Woke up to a beautiful blue-sky morning. Wow! Could it get any better than this? Sat in our picture window sipping coffee, watching the terns fishing in front of us. Bright white terns, flying twenty thirty forty feet high, focused on the water below. They spot a meal, and crash unmercifully into the surface after it. It looks like a devastating crash, but they gulp, and pop right back up into the air to do it again. Kamikaze feeders.
Did my morning ramble. The cardinals and mockingbirds are in full voice.
The sea is glass. We put the boats in the water. We paddled for hours. Headed around the other campground peninsula, back in the slough, tucked into a canal neighborhood, cruised the canals and visited with a few of the residents, turned down more than one offer of a can of beer to go, ducked under the bridge to the boat launch area, past the pelicans, around the oyster beds, under the fishing pier, and back around our campground peninsula, to our start. We circled the entire goose of
I like all the fishing piers here. Some fishing piers are built on purpose. Great long wooden piers stretching way out into the bay. Some fishing piers were already there, under a different use. We're into at least the second generation of bridges. That means the old bridge outlives its useful life, so they build a new, higher bridge next to it, rearrange the road to hit the new bridge, cut a piece out of the middle of the old bridge for boats to go through, and call the old bridge a fishing pier. Two fishing piers, in fact. There are many fishing piers all along the coast, and new ones popping up every year.
Experienced a sunset to match the morning.
