Pacific Tales of Memory
I did not see the Pacific Ocean with my eyes until I was 19.
I did not go and visit it for the first time as I had thought I might. I was compelled to see it, by others. Kind of forced. The people that I lived with at the end of Mahuzier Street found out I had never seen it. They made me go! (We lived about 30 minutes away). Perhaps I had viewed it, this largest chunk of earth surface area, a little bit on the way down to Chile from the airplane, 30 thousand feet up, or descending to Santiago or Concepcion six months before in the summer of South America...
I saw it later with less coercion; times that were by my own will and with proper permission, that Chilean winter and spring following.
It was a thing to do, and I did it. That was 1990. And 1991.
I saw the island where Moby Dick was inspirational to Melville, off the Eighth Region waters of south-central Chile. Far off from where Selkirk was inspired to write Robinson Crusoe. Dreams shared and recreated...
I saw the island where Moby Dick was inspirational to Melville, off the Eighth Region waters of south-central Chile. Far off from where Selkirk was inspired to write Robinson Crusoe. Dreams shared and recreated...
I saw it again, this massive thing called Pacific, in San Diego in 1993. I sort of forced my way there, after being initially invited from the Inter-Mountain West. I swam in it. I coasted on it. I soaked it in.
Again, I saw it San Diego in 1994. And Los Angeles in 1996. San Francisco in 1997 and 1998-99.
1994 was the return to Chile and I was able to see it at Vina del Mar, many other beaches; some spectacular. Cobquecura and Curanipe. Further south towards Chiloe. Up and down the country, way up on the beach of Serena/Coquimbo. Maybe where President Kimball felt Lehi. Maybe.
I saw the Pacific Seattle and British Columbia, 1994 and 1997...
I moved to California in 1999 and went to Manhattan Beach, Corona del Mar, Long Beach, Santa Monica.
Throughout the 2000s with trips to Baja California North, South, Guerrero, later Sonora and Sinaloa.
Swimming and snorkeling in the Sea of Cortez, aka the Sea of California.
Sleeping above it my first night of marriage, at the Finisterra luxury hotel. It goes on forever.
Swimming in Oahu in 2003... Hawai'i is nice, every side of the island that I frequented.
Washington again, as late as 2012, in the winter when the snows came... The frosty foam invigorating as I parked on the beach.
Oregon and its craggy bays and dune swept coastline. Dunes look over it, conceal it from mere passers by. You have to explore to find it. Drive down through the trees to see its crags and crevices.
Over the years since 1990... The last time southern California sleeping on a tent at Doheny Beach, Orange County, or maybe northern San Diego...
My birthday in 2001 at Point Magoo, with my small family and the ward on a campout.
The next year near Ventura, or as it is called the City of San Buenaventura.
Night fires and hot dogs and marshmallows, songs with guitars.
La Bufadora and Ensenada in Baja North, Mexico... San Diego Bays, the beaches of Monterey and Aptos, Santa Cruz and other small villages.
I would run along its bays as a soldier. Mostly early morning. Look out on it by day and night, listening to the call of the sea lions.
Wolf Point and down the coast towards Big Sur, down the 17 Mile Way, past Carmel. Across the bay from Pebble Beach. Pacific Grove.
San Francisco and Muir Woods, the Red Woods above the northern California coast...
Morro Bay and Pismo Beach, the Elephant Seals and Big Sur farther north...
Vancouver Island in Canada, Victoria and its stately harbors...
Chiloe in the 10th Region of Chile, Valdivia, Isla Negra, Lota and Coronel. The profane graffiti of Lebu, scrawled on the park fountain. Posing with it, defiantly attacking my religion, my identity there mere short years before.
Canada. The United States. Mexico. Chile. Hawai'i, out further...
I have seen it. I have heard it. At night, in the morning, in the full day sun.
It is large, it goes on and on... I have only seen parts, like our universe beyond the moon and the sun and the other stars.
I have ran its sands through my hands and feet.
I have seen the natural rock Arch in Cabo San Lucas where I kissed my new wife...
Huntington Beach, Balboa Beach, with those from Utah, from those from other lands, like China, like South America.
