The last pull of the ebbing tide carried my kayak seaward as I paddled through the salt marsh channel.  My destination was Bear Island, a pristine, four-mile-long barrier island facing the North Atlantic Ocean in Hammocks Beach State Park near Swansboro, NC.  

For twelve autumns while on vacation I had followed this marked paddle trail out to Bear Island where I walked the wide sandy beach, gazed at the blue ocean, listened to the rolling surf, looked for seashells, and paused at the shelter to enjoy a simple picnic lunch.  Today, since I was traveling solo, I planned to do something different.  I would sit in solitude on the beach for a full hour and observe nature along the shoreline.

Arrival

Scanning ahead and then following the white trail markers I took in the view of the salt marsh, vast patches of dark green salt cordgrass dissected by innumerable, meandering tidal channels. I felt a deep attraction for this salt marsh environment, an attraction deeper than I could explain.

Maybe my attraction was due to the way salt cordgrass (Spartina alterniflora) was uniquely adapted to thrive in the ebb and flow of salt water.  Maybe it was the way these grasses built up marshland, removed pollutants, and provided natural protection for the shoreline.  Maybe it was the fact that the salt marsh habitat was a vital and foundational cauldron of life, a fertile nursery for fish and crustaceans.

Now, as low tide approached the hunters gathered.  I saw fin trails of predator fish flash across the surface of the shallowing water.  Blue herons and white egrets stood half hidden in the cord grass, eyes vigilant, beaks poised to strike. 

Gradually the maritime dunes of Bear Island grow closer and larger. Reaching the shoreline, I followed the paddle trail past patches of sand, branches and logs of gray driftwood, clusters of scraggly green shrubs, stands of wind dwarfed junipers, and a few of the primitive camping sites.  

I paddled into the long shallow lagoon that led to the kayak landing.   Arriving at the landing, I dragged my kayak up past the high tide line, grabbed my gear, crossed the high dune, and took in my first view of the ocean, always a breath-taking panorama.

Finding the Sit Spot

I strolled barefoot down the beach for a mile and came to the shelter and concession stand, empty and closed now but surely crowded and busy and noisy in the summer when the ferry ran hourly from the mainland.  Sitting at a wooden picnic table, I ate my simple lunch, looked out at the ocean, watched the reeds sway in the wind, listened to surf, and inhaled the fresh salt air.  

It was, I thought, good to have this time of walking and sitting to get in synch with the beach environment, an attunement which might help my search for a “just right” sit spot.

Heading back along the shoreline, bare feet pressing into the cool damp sand, I scanned for a suitable location, searching objectively but also openly and loosely to allow my intuition to guide me.  I noticed a little indentation where the beach protruded into shrubby dunes.  It immediately felt right, a spot sheltered from the wind with a sweeping view of beach and ocean.

I set up quickly. No camp stool so I set a thin cushion from the kayak on the ground, sat down, hoping my back and butt would make it through the hour ahead.  I also wondered how much life I would see looking out on this small segment of beach.  Was this sit spot going to be a fool’s errand, a long boring hour?

First Impressions

Opening my notebook, I drew the first sensory awareness circle and began jotting down my observations. First, I noted objective data—62 degrees but in the sun but it felt warmer and the sand was warm to the touch.  The weather app said wind from the northwest at 5 mph.  Blowing against my face it felt stronger, more like 10-15 mph and carrying, clean, sea-fresh, invigorating air.

Beyond the tan beach, I viewed a blue panorama—deep blue ocean, pale blue horizon, wide band of true sky blue, and above it all a dome of deep cobalt blue.  I knew that scientific research has identified blue as one of the colors that immediately initiates the nature relaxation response.  Looking at all the blue, I could feel that relaxation response unfolding—physical stress melting away, attention opening, emotions shifting to the positive, and feelings of connection emerging.

Three sanderlings strutted quickly along the shoreline following the waves up and down and picking rapidly for morsels in the sand.  A minute later three ruddy turnstones strolled by, above the surf line picking more slowly and methodically for their chosen tidbits. A solitary willet with long spindly legs waded slowly in and out of the surf every so often spearing a morsel of food.  I was relieved that I had seen some life along the beach.

Watching the birds I noticed that each worked a particular zone of the shoreline.  What looked like similar beach terrain to me was for these birds a land of precisely differentiated zones for which each of them was uniquely adapted.

