Between the water and the hill, between one raincloud and the next ...
It was raining as usual, and the tides are high all day these days, but we've been too long shut in. We went to Crescent Beach anyhow. And the rain stopped, just for us!
The sea was empty; no boats, no people, only one lone Bufflehead. But there's always something to look at. Like wet logs and stones, for example.
|Empty sea around Kwomais Point, grey-green branches overhead.|
|Water rushing over stones in a creeklet.|
The White Rock - Kwomais Point - Crescent Beach shore is home to an amazing variety of stones and rocks. I never get tired of looking at them.
Some have washed down from the cliffs above over many millennia; others have broken off the rock piles that support the railway, or the rough gravel on the rail bed itself, and have been barged down from the upper Fraser Valley, or possibly from the Sechelt area on the Sunshine Coast. Some are volcanic; most are granites or conglomerates. I find agates, many but of poor quality, green jade-like stones, fossils, a bit of sandstone, white marbling. There's pink, green, grey, blue-black, brown, creamy yellow, translucent white, solid white . . . Beach glass, too, mostly green or brown. A few stones even seem to be worn-out bricks. How they got there is anyone's guess.
I don't know my rocks and stones. So, in the absence of proper vocabulary, I give them my own names. Like so:
|Pink, peach, and rust "Easter Egg" stones.|
|"Knitted" rock. It looks like a mass of thick threads.|
|Laurie says this one looks like a frog.|
|"Iced potato" stone. Some softer, coarse brick-like stone, covered top and bottom with drizzled marble.|
|Another beach face.|
|The stone is uniformly grey; all the pattern is in the etching or molding. And I see dozens of shapes in it. A couple of horses, a sculpin, an axe-head, an old grump, a Roman statue, a dinosaur head.|
|Grey-green stone, with narrow veins of harder rock. Many of the rocks are veined like this, or split apart along a vein, leaving a white, flat side.|
Most of the logs come and go, hauled away by the winter storms, or by the clean-up crews that try to keep a path open along the shoreline.
|This old stump has been here for several summers.|
|Cute "chick" sheltered under the stump's wing.|
|Head-height into an old shrubby tree, something (high tides, high winds) had tossed a peeled, red stick.|
|Neither a stone nor a branch. Kelp float, sporting a side-ways Mohawk haircut.|
I'll save the lichens and fungi for the next post.