By mid-September, the rush of tourists has died down along the stretch of coast I call home. Usually by this time, and always by the first of October, the sky opens up and the fog relents. I always giggle to myself when I see folks shivering on the beach in July and August, waiting for the marine layer to lift enough for the sun to slip under and warm the sand. It’s a cruel trick Northern California plays on its summer visitors. That sun doesn’t start appearing until about now and had they planned their beach visit for Halloween, the warm sand would’ve felt just right between their toes.
I’ve wandered the same stretch of beach with my cameras for nearly a decade now, paying attention to the subtle and not so subtle things happening around me. Where there used to be a deep calmness in my soul, I now feel a stingy uneasiness. Something is not quite right. The sky isn’t smiling down on me yet. Maybe it’s the fierce fires that have burned inland and all around me the past two years. Or some shift up in the jet stream that’ll right itself all on its own. I fear it is something more.
I made the most of this unusual September with weekend walks, exercising my Pentax Spotmatic and MX cameras. I had Kodak Portra 400 in my Spotmatic and some very expired Agfa APX 100 in the little MX.