Time, Tide and Pareidolia at Point Reyes National Seashore
My story starts with time. It is early morning, April 28th 2021. I am in my tent at Wildcat camp sleeping somewhat fitfully as I check my phone for the time. There is a minus 1.43 foot low tide occurring at 6:42 am and I plan on being a mile north on the beach by then. Over the years, I have repeated this ritual many times, catching the minus “king tides” to afford access to the isolated areas of Wildcat beach.
As I drift in and out of sleep, thoughts of what geologists call “deep time” reveal more about the earth under my tent. For 60 million years the place we call Point Reyes has been creeping north along the west coast. A captive of the pacific plate, it moves north at an average of 3 to 4 inches per. A “granite whale” of cretaceous origin, 65 – 135 million years old. A survivor of tectonics, time, tide and weather.
Again, I awake and check the time. It is 5:45 now, time to head down to the beach. The sky is just beginning to lighten up and an eerie chilling fog is clinging to the coastline. I pull on my wind gear and throw some snacks into my backpack along with my usual companions, camera and binoculars. As I break out onto the beach, the tide is about 45 minutes to dead low. A long flat sandbar is already exposed and sand fleas (genus Emerita) by the thousands are gathering in small pools along the way. My goal is the small bay at Miller’s Point, this is as far as you can go to the north, even at the lowest tides. Hiking north, the cliffs grow higher, and the magic of this place begins to work on you.
My journey north is never a straight one, as I am distracted by the low tide areas of flotsam along the way. A sharp-eyed comber can find beautiful painted mudstone, purple olive shells or even a prized Leafy Hornmouth, an attractive whelk like shell from the genus ceratostoma.
There is something beyond meditative just looking at all the varied colors and forms the sea offers to the dedicated observer. Before I know it, I am at the “temple” a massive open sea cave with large, buttressed legs that defy oceanic power. I love to crawl back into the side caves and hear the sound of the sea echoed in a low rumble.
Now getting closer to Miller’s point, I round a corner, pass through a keyhole in the rocks and find myself past the high cliffs and entering more sandstone bluffs. This area is one of deep mystery and introspection for me. The cliffs here have been shaped and eroded by time to appear as if they have carved images in them.
This is where I get lost in seeing anthropomorphic forms and have visions of ancient sea goddess’, their queendoms long since forgotten, but their monuments remain. I know that maybe these are flights of fancy, but there is a word for this phenomenon: Pareidolia. This word is defined as seeing an object, pattern or meaning where there is none. Somehow, Point Reyes seems to defy this definition. There is an undefinable something here, a thin veil that can be seen through somehow. This ancient place always touches me in a way I can only call “spiritual”. Thanks for reading and I can hope that some misty morning, on a minus tide at Wildcat beach, I will see you walking there, communing with spirit.