The memories are there, if I can see them.
I see them.
I saw the baby cub of the sea lions lost on its shores. A place called Curanipe. Or Cobquecura. We ate at restaurants by its shores.
Years later with my mother-in-law and daughter in tow, by Vina del Mar, looking at the necklaces and trinkets, and washed up bones of yesterday.
I saw the thousands of people populating its surfs. In and out of the water.
I walked the docks of Cannery Row and smelled the fish, heard the Whale watching boats, saw the far off buoys and oil platforms. I see the bridges of Golden Gate and others, the Mexican fisherman at sun set and the large, fast dogs on the isolated Sonoran beach in the wind.
Do you remember all of it?
I can't.
But I can dream of the real memories that are under my eyelids.
They are there. As are you.
We go back to the Pacific whenever we want.
It is ours, and we belong to it, the planet with its biggest surface area.
Remember that, please.
El Pacifico. El mar immenso del poeta Neruda. El Poeta and the Sea.
Muheet el-hada'.
لمحيط الهادئ
Go back and see it, feel it, and go further to other lands.
There are thousands of more beaches. Thousands of more skies.
But not so much time on earth.
Go there.
Take in the breeze.
Take in the nights and waves.
Avalon and the Catalinas. The Korean Peace Bell in San Pedro. The kayaks of Orange County, Newport beach and rows of yachts and speedboats, fishing vessels and tankers further up shore. The aquariums of Monterey or Cabrillo Beach, or the Queen Mary on the dock, the long shoremen lined up for pay checks on the way to the Spanish restaurant in Long Beach, the long break out to no where, the cliffs of Dana Point, the tour boat ferry of Long Beach Bay, the kites in the wind along the hills...
Battle ships and aircraft carriers, moored peacefully after historic runs across this expanse, this super highway of Magellan and Cook...
The endless docks and towering conex lifts...
Lonely piers at sunset, populated piers at night, ferris wheels and video games. Dancing and music.
Lonely expanses of beach and sky, endless waves rolling out to China and Japan. Whales and dolphins push through the kelp and the sea weed.
Shells and plankton wash ashore. Dark sand, light sand, crusty rocks and boulders.
Fireworks from platforms, from the side of the docks and jetties...
Lawn chairs and fire pits, music from radios and volleyball nets, paddle ball and frizbees...
Towels and blankets, wet hair and sandy toes, umbrellas and coolers and picnic baskets.
Parking lots with paid booths, empty beach lots with no one around.
A lone rider on a horse comes around the scraggly sand dune.
The crash of the surf. The thunder of the waves. The trees blowing in gales of storms or gentler days...
And more.
These memories small and large of the vast Pacific.
Tales of the memories go on into the night, and rise again the next day.
Going on forever.
1994 was the return to Chile and I was able to see it at Vina del Mar, many other beaches; some spectacular. Cobquecura and Curanipe. Further south towards Chiloe. Up and down the country, way up on the beach of Serena/Coquimbo. Maybe where President Kimball felt Lehi. Maybe.
I saw the Pacific Seattle and British Columbia, 1994 and 1997...
I moved to California in 1999 and went to Manhattan Beach, Corona del Mar, Long Beach, Santa Monica.
Throughout the 2000s with trips to Baja California North, South, Guerrero, later Sonora and Sinaloa.
Swimming and snorkeling in the Sea of Cortez, aka the Sea of California.
Sleeping above it my first night of marriage, at the Finisterra luxury hotel. It goes on forever.
Swimming in Oahu in 2003... Hawai'i is nice, every side of the island that I frequented.
Washington again, as late as 2012, in the winter when the snows came... The frosty foam invigorating as I parked on the beach.
Oregon and its craggy bays and dune swept coastline. Dunes look over it, conceal it from mere passers by. You have to explore to find it. Drive down through the trees to see its crags and crevices.
Over the years since 1990... The last time southern California sleeping on a tent at Doheny Beach, Orange County, or maybe northern San Diego...
My birthday in 2001 at Point Magoo, with my small family and the ward on a campout.
The next year near Ventura, or as it is called the City of San Buenaventura.
