The change from two days ago to yesterday reversed itself this morning: we were back to thick covers of gray clouds, cold air, and choppy waters. These changing conditions at the bulb keep it interesting: the clouds and wind, fog and sun, the turbulence or calm of the water’s surface.

The San Francisco Bay is a large tidal estuary; fresh water from the San Joaquin and Sacramento rivers flow out to sea and the salt water tides of the Pacific Ocean, flow in and out. So, of course, the water we swim in is never the same from one day to the next.  This is quite evident when we wade in at the Albany Bulb: sometimes it’s clear right down to the sandy bottom; other days it’s cloudy and thick with seaweed, plastic bags, and cigarette butts. This drastic change from one day to the next speaks to how much water moves in and out of the bay, how much turnover there is. 

But today I was especially struck by the way the water itself changes day to day. Not just from glassy to wild, but the substantive feel of the water itself. Today, as Sheila, Angie, and I swam along, I felt resistance in the water. Like it didn’t want me to swim. It felt heavier somehow; more difficult to move through.  

Which worked out fine for a chatty swim to the little tree.