Baywatch

Last weekend, I did the unthinkable: I went to the beach with a dear friend, just the two of us. It’s known as a girls’ weekend, and while I have been lucky enough to experience it once or twice in the past, I have to admit, it’s been a very long time since I have done anything that only required packing my own bag, let alone leave my family to fend for themselves. But the opportunity to have an overdue and uninterrupted conversation with a long distance friend was too good to not make it happen. 

When we first talked about going out of town together, my friend KC, who lives out West, and I tried to think of a good place to meet, sort of a middle ground . But halfway between Colorado and South Carolina involves a lot of flat land, frequent tornado warnings, strong conservative values, and not a whole lot of exciting touristy stuff. She suggested a Texas beach, but I nixed that because no one ever said, hey, the beaches in Texas are fantastic, let’s drive from the East Coast to see it! We both decided that Chicago wasn’t necessary. New York was breezed over, and Florida was too far. Which left us sort of quiet and embarrassed. Neither one of us gets to travel much outside of visiting family, so we couldn’t come up with any good location. 

We decided she would fly into my town and we would drive to the beach here in South Carolina, which has yet to experience an oil spill and is therefore still pretty lovely if you overlook the rebel flags and rural poverty on your way to the coast. Driving in my state was claustrophobic for KC, who has grown accustomed to the wide open spaces and broad horizons of the West. She is used to mountains in the distance, not an overgrowth of scrub and pine trees. We talked and interrupted each other and talked some more, and no one asked for a snack or a juice box or a new DVD to watch or a grocery sack for puking. It was a great drive.

We got to the beach condo, unloaded all of our stuff, and headed out for a walk on the beach. I am fortunate that I go to the beach about four or five times a year. KC has not gone to the beach since she moved to Colorado seven years ago. She was as happy as a little girl to be romping on the beach. Lucky for us, it was low tide, the best time to look for all the critters and shells. KC carried a bucket with her to hold whatever treasures she might find. 

She started by collecting the most ordinary shells you’ve ever seen. You know the ones I mean, the orange and cream colored bivalves, some average clam shell, too boring to even have a name. She found beauty in them all, and kept stopping to pick up shells that had been passed over by most beach goers. Then we happened upon a large olive shell, half buried in the sand. KC picked it up, and glory be, the snail was still alive in it! Have you ever seen an olive snail? It’s a freaky little animal. It has a slimy mantle that sort of separates and covers the outside of the shell opening. Let’s not beat around the bush; it looks like fairly pronounced labia. 

KC: I have to take this shell home to my son!

Me: It’s going to stink. More than it already does. You can't put that in your suitcase.

KC: Are you sure? It's beautiful.

Me: I don’t want to look at that anymore.

She added it to her bucket. While we walked along, she found many other rocks and shells with pretty colors and markings, until we stumbled across a living whelk. I don’t mind whelks as much. They don’t look like vaginas. She dropped it in her bucket.

As we walked along, KC was disturbed by the number of jellyfish that washed up on shore. I commented to her that all the overfishing has led to real problems with the ecosystem balance, leading to an overabundance of jellyfish. Jellyfish used to have a season, but now, no matter what time of year you go to the beach, the shoreline is littered with their dead bodies. The idea of jellyfish beaching themselves and dying out of water distressed KC to such a degree that she began tossing them back out to sea if they still showed any signs of life, which we referred to as “blooping.” “Blooping” is that thing when the jellyfish still moves a little even when a wave doesn’t initiate the movement. If we saw one that still looked round and firm and shiny and full of life, such as it is, KC would stop and bend over and chuck it back into the water.

KC: I am the jellyfish whisperer.

Me: They don’t even have a brain. It’s just a brainless ball of snot. And I am pretty sure they are going to wash back up on the beach when you walk away, just to spite you.

KC: I'm saving their lives. I can't just let them die.

Me: Sure, you can. Watch me walk away.

When we returned to the condo, KC still had her living creatures in her bucket. We Googled the best way to get them out of their shells. It turns out that experienced shell collectors recommend boiling.  KC got out the Caphalon pot and filled it with water, then put her still living shell dwellers in the pot over high heat, with the lid on, because guess what stinks really bad if you cook it? 

Me: Don’t you find it ironic that you are killing those beautiful shell makers yet saved the worthless life of every still twitching jellyfish you saw?

KC: But these shells are for my son! He is so jealous he isn’t here with me.

Me: Snail killer.

After hard boiling the snails and whelks, we let the pot cool on the stove and went out for dinner. When we came back, the condo smelled like we had been cooking fishy road kill. We took the pot, its contents, and a grocery sack out to the parking lot, where KC coaxed the cooked crustaceans out of their homes with a fork. The smell was ungodly, but the shells were perfection.

Before our weekend was over, KC managed to single handedly save the lives of at least twenty jellyfish. She also managed to slaughter another whelk and some hermit crabs, which for the record do not slide easily out of the homes. It was a real circle of life kind of moment. I concentrated my efforts on looking for shark’s teeth when we walked and trying not to complain about the smell when we relaxed in the condo. 

I hope her collection survived the baggage claim at the Denver airport. It would be a shame if all those critters died in vain.