Tide Pool Tapestries

Ruddy Turnstone

Shorebirds drew me down to the edge of the sea when the tidbits they hunted were revealed in the receding tide. Whether I found birds or not their realm itself began to captivate my expectation of photographic novelties.

I have generally favored high tides because they smooth over the messy, slippery zone and bring the ocean to fullness. The outgoing tide seemed a concession, a retreat. Then I began to notice in detail its endless inventions through the rocks. Tumbling or tranquil, it masters the ceremonies of water.

The subsiding tide pools into stillness leaving miniature lakes to reflect the sky and the  terrain.

It strands mussels and barnacles which encapsulate enough water to stay hydrated until the next inundation. Their contrasting shapes and colors and gloss present treasure-hunting possibilities in my low-tide rambles.

Versatile plants adapt to the rhythms of the tidal zone, to the crush of waves and to alternating immersions in water. Their configurations look as varied as creatures out of the Lucasfilm studio in as many shades of green.

When the water recedes seaweed must withstand rapidly changing moisture and temperature and salinity. It dries out in calligraphic lines.

Occasionally circumstances favor shallow microcosms where life carries on in patterns we're tempted to call design, except that they precede art.

Least Sandpiper

John Steinbeck wrote in The Log from the Sea of Cortez, "It is advisable to look from the tide pool to the stars and then back to the tide pool."

The ocean begins to return among the ridges, valleys and plateaus of the shoreline. It is a time to enjoy the coordinated subtleties of brown and blue. The water ripples and froths in response to lunar gravity from a quarter of a million miles away. The rocks have the look of an impatient herd waiting to be submerged again.