Drenched yet quenched

From Ohio to Nashville to South California, I cannot evade overcast days.

The sun hid behind a thick marine layer pushing in from the Pacific on Friday, casting a chill on the kayak trips we took through Newport’s back bay and its protected waters.

Alicia covered the Newport beat long enough to know places that the average visitor (me) could overlook. We were the only people renting kayaks from the Newport Aquatic Center that morning.

We paddled out against the incoming tide, with only about eight inches of kayak plastic separating me from the brackish. After a few minutes, all fear of dumping into the bay faded, and my balance returned.

Low marshy islands dotted the estuary, and their sensitive status meant no first-time kayaker could even drop a foot on them. We passed a few hundred feet from John Wayne’s former mansion along the water as planes above us departed John Wayne Airport. Wayne, the symbol of American machismo and icon for two generations of Republican presidents, departed nearly 30 years ago.

Of greater interest were the bird species ruling the banks and skies. Kent, Alicia’s boyfriend and a newspaper photographer, staked out the ospreys living in the area, but they were elsewhere on Friday. The estuary still sheltered a great diversity of species, from pipers to gulls to white-striped black ducks. They avoided the yellow kayaks like the plague, sticking to their shores and exiting the water whenever we paddled close.

While the aquatic center attendant seemed to wonder why we wanted to hit the water on such a day, it proved to be that moment of relaxation every vacation needs. Baptized in the estuary’s waters and limbs coated in salt, I felt reloaded.

No records were set during that hour of paddling awkwardly, but upon my return, I’m going to see how well a canoe might perform on the wide, mighty Cumberland.

Due south we wandered along Crystal Cove Beach, where magnificent boulders below the tide line housed thriving tidal pools filled with anemones, mussels, hermit crabs and the occasional fish. The sun punched through by this hour, just as we reached the Beachcomber restaurant and clutch of rustic beach cottages below the massive cliffs.
This was a novelty place, where a decent albacore sandwich and the world’s smallest soup (they actually served it in a demitasse cup) will set you back almost $15.

The walk back along Crystal Cove and its surging tides helped me to forget the tiny helping of tomato bisque.

As we reached the top of the cliffs, my eyes began to turn toward Joshua Tree, which would fill Saturday (more scrapes and bruises to come).