“I’mve been walking the sands of Miramar for a full year now, and during that time I’mve met many people who say they would like to become a beachcomber like me. They view it as the easiest job in the world. They think all it takes is the proper garb: white canvas pants rolled up to the knees, faded blue denim shirt, and straw hat to protect their face from the sun. A few actually go to a fancy store and pay a fancy price for garments they believe will change them into the sort of person they think they would like to be.
I see them strolling the shore for a month, a week, a few days, their heads down, plucking stones and shells from the sand. But in due course they disappear, having returned, I suppose, to that other occupation they had been so desperate to leave behind.
They seem not to know, when they wander to the edge of the sea, that a beachcomber’s life is a demanding one that calls for discipline and zeal. One must venture down to the beach every day without fail and splash ankle-deep in the white surf or walk barefoot on the hot sand. But it’s not the hiking; it’s the endless seeing that causes the psychic strain. It’s the richness of life in the tidal zone. Someone not used to such abundance can grow weary quickly trying to gather it all in.”
– Richard Bode. Beachcombing at Miramar