The Seattle Aquarium has a volunteer beach naturalist program — they send good natured sea-life loving nerds down to the shores of Puget Sound when the tides are low to educate us plebeians about what lives in our tidal zone. I adore these people. Dressed in safari vests and red Beach Naturalist baseball caps, they navigate the seaweed covered stones of our beaches while carrying laminated cards and guidebooks. They’re patient as saints with questions; they seem to enjoy the critter hunt as much as anyone, though they’re kinder about replacing stones that have been turned over, about poking that bit of goo because maybe it’s alive.
“Well,” said one of the women to an excited tween, “there are a lot of things that look like Jello. Let’s see if we can figure out what this one is.”
I asked the two naturalists nearest me if they’d seen anything interesting and Steve — the name tag on his cap said Steve — held out his hand. “We’re trying to figure out what kind of clam this is.” Chloe, the naturalist at his side, was flipping through a field guide. “We think it might be this one,” said Steve, pointing to a picture that looked just like the clam in his hand. “See, it’s got this band of color, but it’s missing the peak, here…” A little bit later I saw Steve and Chloe watching another clam dig its way back into the sand. “In clam time,” said Steve, “that guy is totally hauling.”
It’s been so hot in Seattle lately — we’ve hit 90F/32C almost every day for a week. It’s made me feel dull witted, the city is wrapped in a sort of ennui that isn’t our style at all. I peeled myself off the couch — it’s too hot to be in my yard — and rode my bike down to the water in hopes that the air would blow some of the cobwebs out of my head. When I saw the naturalists down on the rocks, I parked my bike and waded into the water. “The tide is actually at its low for the day in about 20 minutes, so you timed it perfectly,” said Chloe, “but this is the end of a three, four day run of lows, so everything is looking a bit… tired.” I could relate.
I didn’t see a whole lot of life, a few giant purple starfish, which also come in maroon and orange because they do not care about your labels, man, and a few tube worms. “There’s a moon snail down that way,” said Steve, pointing way down the beach towards another red baseball cap.
“I’ve heard they’re disgusting to look at,” I said.
“Oh, no, they’re BEAUTIFUL!”
“Once, a naturalist told me they look like a giant snot. I’ve never seen one, only the shells.” Moon snails have gorgeous, tough, baseball sized shells. Broken ones litter the tidal zone, it’s hard not to pocket the whole ones when you find them.
“They’re tougher than snot,” said Chloe, seriously. “They have a tougher texture.”
I didn’t go to see the moon snail, instead, I wandered in the shallows. The water was warmer than I ever remember it being, but it felt good. The seaweed covered the tops of my shoes as I made my way along the rocky spit and back toward the beach. I unlocked my bike and rode around Alki Point, and as soon as I turned the corner, a breeze hit me and the temperatures dropped. It was such a relief.
Now I want a t-shirt that says “Starfish don’t care about labels.”
NOW I DO TOO. THANKS A LOT.