How to Read the Beach

I like Hawaiian beaches. Warm sand. No plan. No shoes.

What I have is Puget Sound. You do not lie down on Puget Sound. It's rock, cold water, and barnacles, and you keep your shoes on the entire time.

Here's the trade, though. A sandy beach hides things. A rocky one holds them up.

My method isn't really a method. I walk slowly. Slower than feels reasonable. Then I ask what wants to be noticed, and I wait to see what answers.

It sounds like nonsense. It works anyway, and there's a reason it does — I wrote about that here.

What answers depends on your beach. Mine gives me:

• Sea glass. Look for the wrong kind of shine. Frosted, not wet. Blue and red are rare. Brown and green are everywhere and still worth taking.
• Wishing stones. Gray, with an unbroken white ring all the way around. If the ring breaks, it's a nice rock. It isn't a wishing stone.
• Barnacled anything. Shell, wood, stone. The barnacles are fascinating.
• Beach pottery. Broken plates and cups, the edges tumbled soft by the Sound. Somebody's kitchen from a hundred years ago, arriving in pieces at my feet.
• Driftwood. Gnarly. Knobby. Imagination fuel

None of this requires skill. It requires going at the bottom of low tide, and walking about half as fast as you think you should.

Try it this month. The August tides are good ones.