Perfect Weekend (2)

Sat, 2.28.2004


The storm was gone. San Diego returned to her sunny old self.

Since it's the end of half-price-admission Museum Month, we didn't plan to makeup the camping trip lost to the weather.

"Maybe we'll just go to the museums tomorrow." John had his heart set on beaches.

He said, a few days ago, during a break from the pouring rain, he saw flocks of pelicans and gulls, fish hunting by the shore.

It's quite fun to watch pelicans dive (hunt). So, we headed OB (Ocean Beach) with some wine.

John always wanted to sip wine at the beach but we were too lazy to prepare a picnic basket. For the first time we brought wine along (no food though).

We don't particularly care for whites. I thought Beaujolais would be a good choice; however, brining a full bottle would hinder our walk. John picked a 1/3 bottle of Merlot left from previous tasting as our companion.

No pelicans in sight as we talked along the OB pier, claiming to be the longest in the West Coast. With few tourists and few fishing patrons, we were delighted.

Three Latinos acted rather excited as we passed by.

"No way, Jose!" One of them yelled.

A teenage boy in the group hurried reeling up (fishing line). We quickly approached them to see what he'd got.

No way! I'd exclaim the same.

It was a lobster so huge that made any one waiting to be sold at the grocery stores looked like prawns.

OK. I exaggerate a little.

That was one giant red lobster.

I pulled out my camera ready for the rare moment.

Jose -- the boy's name turned out to be Jose for real -- seemed to had a hard time battling the weight. His two companions rushed to give him a hand, hands, rather.

When the lobster was almost within reach, bam, it hit the wood railing fenced around the pier. The lobster, given a free bungee jumping of a lifetime, returned to the ocean.

Those three amigos stood in disbelief. So did we.

Shortly after, we found an unoccupied bench, nearly spotless, thanks to the rain, sat down, and enjoyed our Merlot. (Off distance, the talk of lobster carried on.)

Except for the waves, the beach community appeared tranquil for a Saturday afternoon.

John looked through a pair of binoculars, hoping to spot something.

"It's whale migrating season. They say you can see them by the shore."

"We might come at the wrong time of a day then. Don't even see a pelican." I said.

Speaking of the birds� a group of five gracefully glided over us, which put a little smile on John's face.

He continued to look through binoculars and sighed: "I wish we could see some dolphins."

At the corner of my eye, I saw a slender creature of the color black hoping over water. Hastily, I motioned to the right: "Look!"

Fins.

"I was just saying it!" John exclaimed.

There was a group of porpoises swimming side by side.

John handed me another pair of binoculars we brought along. For a while, we watched them swim, jump over the waves, dive, then emerge� until the fins waned in the golden rays.

Holding optics in the chilling wind made me cried for contrasting activities after the excitement of spotting marine mammals wore off.

The wine was long gone.

What a nice afternoon! Nothing would be more perfect than finishing it with a bowl of clam chowder.

We strolled over whatever-the-name-is caf� at the pier and ordered the grand finale of our beach outing.

The little eatery swayed as the waves crushing in; our lips, too, arched half moon.