From Tranquil to Terror

“These are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang”.
Melville (Moby Dick)

Beaches are one of the most popular vacation destinations in the world. Thousands flock to idealistic paradise-like locations in other countries as well as the equally enjoyable coastal regions of North America so that they can bask in the warm sun, feel the sand between their toes, and enjoy the tranquil waters of the ocean. Oddly, many of the same people who repeatedly make this pilgrimage will stick no more than one foot in the water. They are “afraid” they say, so they spend their beach time anchored to the sand by their fear. What is it that they are afraid of? The potential of seeing themselves served up as the happy hour appetizer for a Great White? Or perhaps they are tapped into the notion that beyond the familiar life that lives within the sea, the ocean itself is alive, and with little warning, its tranquil atmosphere can change from being beautiful and serene to so ferocious, so devastatingly powerful it becomes a far more dangerous predator than a measly shark.

As a child I was fortunate to have grandparents in Florida so I spent most of my vacations visiting them. The big draw of the trip was supposed to be Disneyland, but for me it was the beach. On arrival I would become enveloped by the warm and gentle breeze, its smell of the ocean’s salt lightly sweetened by the sap from the abundance of palm trees, and the flocks of seagulls, calling out as they danced circles in the air above the whispering sound of the waves. The presence of the ocean was palatable, and I found it much more enticing than the notion of breakfast with Mickey Mouse.

My uncle took me on my first snorkeling trip. It was a beautiful day. The water was calm and twinkling with more sparkles than the artwork I used entire cans of glitter on, which decorated our kitchen. I remember on the boat ride to our destination, my older brother began making excuses as to why he /we shouldn’t go. He was trying to appear calm, but I could sense his anxiety. He had spent as much time playing in the ocean as I had, but the idea that we had made our way far from the solid hold of the shore and into the vast never ending horizon was very unsettling to him. Wedged by his fear he opted to stay on the boat where he could try and maintain a sense of security. He begged me to skip the swim so that we could go back to the safety of land and became almost hysterical as I ignored his warnings and fearlessly jumped off the boat into the sparkling abyss.

Swimming under the water in this exciting new world I would see schools of hundreds of brilliantly colored fish swimming comical zig zag motion of in decisiveness. On the ocean floor,there were dozens of crustaceans scrambling around like commuters on their way to work while, a lazy Starfish stayed motionless. I even encountered the much dreaded jellyfish that seemed to wave at me in a laid back fashion that said, “What’s up?” as he floated by. There were elaborate coral structures and an abundance of shells in many different shapes and sizes scattered around the lush green plants that would playfully sway from the gentle tickle of an ever present current, serving as a friendly reminder that my host was very much present at this visual smorgasbord. Later that evening I would learn that the ocean wasn’t always as friendly and playful as it had seemed that wonderful afternoon.

Back at my grandparent’s I devoured the encyclopedia, schooling myself on everything about the ocean, as a storm was moving in. It actually seemed to be coming from the ocean onto the land, causing the big palm trees in the yard to shutter. I became mesmerized by the giant waves that were making their way much further up into sand than usual. I envisioned them as the mouth of the ocean, whispering over and over as it rolled in taking gulps of air that seemed to give it strength and turning the echoes of its murmur into roars that crashed violently into the sand where just hours before, they had lapped no harder than a puppy drinking water from a dish. I had no doubt that this endless pool of mystery was alive, but this would just be a small glimpse of the ocean that had yet to reveal the full portrait of his dark side, and with it the extent and potentially devastating effects of its mammoth power.

My first winter working as a paramedic in Connecticut was an eventful season due to the record-breaking snowfall. It was mid March and we were expecting yet another big storm except that this time, weather forecasters were calling the storm a “Nor Easter”. This was a term I was unfamiliar with however, having grown up in Minnesota I was sure it couldn’t compare. Whatever fancy name it had, it still meant a lot of snow. When the snow came that day it fell quickly, accumulating somewhere between 4 and 5ft. After a difficult but manageable. shift I was informed all crews were being held pending mandatory evacuations of the shore area. Having been north of the waterfront during the initial snow, as well as not being aware of the storms impact on the tides, I was surprised to learn that Nor’easters can cause coastal flooding, coastal erosion, hurricane force winds, storm surges and either more snow or rain. This was not going to be an ordinary snowstorm; the ocean fueled this storm. Later that night when high tide came in, I was unprepared for what I would see as I made my way through the eerie dark to the evacuation area.

The once beautiful New England coastal shore, accented by the numerous cape cod style homes, always tended to with immaculate detail, and the pristine beaches which were inviting even when covered by snow, were not what welcomed me. Shingles and shutters were tossed around; the rain came sideways from the shore with such force it felt like it would slice right through my skin. The treacherous surge of water was just far enough above my knees making it difficult to avoid the many obstacles the water had stolen from homes and yards along its relentless path. As I tried to forge ahead, I stopped in a combination of fear, wonder, and amazement as my thoughts drifted back to my childhood days at the beach where I had my first encounter with the two drastically different personalities of the ocean. This once calm and peaceful entity had grown so colossal and fierce, so massive, that it had seemingly taken over the sky, making it impossible to differentiate where the horizon once stood.

Beyond the fear of giant whales, Great Whites, and even that dreaded jellyfish, who all make their home in the sea. That home itself, the living ocean, is where the “dreamy quietude” as mentioned by Mellville can transform itself in an instant into a dark and relentless nightmare.