Was this finely tuned adaptability a fundamental facet of nature?  Watching each bird in its preferred zone, it felt as if I received an invitation from nature to consider my own adaptability.  If this principle existed in the birds it must exist within me as well. Somehow this line of thinking felt good, the awareness activating my adaptability.  I wondered what and where were the right zones of life for me to flourish?

People of the Beach

A white motorboat zoom-skipped across the waves out in front of me.  The sudden appearance of this boat, loaded with fishermen, rushing somewhere, pulled me out of my reverie.  I didn’t have the beach to myself.  There were people around.

I saw John jogging down the beach.  I met him earlier near the shelter. Six feet tall, fit, with a few flecks of gray in his dark hair, he told me that he was camping for three nights at one of the beachside sites.  He said that last night in the total darkness he saw shooting stars that weren’t just quick flickers but bright long burns tracing from mid sky all the way to the horizon.

His demeanor suddenly became more serious as he related that he was facing major surgery next week and wanted to get in some deep time in nature beforehand.  Knowing the science on the powerful healing powers of nature I offered an encouraging affirmation of his plan and added, “Keep these scenes and sounds in mind as you heal.  Hold the image of your return to the island as a goal.”

I also saw Raliegh walking along the beach.  That wasn’t his real name, just the name I gave him because he told me he was from Raleigh, NC.  He had spent the night in a tent at the campground near the visitor’s center and then paddled his inflatable kayak out to the island with his little dog sitting in the front seat. 

He assured me that his inflatable kayak was seaworthy although slow.  Excitement in his eyes, he said that he was on a scouting mission and exclaimed, “This park is a gem.  I’m going to come back here with my wife and kids.”

Far up the beach I spotted the Minnesota couple.  I met them in the parking lot on the mainland as they lifted their canoe off the roof of a fully packed minivan.  They arrived yesterday, and this park was their first stop on a month-long vacation.  They were eager to get in the water.

A sit spot is a solitary experience.  As someone who is percentagewise more of an introvert, I was fine with that. Yet I noticed that in solitude I was more open to these chance encounters, more sensitive to the impact of shared stories. In my heart I wished each of them well on their journey.  After all, we are all on a journey.

Shoreline Life

I returned my gaze to the patch of beach and ocean ahead, to the sand, waves, and sky.  It was lovely but not much going on.  I figured I had seen my little sample of beach life earlier.

And then came the pelicans, large, spear-beaked, pouch carrying birds, flapping, gliding, just above the water, in a line, the lead bird drafting for the followers.  Two more pelicans, further out, flew high and slowly, scanning the surface. One paused, folded its wings, dropped like a stone, and splashed into the water headfirst.  When the spray settled, I saw the pelican flip a fish into its gullet. It had been a successful dive.

The other bird plummeted and splashed but I didn’t see a swallowing action.  A miss.

Both birds remained on the water, floating up and down with the waves.  Chilling out, resting, taking a break, meditating?  I loved this when birds took these intervals of silence and stillness between bursts of action.  Not a bad thing to emulate, I thought.

More pelicans flew in. More diving and splashing, more plumes of spray in the air.  Must be a school of fish out there.  And then I saw the first dolphin, smooth blue-gray skin, rolling to the surface, gracefully diving back beneath the surface.  Two more surfaced, fins slicing the water, misty plumes of breath exhalation, submerging again,

I scanned. None to be seen.  Then a single fin above the water, another dolphin rolling to the surface, sinking down.  Soon I counted five dolphins, no eight. a pod.   A big one breached on top of a wave and surfed along the crest before flapping its tail and diving down.  Playing?

A foursome of Forster’s Terns flew by on long graceful slender wings, white-bellied, gray- backed, natty black eye patch. One folded its wings, dropped, splashed, and came up with a wiggly silver fish which it quickly swallowed.

A big hawklike bird flap-glided high above the shoreline.  Dark body, whitish head.  An osprey, a noble hunting bird.  It flew away to my left and then reappeared a few minutes later.  Transfixed by its slow steady flight I saw it fold wings, plunge down, grab a fish with its talons, and fly off.

So much life to be seen in one small patch of beach and ocean.  The advantages, I thought of just sitting still and observing.  It felt as if nature wanted to show me, wanted to teach me about the richness and diversity of life along the ocean. I just had to offer time and attention.

