September, and gone are the crowds.

Our Long Beach shore was almost empty, the air dry, and the sky—a crisp blue. The first day of these past weeks was one of those brilliant days that you don’t just sit in—you breathe it in with your lungs, your mind, your heart.

Life is different at the shore; it heals, it rejuvenates. It’s an escape from the bedlam of civilization. The mural of sea, sand, and sky does not have geometric architecture, no right angles, only natural curves. Being there brings us home.

Sitting like this often contrasts the day with the moments I worked as a cop in the subway. New York rush hours were a cacophony of trains, people, PA announcements, and the static of my radio. Nights were often lonely on dank and stinky platforms. Other times, encountering violent people or trying to help others beneath trains.

Many of us have lives of daily routines of grinding days from which we’d like to move on. Sometimes a cubicle, a factory floor, or a big box store.

Too often it’s a foreign land with a rifle, a prayer, and thoughts of home.

So, I sat and listened to the surf gently crashing mere feet before me. Life was good.

I had my camera beside me; we’ve had whales spotted several times these past weeks, but I hadn’t captured any. No action to shoot in the moment before me, save for my ubiquitous sky friends— the ospreys.

So I walked to the Franklin jetty, where I saw a simian pointing seaward, a young female beside him.

Pointing. That always catches my eye.

He pointed now, this time for me, just past the jetty’s tip, to a pod of dolphins. There were about ten or twelve; some were scattered.

Others stayed in the High Occupancy lane.

Dolphins always seem to be having a good time.

They also allow me to have a good time.

But the sea and a gull soon stole their show.

One dolphin seemed to say, “Hey, I’m workin’ this corner!”

A day or two later, I sat again on the sand; a tripod-mounted camera with a 600 mm lens before me.

No dolphins, no whales.

A parade of sanderlings landed on the jetty. Sanderlings season the shore; they pepper it to add more flavor.

The South Shore Audubon Soc. informed me that sanderlings are what we often see in the fall. You might have seen them fly in contorting swoops, like avian lava lamps swirling in the sky.

The parade lined up, straight and tall for inspection, like proud U.S. Marines:

Only to erupt like an explosion of peppered popcorn:

A few days ago, I decided to just bike the boards. As I passed the Franklin crossover, I saw two male simians—yes, again—pointing.

I made a U-turn and asked, “See anything?” “Yes,” one replied, “two whales.”

Sure enough, I saw one bursting through streams of white water. On the boards, I was too far for a decent shot. So I hustled across the soft sand to the surf.

As I got there, I saw one break the surface. The sun made my eyes snow-blind, and my viewfinder looked dark, but I fired off a few hopeful shots.

The majestic mammal was rising, his humpback toward me, I was hoping for a full frontal, but I’d settle for any good shot.

In seconds, he slipped back into the sea.

I had hoped for good shot, maybe one with a mouthful of tasty bunker, as I was sure happened earlier. Something like this one I captured a few years ago:

But no.

I checked my camera’s image screen in the sun; the shots looked fuzzy. I botched it.

I stayed for some time and did see many blows. But no breaching.

I was pretty worn out trekking the sands; I’ve noticed the sand gets deeper each year and the boardwalk longer.

I biked between beaches again. At Neptune, I got off at the crossover and saw a young female simian, very obviously with a baby aboard.

Felicia Hurley, looking seaward, was from Bellmore, about twenty minutes away. She said she just had to get out for a walk. A wise sim,

Many of us feel so much better leaving our homes—the TV, the computer, the surrounding buildings, sidewalks, traffic, and noise—to see the sea. Like whales, we need to breach now and then.

Felicia and I chatted about the fun of Long Beach and the whales. We didn’t see any again, but we did see plenty of dolphins from the crossover. So I said, “I’ll have to go down to the surf again and at least capture them.”

Felicia said she’d like to see them up close, too.

So, I huffed once again across the sand, Felica following close.

We had fun watching the dolphins have their fun.

But I only brought enough water for a bike ride. It was quickly gone after I got “whaleroaded” at Franklin Beach. I was thirsty, hot, and tired.

After biking home bushed, I sat in my recliner, sipping water and lamenting my lack of good whale captures. But now, when I uploaded my photos out of the sun and on my computer, I saw I had a pretty good day:

I checked my emails and saw one from Felicia at Neptune Beach.

She wrote:

“As a 29 year old, you are an inspiration to what I want to be like at 84. Keep doing the things you love!” 

She included this photo.

The photo and note were simple gestures, but they made me feel good; we never know what impact our “little” gestures have on another simian. Felicia wished me luck with my continued whale quest, too.

Life can be so beautiful if we help it along now and then. All we have to do is talk to one another; you know, be friendly, be kind.

Thank you, Felicia Hurley, and may your progeny carry your beautiful soul on and on. Our planet needs more cool gestures from people like you. They improve the day for so many other land mammals. And gesture by gesture, the world becomes a little bit better.

Be well,

Leebythesea