Pacific

China Beach, San Francisco.

"Pacific" is a strange name for such a raging beast. 


Take your pick of definitions from Merriam-Webster. Like a pacifier to a baby, one definition is "having a soothing appearance or effect." They offer the example of mild pacific breezes. I can understand a calming cool breeze, or slipping into a dreamy trance watching waves lap a shoreline. But much of how I think of the Pacific Ocean is far from this.

More often here in San Francisco, waves don't lap, they crash. The water is icy, year-round. The wind is relentless at times, and the fog that arrives in the summer chills to the bone. The only bastions of land on the coastline are ancient volcanic cliffs, who are reminded of their temporary nature by the pebbles and sand at their feet. The thought of charting a course across this ocean, as those who named it surely did, is frightening to me. 

Standing on a pier in the Bay a few days ago, I watched the tide sweep past the pilings of the pier under my feet and it was humbling.The sheer volume of water, bulging and flattening with the pull of the moon, astounds me. Water weighs 8 pounds per gallon. Answers.com just told me that there are

187,189,915,062,857,142,857 gallons

in the Pacific.  Minus one that just left on a soaking dog's fur, minus another soaked into the wetsuit of a surfer calling it quits for the day; plus one from a toilet flushing on a cruise ship.

About a year ago, my wanderings took me to China Beach in San Francisco (pictured). It's actually considered a calm beach because it basically faces north, and is free of the aggressive tidal forces and winds that hammer the more frequently used Ocean and Baker Beaches. It was quiet there at sunset, and cold, and the sun offered me a few peeks through the clouds right before it set. I guess you could say it was a pacific visit.