Territoriality, Part Two

Skies suddenly cleared and in twenty-five minutes, sand was underneath my feet.
I planned to finish my Jack Reacher novel.  But the sun was warm, my mind distracted.

A blog entry entitled "Stains" was  rough and unpublished.  I didn't like the ending, dark and depressing, a mood apart from my usual self. 

Lying there, I came up with an alternate ending, lighter because of its references to popular culture. 

Well, I thought in my head (which houses my most defective organ), why not provide both endings, let the reader make a choice? Brilliant! 

And all was good. I returned the unopened novel to my pack and headed out.

Twenty yards before I get to my rope, an unpleasant surprise.  Some geezer landed awkwardly on the beach, huffing and puffing. 

I noticed his vest, blue, short and bedazzled.  He's about my age, poor guy, and judging from his bad fashion choices, is an elephant seal docent looking for something else to rant about.

Not that I've got a particular grudge against volunteers.  God knows, I've spent hundreds of unpaid hours in that thankless activity, though mostly in a national park setting.  But to stand like this guy must in cold and constant wind--without even a port-potty to piss in--all because you're A Friend of the Elephant Seals?  Well, I just don't get it.

I mean, how can you wax enthusiastically about a behemoth male creature that does little else but lounge and hump?  And how about the females?  They give birth, immediately hump some more, then abandon their offspring.  Sorreeee!  Watching elephant seal behavior is too much like interspecies voyeurism.  I bet internet porn portrays better values.

Nonetheless, facing this stranger upon my beach, I brought my happy muscles to play and attempted a smile.

"Hi" we said in disturbing unison.
"How you doing?"
"How's it going?"
Damn! Was there an echo in this canyon--maybe one I hadn't noticed because talking to other human beings down here has never been my primary reason for coming?

He seemed nice enough, though.
But I could sense those recent blog ideas, momentous as they were, slipping right out of my brain, and irretrievably absorbed by sand and surf.

"Well, I'm on my way out," I said.  "Hope you don't need my rope 'cause I'm out of here."

I waited a two seconds for his response.
See?  I can be quite charming when I want to be.  At about four seconds, he answered. 

"Hey, well, no. Not a problem, man."
"Good.  It's a little slippery, I know, but it can be done.  Well, take care!"
 
My rope and I departed like smoke in the wind.

Crossing a field to my car, I saw a late model, red Toyota pickup.  License plate "7X..." something or other.

Damn!
Now I had to drive back in the morning just to make sure his truck wasn't still there.

But again, that's just me--always looking out for the other guy.