Beached is one of those funny words. It’s mostly negative, conjuring images of struggling sea creatures that wandered too close to shore, or we creatures who strayed too long at the buffet line.
That was certainly the case on the occasion that I snapped the image above six years ago. It was a partly-cloudy Saturday of intermittent showers that left the great Turtle Beach, which runs along Buck Island’s west end, near-empty most of the day, a rarity on any weekend in St. Croix.
Rain and humidity clouded my lens as I laid in the sand watching the wife and kids lounging about the bow of Island Girl, my childhood friend, Benny Garcia’s, boat.
I was one day into my 40’s enjoying the latest in a seemingly endless string of Buck Island beach limes. For my kids, it was the first time they’d remember this special place, their first visit coming as toddlers years earlier.
In a few minutes we’d enjoy one of the more uncommon sunsets I’d ever seen anywhere. Soon thereafter, this zen fantasy would follow.
In the here and now of the image above, though, I couldn’t want for magical sunsets, zen fantasies, or anything else.
I was hauled up… Unresponsive…
And happily so.