Friday, April 14, 1972 - Page 105
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California
1:00 PM
Not since January 22 has this book been out of the Grand Shoebox [my mobile home]. And now, today, at 1:11, this sacred journal is once again outside. This is a remote field report from Newport Bay (approximately at the [referencing the pic that appears below: Earth astronomical symbol: cross-in-a-circle] on the map -- slightly north of that point actually on the shore). I embarked on this expedition at 12:30, and launched the vessel from Eye Sore Park beach. I was accosted by three youngsters whose aid I enlisted in passing under the newly deployed buoy line enclosing the swimming area, an obstacle which will henceforth necessitate my having to depart from the Eye Sore Park docks. For the 1st time today I investigated that portion of Newport Bay called Newport Dunes, which is singularly unimpressive in that it is reputed to be a vacation or recreational area, and despite the assertion made on the map, there is no island in that area, Coney or otherwise. The traffic is light, the sky is void of clouds, the smog is thin (the mountains to the north are clearly visible) and the wind is fair. I now shall continue this exploration of Upper Newport Bay. Onward!
1:30 PM
I now (1:34) am approximately at [Mars astronomical symbol: circle-and-arrow] on the map, in a narrow inlet on what I believe is the only true island of Newport Bay, though this definition may be disputed due to the fact that at lowest possible tide, the channel (see arrow on map) is uncovered and indeed becomes a mere extension of the land, muddy though it may be. The region of this island is abundant in vegetation and wildlife, including geese, and other types of waterfowl including one very common type similar to, though decidedly unrelated to, the wholly terrestrial woodcock (if my meager knowledge of ornithology serves, which it probably doesn't). In fact wholly twenty of the aforementioned birds now are industriously feeding in the soft mud to my left, not 50 feet distant (I now am facing North-East, sitting in the kayak pictured on page 106 [April 15] (that photo incidentally was taken on the opposite side of this island), stationarily floating in a shallow inlet lined with shells, the mouth of which contained about a dozen small fish (one of several varieties in this area, which were alarmed when I came upon them, and one of whom leaped briefly out of the water, past my paddle). The wind is getting brisker, the air cooler, and the smog thicker (my estimation of visibility was a bit premature -- the mountains now are nearly invisible), so, to the constant chirps, caws, and sundry tunes of the many resplendent fowl about me, I once again paddle forth.
2:00 PM
I've made a rare and unprecedented discovery. I have, in the past, found dead fish, and I have fooled with tiny coelenterates, but now I've found a large, living creature which now is only a foot away, floating in the water. As I was paddling away from the area of the last entry, I glimpsed in the water what appeared to be a large, half-sunk inflated ball. I backed up and looked more closely -- it was, of course, a jelly fish, fully a foot in diameter when extended. It had marble-like markings on its dorsal side, and tentacles lining a black fringe on the underside, in the center of which was a gelatinous mass. I don't think it's a man-of-war, though I've never seen one. But it is impressive. With a bit of difficulty, I coaxed the thing onto the beach (the western shore opposite the island) and observed it more closely. I daren't touch it for fear of being stung, but I manipulated it with the paddle and investigated the beast to my content. The beach is very soft mud (in fact my right leg, anchoring the kayak on which I am leaning, is shin-deep in mud), so I was unable to step ashore for a stick or some such. Now (2:21) I'll leave, putting the jelly fish back into the channel.
