Moclips

          Moclips

         Chilled ankles deep in gliding waves
         on misty morning walks,
         we edge the surf with slip-slide strides
         and clamber over rocks.

         A smiling seal bobs playfully;
         she rides the ocean swell
         and wonders as these white-legged apes
         encroach on Neptune’s realm.

         Here razor clams spout randomly
         ‘twixt dollars scattered wide,
         and crabs no longer living
         roll empty in the tide.

         When rising waters rush the dunes
         we make a quick retreat,
         and shark-attack the cooler chest
         to feast on luncheon meat.

         Full satisfied in mid-day warmth
         with toes no longer numb,
         a siren breeze and lulling waves
         sing nap-time in the sun.

         A salty, tangy, smell of kelp
         slips soft across the bay,
         and tickles through the noses of
         sun bathers as they laze.

         From dozes on our gritty towels
         we wake to shrilling cries,
         brown pelicans and gangs of gulls
         compete for soggy fries.

         An unleashed Lab abounds with joy
         where Frisbee discs set sail.
         He crashes castles built of sand
         and scatters plastic pails.

         The streaming tails of wind-blown kites
         frame blazing azure skies,
         where patient osprey soar in wait
         for salmon on the rise.

         A tannin-tinted river flows
         ‘neath overhanging trees,
         and wrestles with the tidal bore
         to win its briny ease.

         The driftwood blazes cheerfully,
         an evening weenie roast,
         with children begging just one s'more
         while parents drink a toast.

         We shake out shoes and peel wet suits,
         red-cheeked from wind and sun.
         Then shower off and fall in bed
         exhausted by the fun.

           Terrence G. Fisher 2020




Author's note: ▼

Much of this poem is inspired by fond memories of my favorite beach vacations.

Moclips is a real place on the Pacific Northwest coast. The Moclips river flows through dense forests of Douglas fir that tint its waters the color of weak tea. Though small enough to wade, it forms the southern boundary of the Quinault Reservation, so the beach to the north of the river is off-limits to tourists and is usually empty.

The incoming tide sometimes overpowers this small river and actually reverses its flow, creating a tidal bore. A really big storm can shift sand along the beach and move the river’s low-tide channel north or south by a hundred yards. At high tide, the ocean takes full control and the river's mouth becomes a brackish inlet. A path runs for a short distance upstream and provides a pleasant afternoon stroll.

Brown pelicans, seagulls, osprey and the occasional bald eagle are seen in the skies overhead. Kite flying in the stiff breeze is a popular tourist pastime. Sand dollars, seashells, and crabs are seen along the beach, but razor clams are the biggest draw. The beach can feel quite crowded during clamming season.

The Moclips river has carried large deposits of sand into the ocean and more than 200 yards of beach can be exposed at low tide. A series of low off-shore sandbars can be reached on foot during the lowest low tides and they offer prime clam digging opportunities. An unwary beach walker may have to wade through knee-deep waves to escape these ‘islands’ as they disappear again under the rising waters of the next high tide.

The ocean at Moclips is always too cold for comfortable swimming and the wind is often too fierce to even fly a kite. The temperature barely reaches ‘hot’ even under a blazing August sun. There are few tourist amenities nearby, virtually no night life, and little excitement. But the ever-changing cycles of wind, tide, and wildlife provide a fascinating show that repeats itself every day without ever being quite the same. It’s a perfect place to relax and unwind.