Night fires and hot dogs and marshmallows, songs with guitars.
La Bufadora and Ensenada in Baja North, Mexico... San Diego Bays, the beaches of Monterey and Aptos, Santa Cruz and other small villages.
I would run along its bays as a soldier. Mostly early morning. Look out on it by day and night, listening to the call of the sea lions.
Wolf Point and down the coast towards Big Sur, down the 17 Mile Way, past Carmel. Across the bay from Pebble Beach. Pacific Grove.
San Francisco and Muir Woods, the Red Woods above the northern California coast...
Morro Bay and Pismo Beach, the Elephant Seals and Big Sur farther north...
Vancouver Island in Canada, Victoria and its stately harbors...
Chiloe in the 10th Region of Chile, Valdivia, Isla Negra, Lota and Coronel. The profane graffiti of Lebu, scrawled on the park fountain. Posing with it, defiantly attacking my religion, my identity there mere short years before.
Canada. The United States. Mexico. Chile. Hawai'i, out further...
I have seen it. I have heard it. At night, in the morning, in the full day sun.
It is large, it goes on and on... I have only seen parts, like our universe beyond the moon and the sun and the other stars.
I have ran its sands through my hands and feet.
I have seen the natural rock Arch in Cabo San Lucas where I kissed my new wife...
Huntington Beach, Balboa Beach, with those from Utah, from those from other lands, like China, like South America.
The memories are there, if I can see them.
I see them.
I saw the baby cub of the sea lions lost on its shores. A place called Curanipe. Or Cobquecura. We ate at restaurants by its shores.
Years later with my mother-in-law and daughter in tow, by Vina del Mar, looking at the necklaces and trinkets, and washed up bones of yesterday.
I saw the thousands of people populating its surfs. In and out of the water.
I walked the docks of Cannery Row and smelled the fish, heard the Whale watching boats, saw the far off buoys and oil platforms. I see the bridges of Golden Gate and others, the Mexican fisherman at sun set and the large, fast dogs on the isolated Sonoran beach in the wind.
Do you remember all of it?
I can't.
But I can dream of the real memories that are under my eyelids.
They are there. As are you.
We go back to the Pacific whenever we want.
It is ours, and we belong to it, the planet with its biggest surface area.
Remember that, please.
El Pacifico. El mar immenso del poeta Neruda. El Poeta and the Sea.
Muheet el-hada'.
لمحيط الهادئ
Go back and see it, feel it, and go further to other lands.
There are thousands of more beaches. Thousands of more skies.
But not so much time on earth.
Go there.
Take in the breeze.
Take in the nights and waves.
Avalon and the Catalinas. The Korean Peace Bell in San Pedro. The kayaks of Orange County, Newport beach and rows of yachts and speedboats, fishing vessels and tankers further up shore. The aquariums of Monterey or Cabrillo Beach, or the Queen Mary on the dock, the long shoremen lined up for pay checks on the way to the Spanish restaurant in Long Beach, the long break out to no where, the cliffs of Dana Point, the tour boat ferry of Long Beach Bay, the kites in the wind along the hills...
Battle ships and aircraft carriers, moored peacefully after historic runs across this expanse, this super highway of Magellan and Cook...
The endless docks and towering conex lifts...
Lonely piers at sunset, populated piers at night, ferris wheels and video games. Dancing and music.
Lonely expanses of beach and sky, endless waves rolling out to China and Japan. Whales and dolphins push through the kelp and the sea weed.
Shells and plankton wash ashore. Dark sand, light sand, crusty rocks and boulders.
Fireworks from platforms, from the side of the docks and jetties...
Lawn chairs and fire pits, music from radios and volleyball nets, paddle ball and frizbees...
Towels and blankets, wet hair and sandy toes, umbrellas and coolers and picnic baskets.
Parking lots with paid booths, empty beach lots with no one around.
A lone rider on a horse comes around the scraggly sand dune.
The crash of the surf. The thunder of the waves. The trees blowing in gales of storms or gentler days...
And more.
These memories small and large of the vast Pacific.
Tales of the memories go on into the night, and rise again the next day.
Going on forever.
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