Monday, July 27, 2009

And That is How I Learned the Value of Water Shoes

I never understood the tides until I moved to the ocean. I knew there was high tide and low tide, but I didn’t realize that low tide could at times be very, very low and other times be only sort of low. Since there is a sandbar that extends several hundred yards out from the water edge behind our house, we can judge how low the low tide really is on any given day by how much of the sandbar is showing. Sometimes an extremely low tide aligns with an afternoon hour and Peter’s day off. When this happens it is time to explore.

That is how I ended up stranded, barefoot, in the middle of a large stretch of sharp, broken sea shells while Matthew sat on my hip wiggling to reach his father a few yards ahead…

Peter had tired of exploring the sandbar last Friday and wanderlust struck. He took the kids with him to explore the area left of our sandbar, a place we had yet to investigate. Unfortunately there were two kids left on shore (they decided too late to participate). I decided I would hold off dinner prep to take them out to join their father’s excursion. By the time I reached the edge of the sandbar to hand off the kids, Peter was all the way across. Having already pointed out the adventure their brothers and sisters were having, there was no easy way out: I was crossing the bay with Kirsti and Matthew in tow, still wearing my regular clothes.
As soon as we stepped off the sandbar we noticed the water turned a reddish hue. You might think metal oxidation or red algae, but my mind went directly to blood in the water. “Directly” does not always equate with “immediately” in my brain, so we were in water past my knees before the gruesome thought struck. A few more steps and I was busy trying to recall if I knew the water depth a shark needed to swim. Hadn’t I heard somewhere it was pretty shallow? Unlike the clear water directly around the sandbar, this water was opaque. We were now up to mid-thigh (did I mention I was not in my swimsuit?) in red, possibly blood tainted, water where we couldn’t see our own feet (much less if anything swimming toward us). Memories of watching Jaws as a child flashed before my eyes.

We were already half way across the bay and I figured there was a shorter walk to shallow water ahead than behind us, so we continued forward. Peter and the rest of the kids had wandered up and down the far beach and were slowly making their way back to the return point. Matthew sat on my hip and Kirsti grasped my hand (I didn’t share my irrational fears with her, but she was smart enough to be freaked out on her own). Just as Peter noticed we were crossing, we hit the shells.

Take hard shells and break them, leaving them strewn across several yards, many layers deep. Hide your feet to prevent a visual of where you’re stepping and try to walk across. Doesn’t that sound like fun? But we were nearly across the bay and had reached shin height, semi-transparent water. Given the choice of turning around and crossing the deep, reddish, monster filled water or walking across broken shells barefoot, I choose the shells. The top of my arches still ache as I type this. We met the rest of the family half way across the shell covered sand and we gingerly tiptoed our way across the last several yards. We finally hit tide-uncovered sand that could be followed back around to our own dear soft sanded beach.

The moral of this story? There are many: invest in water shoes, be wary of Peter’s spontaneous adventures, wear a swimsuit whenever you plan on entering the ocean, and don’t let the kids watch Jaws until we are finished leasing a house just off the ocean.

15 comments:

  1. ouch...I would have run for dry land

    I am kind of a wimp.

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  2. Ouch. My feet hurt thinking about it.

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  3. Sand sharks that mostly swim in very shallow water don't have any teeth at all. I wonder how long it would take for small shark with powerful gums to gum someone to death. It probably wouldn't feel all that bad...like a really hard massage hopefully. Yeah, my feet are hurting at the thought too.

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  4. Aimee I would have run for it, too, except my 7 year old would have been stranded out there. Plus I was worried my clumsy self would trip and fall with the 2 year old on my hip.

    Mom @ Our House All our feet stung for a while. We learned shuffling was better than picking up our feet. We eventually shuffled all in a line with my husband in front.

    Emma Jo I am pretty sure you are the one that 1st suggested a fear of sharks in my water. If I knew about the massage angle, I might would have sat right down. Although I freaked out when I stepped on some sea weed, so probably not.

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  5. That stinks, I hate (HATE) being in water where you don't know whats beneath you.

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  6. I'm with Gordon. That is totally creepy. I'm glad that you were safe and not attacked. I was worried you'd realize later that the water was red because you'd cut your own foot on a shell and hadn't realized it.

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  7. ha ha, I am LOVING the picture you drew. thanks. Sorry about the rough feet, but no matter how many sad painful beach stories you put up all I can say is...YOU.STILL.LIVE.RIGHT.ON.THE.BEACH. and I am SUPER jealous! Miss you.

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  8. You tell this story the same day you invite me to your beach? Are you trying to feed me to the sharks? Or just think I need a good massage from gumming sharks?
    That is a long way across - I've never walked on that side of your rocky pier. What an adventure!

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  9. I am TRYING to feel sorry for you, but when you throw around terms like "our beach," it makes it kind of difficult. You live on the beach, I don't = no sympathy.

    (Just kidding - I hope your feet are okay!)

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  10. Gordon I agree. I prefer to see my feet!

    Kim I'm glad it wasn't that. I was thinking afterwards I should be more freaked out by the thought of my legs toughing bloody water, but I was too busy wondering about sharks.

    Davis Family No permanent damage to the feet. Just a little sensative for a while. It is wonderful to have a beach out our backdoor.

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  11. Twinlinebackers It is all part of my evil plan ;-)

    Susan I know, it is hard to feel bad about adventures on my beach. You can feel bad about my poor planning skills and ability to get into bizarre situations, though (or at least laugh at them!)

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  12. Thanks for the picture; as I read the post, I started wishing for a picture...and there it was, with helpful little arrows! I'm still waiting for the picture of the nuclear power plant though.

    I'm glad this wasn't another story about needing stitches or staples. I don't think I could stomach pictures of staples in your feet. Now you know how the pioneers felt...or would have felt if they had to cross shell-covered plains.

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  13. Mary No stitches needed, although Matthew had to get some steristrips glued to his forehead the day before Kirsti had the staples out. I would take shell covered sand for a few minutes over days of barefoot snow walking anyday!

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  14. I thought you were gonna say it was Kirsti's blood from her shell-cracked feet. Never found out what the red was?? Prob a fun practical joke. The beach looks so pretty!!

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  15. Boyer Family Nope, never found out but I'm pretty sure it is just red algae. Miraculously, mo one ended up with bloody feet, but we were all pretty tender footed that night.

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