Perspectives

Sitting on the sand I noticed that my neck, back and butt were starting to ache.  Time was going slowly.  I checked my watch.  Forty-two minutes down, eighteen to go. I figured I could make it through the full hour. I fidgeted and stretched trying to ease the discomfort. 

The tide was beginning to edge back up the beach.  The cycle of ebbing and flowing tide was playing out in front of me, a timeless cycle that had witnessed indigenous people hunting and fishing along the shoreline, had seen the European explorers arrive, had seen pirates landing to hide their booty, had seen Confederate soldiers building fortifications and guiding blockade runners, had seen WW II marines practice amphibious landings and set up observation posts to scan for German submarines.

The endless cycle of the tides had seen private landowners, had seen the island donated and designated as a beach for Black people during the era of segregation, and after the Civil Rights legislation of 1964 had seen the beach opened as a state park for all the citizens of North Carolina.  So many waves of history had lapped upon the shoreline of this island.

I looked down at the sand around me made up of seashells ground finer and finer over the years, decades, and centuries by the rising and falling tide and the endless crashing surf.

I felt the borders my body dissolve and merge into the timeless cycles around me.  Afterall, I was water, minerals, and living cells, all elements that came and went in the cycles playing out in front of me.  Even individual intelligence and soul could be seen as part of the sentience and spirit of nature.  This dissolution of the self, this joining with the timeless interplay of ocean and elements induced a comforting sense of connection.

Nearby

My attention had been directed out toward the beach, ocean, and horizon. I glanced now around me and noticed fragments of shells scattered in the sand.  So many shapes, forms, and colors. 

A shell caught my attention; oblong in shape, white, tan, and black and on top a most beautiful rose color. A sand dollar was decorated in the middle with a lovely, delicately traced five petaled flower.  A broken scallop shell displayed its neat symmetrical lines and colors of pure white merging into orange, mango, and pink.

All this beauty and diversity seemed an expression beyond simple survival function. Perhaps, intertwined with and layered into evolution was an additional principle of diversity and beauty.

Departure

In front of me an offshore sandbar caused the waves to break three times. Listening carefully, I discerned three different surf sounds, the first a heavy whump of rolling ocean hitting the shallows.  Then a reforming of the waves, a softer woosh when hitting the sand bar, and finally a quiet fisshhhhh as the exhausted water spread up the beach.

As I savored these different surf sounds my hour wound down. I stood up, stretched, relieved to loosen up my neck and shoulders. Gathering my gear, I walked back down the beach to the kayak access. Crossing back over the high sand dune I notice the sound of the ocean fading away, replaced by the soft rattle of the breeze through the marsh grasses.

I paddled back out through the lagoon and returned to the salt marsh where the incoming tide carried me back toward the mainland.  It was an easy paddle. Slowly the roofline of the visitors center grew larger.  I arrived at the dock and pulled my kayak out.

Back in the parking lot the Minnesota couple were reloading their canoe. They said their first paddle had been “incredibly good.”

I like to use a brief ceremony of physical nourishment to anchor the abstract, aesthetic, and spiritual impressions that occur during a sit spot.  After loading the kayak I drove to downtown Swansboro, parked, climbed the steps to a second-floor restaurant, ordered a pint of Sam Adams Octoberfest, and carried it out to the porch.

Sipping my beer, I took in the view of the Swansboro waterfront and the Intercoastal Waterway. The tide was flowing strongly now.  The afternoon sun dappled the blue water; the seagrass shone a luminous green on the tidal islands. 

I felt grateful for my time on the beach and put a return trip on my to-do list for next year.  Until then I would hold and visit the memories from my Bear Island sit spot.

Here is a link to Hammocks Beach State Park:  https://www.ncparks.gov/state-parks/hammocks-beach-state-park

You can read more about the health and wellness benefits of time in nature along with guidance for conducting your own sit spot in my latest book, Pathways to Nature Mindfulness, available on Amazon.com and from the publisher, Shanti Arts.

Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness: Harvey, John: 9781962082266: Amazon.com: Books

You can also read about my original year of sit spot experiences in my first nature book, The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning also available on Amazon and from Shanti Arts Publications.

The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning: Harvey, John: 9781947067592: Amazon.com: Books

Here is the paddle trail map from Hammocks Beach State Park.