With Labor Day behind us, we suppose the tourist season to be over and venture for the second time to Ruby Beach. We are happy to find it mostly uninhabited and choose a spot with no other humans in view.
|Ruby Beach is here|
The temperature is perfect and the sun shining, tempered by the nearly constant haze of the coast. The atmosphere carries a luminous glow that, had I not seen it in person, I would call manufactured in a photograph.
Clear, round blobs of jelly demarcate the last high tide. Sea Gooseberries are relatives of the jellyfish, but possess no sting and feel like jell-o when tread upon. Feeling that unpleasant squish between the toes is unavoidable when walking on the hard pack sand on this beach.
Mounds of the papery white remains of Velella velella are gathered in the soft sand. They were once bright blue, with a small sail raised from the middle of the top side to catch the ocean breeze. A few days on dry land withers them and bleaches their former coloring. We only find one out of thousands that still has color.
As soon as pugs are let off leash, they begin their insane dance on the beach.
Murray cannot stand the sight of a person running. I hold his collar while Hubs takes off down the beach. Murray strains and yaps frenetically until I release him. For such a fat creature, he has amazing speed. In a few short seconds he closes the gap, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Otis sits and thinks about the worth of expending that much energy, finally deciding to follow.
Evening finds us back at camp with a nearly unusable camper battery. Our week and a half of shade has taken its toll, so we go to bed before 8:30 for lack of light, resolving to move to sunnier pastures tomorrow.