Don’t let a little runoff ruin your morning jog
LOLITA HARPER
I walked into work on Tuesday morning and got this mandate:
Lolita, go down to the beach, walk around, and write a column.
Tough job, I know. But before your eyes turn green with envy,
remember this: The beach I was sent to was the river jetty in Newport
Beach, and it was the day after a storm. I have just one word for
you: runoff.
I headed to the sandy shores, where the Santa Ana River meets the
Pacific Ocean, the beach where I had learned to surf in July. (OK, I
tried to learn to surf for about 20 minutes but realized quickly that
a bikini did not constitute proper surfing attire.)
City signs denoted the area a “special water quality zone” and the
words “urban runoff” circled in red with a large line through it. It
warned of hefty fines, from $100 to $500, for violations such as
using a hose to “remove debris.”
What I thought would be an enjoyable assignment made my stomach
turn as step after step along the sandy jetty revealed shocking piles
of trash. I had somewhat expected the Styrofoam cups, torn pieces of
candy wrappers, straws, cigarette butts and shreds of napkins. Even
the torn package of “Swiss creme sandwiches,” the fast food
mayonnaise packet, the tube of Blistex and the Capri Sun container
were sadly commonplace.
What I hadn’t imagined were the dozen rusted aerosol cans of paint
and rust preventer. I took a double take at a large collection of 17
various balls -- seven volleyballs, three basketballs, two baseballs
and five generic playground balls -- that was lodged against a
barrier of branches and twigs lodged in the sand.
Decorating the barrier was the film of a cassette tape, all
unraveled and twisted among the twigs. (Who listens to tapes anymore,
anyway.) Speaking of balls, I counted nine colorful balls with the
golden arches logo, most likely used for the restaurant’s ball pit.
The closest one is on 19th Street in Costa Mesa, right?
I also found a toe separator used for pedicures; an egg carton;
broken glow sticks; an old bottle of dish soap; the lid of a trash
can; a bike reflector; a large metal pipe of some sort; three cracked
lighters; an empty prescription bottle; the container for a quart of
Chevron Supreme Motor Oil and a dirty diaper. Keep in mind that all
of this garbage was in an area no bigger than a basketball court. I
only walked the south side of the jetty -- that was enough.
At this point, my peanut butter bagel was churning in my stomach.
The worst came as I walked closer to the water. As I came to the
point where the river flows into the ocean, I saw patches of
bubbling, foaming, brown scum just on top of the water -- no doubt an
appetizing mixture of the leftover motor oil, lighter fluid and rust
remover from the empty containers above. Nearby were empty beer cans
and an empty 40-ounce bottle of Cobra Malt Liquor. At this point, a
noxious odor swept up to my nostrils and I had to walk away.
I stood on the sand and looked up at the horizon. It was
beautiful. A bright blue horizon seemed to be pushing dark clouds
farther up and out of sight. And the strong wind made them move
swiftly along the coastline. Glancing to the south, I saw a row of
quaint bungalows, in which people are lucky enough to fall asleep to
the relaxing lull of the Pacific Ocean. It looked like paradise, even
on a day when the temperature was in the mid-50s.
What was lacking was the people. Apparently, those who frequent
the beach know better than to go in the water 48 hours after a storm.
I wish I had known better than to walk down there. I wonder how you
can decontaminate Nikes?
There was a brave soul at the mouth of the jetty preparing to kite
surf. Kurt Schneider readied his bright green kite and attached it to
the harness fastened around his midsection. He was only a few feet
away from the trash-lined shore and would have to walk through the
scum to begin his glide.
“Does the runoff bother you?” I asked.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I guess I don’t really know why I picked
here. Especially because I am heading south, just like the rest of
this stuff.”
The runoff after the first storm of the season was the most
dangerous, and since that had already passed, he figured it was safe
enough, he said. Plus, how could a kite surfer pass up weather like
this?
“The wind is just too perfect for this,” he said.
“Good luck,” I said.
As I walked back to the car, I noticed the most telling piece of
litter. It was a portion of a ripped sign that was illustrated with a
swimming stick figure surrounded by a large red circle with a line
through it. Like I said, it was torn, but I know I saw the words
“caution” and “high levels of bacteria.”
I’m not sure if luck is enough for Schneider. I recommend a
scalding hot shower and a bucket of antibacterial soap.
* LOLITA HARPER is the community forum editor. She also writes
columns Wednesdays and Fridays. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275
or by e-mail at lolita.harper@latimes.com.
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