ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, July 7, 1996 TAG: 9607090005
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: 3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: WILLIAM T. SAMPSON
AS I STAND here in the sand at the edge of the surf, I wonder, as always, just where out there the bay ends and the Atlantic begins. I also find myself facing an even more compelling question: What is it that brings us back - again and again - to the sea? What primeval urge calls to us from across the prairies and beyond the mountains to come and savor the salt-flavored breeze, to spend sun-drenched days basking on a beach, unwinding to the soothing sound of surf?
Come along with me, if you will, on a ponder-as-I-wander walk beside the sea. As I stroll the shoreline, water from just-broken waves swirls about my bare feet, then retreats, carrying countless grains of sand across my tingling toes. I am keenly aware of the pull, the insistent, seaward surge of the backwash. Out there in the offshore troughs, I know, this friendly flow can be quite strong, as beach-long waves are drawn back into the briny bosom of the deep.
Is this the force that calls to us?
As each breaker rolls onto the beach, mole crabs, those tiny, ubiquitous members of the family Hippidae, surface in great numbers - only to quickly dig themselves back into the wet sand, concealing all but their antennae, which they use to sift food particles and plankton from the swirling soup. Although they are not true crabs, neither are they "sand fleas," which is what I called them as a boy.
A little farther along, a busy band of sanderlings plays tag with the surf, running tirelessly, almost comically, to and fro as they snack on small invertebrates - including, I suppose, mole crabs. These small (3-ounce) shore birds are often called "peeps," as are their close cousins the semi-palmated and least sandpipers. Such familiar beach characters are but a few of the myriad creatures which make their living in or around the sea.
Aren't they, too, part of the magic - the mysterious force that draws us here?
Of course. But there are other ingredients as well.
Staring out now toward the distant nautical horizon where sky and sea appear to meet, I can't help feeling a kind of kinship with those of old who thought the earth flat, who touted the notion that to sail the ocean was to fall over the edge into - what, thin air?
After all, doesn't the very vastness of the sea suggest the immensity of outer space? Isn't standing at the water's edge a little like being on the doorstep to the universe - a perspective not unlike the feeling we share when we stare up at the nighttime sky?
And isn't our sense of wonder pretty much the same, whether we see a falling star or watch porpoises at play?
Just as there is perfect order to the universe, of which our solar system is an integral part, so is there a fine balance in our oceans, a balance built of force and counterforce, of predator and prey, of calm and storm. So in a sense there is a sensibleness about the sea that we perceive as bringing peace and contentment.
And that, I think, is the real reason we come here.
To join again the gathering of gulls, to rejoice in their raucous marvel anew at their flawless flight and the splendid scenes they sketch for us against the bright, blue wash of sea and sky. To gather up all the sights and sounds and smells, like sea shells, and store them away to treasure till next time.
But most of all, to once more stand and feel the sand of eternity between our toes. For this is a part of God's world most of us don't see nearly often enough.
Not that familiarity could ever break the spell. At least, not for me. I have been to sea. I once stood at the helm of a 10,000-ton Liberty ship as she plowed through heavy seas in the black of night. Felt her sure response to my unsure hands on the polished wood of the wheel as I held her against the growing swell.
I have crossed the Pacific, sailed the Atlantic coastline, the Yellow Sea, been through the Inland Sea of Japan and the Panama Canal. Yet I can stand today on a crowded beach in midsummer with the on-shore wind fresh in my face - and stare out over the whitecaps with the same sense of wonder I found here as a boy.
And the same, inexplicable, longing.
William T. Sampson of Roanoke is vice president of the Valley Writers chapter of the Virginia Writers Club.
LENGTH: Medium: 83 lines ILLUSTRATION: GRAPHIC: BERNIE COOTNER/Newsdayby CNB