Each year we visit Point Arena, California to experience, up front and personal, fireworks right over the beach. It’s a virtual re-creation of the intimacy of The Rocket’s Red Glare, as thunderous explosions and retina-burning colors smacking overhead bring an immediacy to the whole Revolutionary experience that can’t be equaled by viewing fireworks from a ‘safe distance’. Mom.
And, let it not be said that the American pinniped (i.e. seals and sea lions) are not equally patriotic, or unfamiliar with the Shock and Awe segment of July 4th.
Is it the 4th ALREADY???
The rest ‘o the year said pinnipeds roost undisturbed under the Pt. Arena Pier, fightin’ and scrapin’ about location, location, location and serenading the nearby Pizza Café with a series of barks that, when translated, obviously say “This is MY territory. Back off!”
But on July 4th, everything changes.
First to go is ambiance. Before the blessed event a gaggle of red-vested public servants descend upon the beach area pickin’ up trash, settin’ up a stage for the pre-fireworks band, and steadily ignoring the increasingly frantic pinniped barks of protest at this sudden and uncouth Human Invasion Force.
Just when they thought it was safe to go back under das pier, the heavy artillery makes its rumblingly annoying appearance overhead, toting and setting up a formula for even greater later pinniped disaster: the fireworks themselves.
And just about the time quiet descends upon the Western Front – it’s time for the guests to arrive!
Several thousands of ‘em, toting coolers, lawn and foldout chairs, progeny of all ages, and with an unrequited thirst for things that go ‘boom’ in the night.
It’s enough to put any self-respecting pinniped into a decidedly unpatriotic bad mood.
“Hey, Can you KEEP IT DOWN out there??”
The whole enchilada is sauced by the fact that at least one of these patriotic missiles will fail to properly deploy skyward and winds up detonating IN the water under the pier.
Imagine some 30 pinnipeds, many the size of Shetland ponies, defecating simultaneously as the Rocket’s Red Glare hits just a leetle too close to home!
Obviously it’s time to migrate to happier breeding grounds: sage advice for those who are contemplating year-round residency over the annual pre-July migration to the less-patriotic Mexico.