I'm angry at myself.
I've wasted an hour of daylight. If I'm lucky, I might make it home before it gets very dark.
And I do. I get home just as the night fully takes hold, where there's the last hint of light far off in the sky.
And I'm happy, after calling my friend to tell her I'm home, to climb into bed and fall asleep like the dead.
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