Hairy Triton Morning

A cloudy Sunday morning greeted Elmer and me as we ascended to the Coos Bay beach after walking six blocks from our home. On the way, we crossed a street to avoid a meth-crazed homeless woman throwing her cans here and there while screaming profanities.

It was the lowest tide I’d observed since moving here and we decided to take advantage and explore as far as we could.

The beach was littered with shells. On the bay, a lone fishing boat bobbed and various gulls darted around. I kept wondering when I would see a freighter come this way. I supposed it must be at high tide when that happens. It occurred to me that almost all my great beach stories are a low tide, not high. Is there a metaphor in there somewhere?

The first hairy triton, Oregon’s official state sea shell, appeared a quarter mile into our walk. I picked it up for examination. If it was intact and had a chamber that looked like the valve of a heart, and you could thread some cord or twine through it, it was a keeper. Over the years, I’ve been more of a limpet man, but that was in the past, and I decided a week ago that now I would collect only hairy tritons that met my criteria.

I found another. Then another! Giddiness mounted inside me. Elmer bounded over to attack me but I threw him a stick as a distraction and kept hunting. Two more!

What was my hairy triton record in one beach comb? I had no idea. I’d never established one.

Another! Then another!

Half an hour and several miles later, I had scored nine—now certified as my new record.

As we were ready to leave the beach, I noticed a garment of some kind washed up in the rocks. I pulled it out for examination. It was seemingly a brand new, albeit soaked Gruden brand brown hoodie, a real fishermen hoodie, probably retailing for $50 or more.

I wanted it, but it was far too unwieldy to carry back home with a leashed husky. I stashed it in the rocks and covered it with driftwood. Later, I would drive Elmer and me back to the beach for retrieval.

Gifts from the sea!