I intended to blog about spending the Winter Solstice at Half Moon Bay, but with the other holidays and a surprise move, that post never materialized. Here is my belated essay about a place that is dear to my heart. For more info about the concepts/places mentioned, please click on the embedded links.
The Winter Solstice marks the longest night of the year. The sun, should he choose to appear from behind fog or cloud on December 21, emits a feeble light. My bones are not warmed. My spirit trembles. Hungry for fire, I claw at the sky, consuming sunbeams and chili peppers and hot tea. I am reminded, once again, how precious this earthly balance is. How I am a toddler, dependent upon the sun for basic needs—heat, energy, and light.
The Chinese philosophy of Yin and Yang teaches that all things exist in inseparable and contradictory opposites that attract and complement each other, such as dark-light, cold-warm, valleys-mountains. Each side contains a bit of its opposite; the two parts must be in balance to create harmony. Neither force is considered more valuable. On the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, the sun and planet are in balance. However, on the Winter Solstice, the planet tilts away from the sun, creating an expression of extreme Yin influence.
Some people are more sensitive to changes of season. I am one of those people. My awareness of this receptivity began in Hamburg, Germany, back in 2008. I remember waking up one October morning, hands shaking, heart racing. Like a squirrel gathers nuts, I scrambled to collect sunbeams. Only there weren’t any. I remember saying to Daniel, “God forgot to color in the sky this morning.” And it stayed gray. For months.
I couldn’t get out of bed—not because I felt lazy or didn’t want to arise, but because I couldn’t function. I felt like I was trapped underneath a gigantic sheet of ice and had no idea how to break through. Until the sun shined. Until I visited heat-infused Los Angeles several months later, where I felt my bones strengthen. Shedding mood fog, my brain reengaged as the sun quite literally fueled my Being.
My therapist gave me a name for this condition: Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). More on that in another post.
I interpret this biochemical process as a reminder that my needs might be different from other people’s, and that’s okay. In order to find balance, I need to pay more attention to cultivating experiences with light and heat and activity in the winter.
Back to the Winter Solstice. On this horizontal-light day, Daniel and I decided that a mountain bike adventure in Half Moon Bay would feel good. We’d been eyeing the California Coastal Trail that parallels the seaside bluffs. Nothing strenuous, but something to ignite our inner fires.
When we got to the beach, I noticed how calm the ocean appeared. Little, lake-like waves. Peaceful. I could understand why Portuguese navigator Ferdinand Magellan named this ocean the Pacific. To me, it felt like the ocean was at rest, contemplative.
What a contrast from October, when this safe Pacific churned out 25-foot waves!
I realized that this extreme tug of the tides showed Yin serenity, manifested. If the planet dedicates an entire day or more, every year, to tranquility, perhaps embracing stillness amidst motion is a key to balance.
I heard the ocean’s song — a quiet heartbeat different from my own, but one that taps into deep connectivity. I sing to Yemaya, the Yoruba Orisha of the Living Ocean. The Mother of us All.
We pedaled past Francis Beach and over the wooden bridge spanning Frenchman’s Creek. We rode through the RV campground, noting American flags and Canadian license plates. Further along, a group of men on horseback meandered down a gentle slope to ride on the seashore. Hearing spoken Spanish and noting cowboy hats, I thought about the Rancho era where we learned about the original Californios in 4th grade. I wondered, what will future children say about this current generation with our emphasis on technology, competition, and money? Will they consider our Google consumption our downfall?
Cycling through little Pillar Point Harbor, we learned that fishermen still sell fresh fish right off their boats. Same way that they’ve done business for the past 60 years. Maybe longer.
The Earth is much more powerful than my human brain can grasp.
My body, having a job to do by motoring the bicycle, adds more serotonin to my inner fire. I hear sea lions barking and we wonder if they are on a raft like at Pier 39 in San Francisco, and if so, how to best view them.
Meandering along the hard-packed sand at Princeton-by-the-Sea, we must have looked lost, for a local fellow asked, “Do you know where you are?”
We thought we did, but it never hurts to double check. Maverick’s, right?
Yep.
Had we’d been to the tide pools?
Nooo … but I am a huge tide pool fan.
The local nodded, and said that today was a serious negative tide…
…perhaps the best day of the whole year to go tide-pooling…
…and we could catch the trail at the base of the bluffs, past the sea lions.
We ditched the bikes at the end of the Maverick’s Beach Trail near the breakwater near this warning sign:
No pinnipeds were seen walking on the breakwater.
The tide pools, however, did not disappoint.
Daniel took off to explore the farthest reaches of the rocks. I stayed closer in, fascinated by the tide pools. In these little basins lived sea anemones. Sea stars. An abalone. Lots of tiny fish. The calmer I became, the more I saw. As my eyes grew accustomed to the landscape, I realized that all around me were sea anemones and mussels and crabs!!
The water was stunningly clear and calm. A snorkeler with a large underwater camera photographed sea life. He held up a giant sea star for some children and myself to touch, then quickly returned it to its home. He said he saw an octopus!
Several families were harvesting mussels from the shoals. One man set out crab traps.
We were able to experience these tide pools and hidden channels because the ocean retreated into herself deeply. Some old-timers will say that the best way to understand tide pools is to consciously slow down. Stand still. Breathe. Observe. In other words…embrace Yin energy.
To get to the tide pools, we first had to round Pillar Point and traverse Maverick’s Beach. Yes, that Maverick’s Beach. No surfers at the reef today, but plenty of local families building sand castles or picnicking on the shore.
The sheer tan cliffs reminded me of images I’d seen of Beachy Head in England. Known for its sublime beauty, Beachy Head is owned by the public as part of a National Park, meaning it’s accessible to all who wish to traverse the headland.
Conversely, Pillar Point belongs to the U.S. Air Force, who monitors both space satellites and ballistic missile test launches from the unmistakable golf ball-like orb atop the bluff. Public access is not permitted on much of Pillar Point, but there are two trails that skirt part of the headland. The waters at the base of Pillar Point are organized into two, maybe three marine reserves. I don’t know who works with whom about what.
Does this chaotic management approach actually balance conflicting philosophies about open spaces? It’s all very strange and bureaucratic…Still, I think everyone might be better off following the British lead and turning this whole area into one free public nature preserve.
I felt the tides shifting. The waters began to flow over the sea grasses, awakening sleeping ecosystems atop the rocky outcrops. We headed back to the breakwater, unlocked our bikes, and pedaled into town. Our adventure ended with a bowl of Portuguese fish stew and a spectacular IPA at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Company.
What value is there in embracing an extreme lack of light? A lot, actually. The Winter Solstice offers the opportunity to celebrate Yin influence. Go inward, generate enough heat to appreciate the quieter adventures. Warm your bones with a loving partner or a friend. And discover hidden treasures like tide pools, and a bike trail, and the ocean’s gift of calm.