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.