It started out more or less normally. It was high tide, and we walked along the rough at water's edge. I stopped to take a photo of the mosaic patterns the shallow waves made on the rocks underneath.
Click on this to see the "grout" lines.Laurie picked up a stone-and-barnacle encrusted piece of metal, solidly compacted and rusted into place. A heavy "souvenir", but it went into my bag, along with a 2-inch-tall snuff bottle look-alike I found, also "fossilized".
Not an antique snuff bottle.
On the way back, we walked along the front of the houses. And got to looking at reflections in their humongous windows.
A driftwood sea serpent and background mountains that just weren't there; the house faces the empty bay with a bare hint of Mount Baker in the far distance. Mystifying.
Laurie trying to shoot the sea behind him in the glass wall of a deck. He is on the empty sand dunes, not in the shrubbery. Reflections are deceptive.
And Laurie again, shooting me shooting him, with fiery grasses in between.At the entrance to our street, a crowd had gathered; all adults, not going anywhere, just milling around. As we approached, a man with a tag on his shirt came over to introduce himself. I noticed that everybody facing me had the same sort of tag.
"This is the International Bocce Competition. We're training for the Olympics," he told us. I had never heard of the game, but I noticed that a man was aiming a small ball along the path we had just taken. "Are we on your pitch?" I asked. "Not any more," was the answer. Oops.
Not that I could see, even after I knew about it, that there was a "pitch". They were just throwing their balls down on the rough sand, debris an all.
Off to the side, a couple of women were tossing their balls down the slope, towards the water. The first thrower had a can of beer in her left hand. (Accepted procedure, I read later, boning up on the game.)
There was a rough chart of rounds taped up on the fence, a couple of scorekeepers in chairs, a couple of coolers. Very business-like, except for the seeming lack of any standardized playing field. "Free form", this blogger calls it.We-ird. I think my family would like it; I'll pass the word on.
We went for coffee and tea. Across the street, someone was drying/desanding his sandals:
Cool fossils! And good to know there is Bocce in BC!
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