2:30 PM
It is now 2:47, and I'm in the kayak resting in water that is too shallow to allow movement. As the sign said, this is a closed channel (* on the map). The tide will eventually surround the land, but until then I must back up and leave the same way I came. About 20 feet before me, on the soggy land of the uncovered channel, are at least one hundred long-beaked birds pecking at the mud. I don't wish to bother them, so I'll back up and be off. Tis now 3:02 P.M. [The text is continued on the next page, April 15]
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California
1:00 PM
Not since January 22 has this book been out of the Grand Shoebox [my mobile home]. And now, today, at 1:11, this sacred journal is once again outside. This is a remote field report from Newport Bay (approximately at the [referencing the pic that appears below: Earth astronomical symbol: cross-in-a-circle] on the map -- slightly north of that point actually on the shore). I embarked on this expedition at 12:30, and launched the vessel from Eye Sore Park beach. I was accosted by three youngsters whose aid I enlisted in passing under the newly deployed buoy line enclosing the swimming area, an obstacle which will henceforth necessitate my having to depart from the Eye Sore Park docks. For the 1st time today I investigated that portion of Newport Bay called Newport Dunes, which is singularly unimpressive in that it is reputed to be a vacation or recreational area, and despite the assertion made on the map, there is no island in that area, Coney or otherwise. The traffic is light, the sky is void of clouds, the smog is thin (the mountains to the north are clearly visible) and the wind is fair. I now shall continue this exploration of Upper Newport Bay. Onward!
 |
| Here's a reappearance of the map that is attached to page 100, April 9. You can find a more readable hi-res version here: Newport Beach Map. Above the fold on the right is "Ford Aeronutronic" where my father worked as a technical illustrator for Defense projects. Bayshore trailer park isn't shown, but it was located on the shore at the mid-lower left above "E. Coast Hwy." |
I now (1:34) am approximately at [Mars astronomical symbol: circle-and-arrow] on the map, in a narrow inlet on what I believe is the only true island of Newport Bay, though this definition may be disputed due to the fact that at lowest possible tide, the channel (see arrow on map) is uncovered and indeed becomes a mere extension of the land, muddy though it may be. The region of this island is abundant in vegetation and wildlife, including geese, and other types of waterfowl including one very common type similar to, though decidedly unrelated to, the wholly terrestrial woodcock (if my meager knowledge of ornithology serves, which it probably doesn't). In fact wholly twenty of the aforementioned birds now are industriously feeding in the soft mud to my left, not 50 feet distant (I now am facing North-East, sitting in the kayak pictured on page 106 [April 15] (that photo incidentally was taken on the opposite side of this island), stationarily floating in a shallow inlet lined with shells, the mouth of which contained about a dozen small fish (one of several varieties in this area, which were alarmed when I came upon them, and one of whom leaped briefly out of the water, past my paddle). The wind is getting brisker, the air cooler, and the smog thicker (my estimation of visibility was a bit premature -- the mountains now are nearly invisible), so, to the constant chirps, caws, and sundry tunes of the many resplendent fowl about me, I once again paddle forth.
2:00 PM
I've made a rare and unprecedented discovery. I have, in the past, found dead fish, and I have fooled with tiny coelenterates, but now I've found a large, living creature which now is only a foot away, floating in the water. As I was paddling away from the area of the last entry, I glimpsed in the water what appeared to be a large, half-sunk inflated ball. I backed up and looked more closely -- it was, of course, a jelly fish, fully a foot in diameter when extended. It had marble-like markings on its dorsal side, and tentacles lining a black fringe on the underside, in the center of which was a gelatinous mass. I don't think it's a man-of-war, though I've never seen one. But it is impressive. With a bit of difficulty, I coaxed the thing onto the beach (the western shore opposite the island) and observed it more closely. I daren't touch it for fear of being stung, but I manipulated it with the paddle and investigated the beast to my content. The beach is very soft mud (in fact my right leg, anchoring the kayak on which I am leaning, is shin-deep in mud), so I was unable to step ashore for a stick or some such. Now (2:21) I'll leave, putting the jelly fish back into the channel.
2:30 PM
It is now 2:47, and I'm in the kayak resting in water that is too shallow to allow movement. As the sign said, this is a closed channel (* on the map). The tide will eventually surround the land, but until then I must back up and leave the same way I came. About 20 feet before me, on the soggy land of the uncovered channel, are at least one hundred long-beaked birds pecking at the mud. I don't wish to bother them, so I'll back up and be off. Tis now 3:02 P.M. [The text is continued on the next page, April 15]
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| Newport Beach, California (Google Earth, 2013) |
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| Detail seen in Red Rectangle: Newport Harbor High School is at upper right and the lower Red Circle is where I lived in 1972 at Bayshore Trailer Park, which has been gone for many years |
