I had been promising something fun and the weather had cleared. This is going to be great, I tell myself. I grabbed a hat for me and a couple for him, thinking, "It won't be that windy, we'll get down to the beach, collect a few sand dollars, talk about the sharks and the meeting of the North American and Pacific plates. It will be fun." You already see where this is going, don't you?
We pull over just before the newly retrofitted bridge just south of the Ten Mile River and head forth west to the sand dunes, snack bag and extra hats in hand. It is windy but we are not deterred. We have dunes to power up and down. A beach to seek. Sand dollars to find.
What we find is that in the trough of the dunes, we're less likely to get pelted by the gusts of not just wind, but sandy wind. Some people call it sand-blasting. So we follow the dunes down the hill. We play. We get full of sand. We roll, we tumble. We are even having fun, but the wind... well, it's not getting any better.
We take a break and have lunch in the middle of some thing resembling sedge. It is a kind of grass that is not soft and lush, but built for sand dunes. But we take what we can get and enjoy the protection it provides, troupers that we are. A little sand in your banana? Just chew softly.
We make it a bit farther toward the beach when the wind really kicks up. I mean like, Oh my God, My kid is going to Blow Away! Quick! Hold my hand, put your ball cap on and keep your head down. Let's just say if you're livin' on the cheap and you need some dermabrasion, go hang out at Ten Mile Beach on a windy day.
At this point, we both agree it's time to head for home. So we save the sand dollar collecting and the discussions of plate tectonics for another day, dumping out beaches-worth of sand from our shoes in the parking lot before buckling up and heading for home.
I missed this one! Actually, I miss more of them ! :-)