A fall storm hit much of our coast over last Friday and Saturday; some ferries were cancelled, power lines down. Nothing major. The wind died down by Sunday morning, but not until it had driven most of our cloud cover away. We went down to White Rock to see what the storm had brought in.
|The waves were still high, making a continual roaring sound, punctuated by rolling pebbles as each wave retreated. Diving ducks bob up and down in the distance.|
|Logs piled on the beach, more coming in with each wave.|
|Log-rolling competitors, waiting for the starting gun?|
|Big log coming straight in, advancing a few inches with each wave. (It's perfectly straight; if it looks bent to you, it's an optical illusion.)|
|Wood chewed up by repeated slamming against a stony beach.|
|Drying out, bashed and stained, draped with black eelgrass.|
After the logs, and surpassing them for number and variety, were the plastics. With every step I took, I had to pick up another piece or two. In one small stretch, I collected a full grocery bag of bits and pieces, from broken toys to bags to bottles and containers. Plastic objects (a metre-long drainage pipe, for example) too large to carry along with my bags, I carted up to the blackberry bushes above the tide line; at least they won't slide back down to the beach to be broken up and become gull food. I wished I had more time. I wished I had an army of volunteers with me, all provided with big bags.
I was surprised to see no styrofoam. I wonder why.