Fleeting Footsteps

Finding meaning in stories at the Oceano Dunes

I haven’t begun studying for my midterm on Tuesday. I didn’t sleep soundly last night. I showered this morning with nothing more than a Motel 6 bar of soap whose filmy residue still lingers on my body. As we drive through the entrance of the Guadalupe Sand Dunes, I’m overwhelmed. We just left the Madonna Inn, a chaotic resemblance of every stressed family vacation that I was never able to fully enjoy. I’m currently fueled by caffeine and two large cookies from Santa Cruz’s Pacific Cookie Company. The fight-or-flight switch in my brain has been flicked on. 

But as we drive further into the alluring land of the dunes, I relax into its embrace. I let its fierce beauty overwhelm me. I take a break from the pressures boggling my tired mind. The world outside of our car is unmarked and uncontained, and my mind follows suit.

The Guadalupe Sand Dunes are painted in a moody palette of grays and silvers. Fishermen fish, picnickers picnic, runners run — all squinting under the hazy, overcast sky. Some simply stare into the ocean while listening to the deafening waves. Others walk aimlessly through the fine sand. 

Our footprints are fleeting as we stomp through the sand towards the beach. They stay imprinted for only a few seconds until the wind blows sand over them — the steps we take aren’t even recorded, and it’s like we’re not even there. 

A father-daughter pair gleefully strides through the dunes, somehow without tripping through the sand as our group had been. The father delicately holds out a metal detector a few inches above the sand. Smiling wide, the dutiful daughter carries a small shovel a few feet behind. Clearly, they’re experts. This Sunday afternoon endeavor is their weekly tradition, they tell me.

“Find anything yet?” I ask.

The Dad responds, “nope!”, with an unexpected amount of enthusiasm. 

The daughter, who introduces herself as an eight-year-old named Anna, finishes her Dad’s sentence, “and that’s okay!” 

Wise for an eight-year-old, I note.

The father whose name I never caught and Anna empty their pockets excitedly to show me their previous weekends’ findings. They open their palms to reveal old rusted coins, pieces of stained glass, and tiny shards of dishware. Anna’s father’s face lights up and he exclaims, “Think about the wonderful stories behind these trinkets!” 

I thank Anna and her father for sharing bits and pieces of their Sunday tradition with me, and I continue walking along the beach to observe a group of focused fishermen, utterly enthralled in their endeavor. They purposely stand far enough apart so as to not become distracted by one another, but close enough to collectively celebrate each catch.

“Caught anything yet?”

Careful to not become distracted, one fisherman responds to me without even looking me in the eye. A sharp, steady “no” is returned.

He’s meticulous, concentrated, and reserved — but nevertheless content in his pursuit. Eventually, when the first fish of the day is caught, each fisherman expresses a concise yet jubilant nod. They then promptly resume their concentration. 

I continue my stroll through the windy, uneven terrain. I’m walking upward on a downward escalator. The wind is blowing quicker. As I trudge through the sand, my footprints stay imprinted for an even shorter period than before. My time here is fading.

I can’t help but overhear a stray: “What do you want to do with your major?” 

I realize it’s a pair, on (what I presume to be) their first date. They continue to exchange your classic ‘get-to-know-you’s.

There’s no exact science behind meeting the right person, but something within their collective doe-eyed-ness and the way she jokingly laughs at him tells me that this is textbook love. It’s your picturesque, hallmark movie, sunset-silhouette type of love (even though it’s cloudy, windy, cold, and 3pm).

I stare off into the distance and soon become one of the people I’d just observed, listening to the deafening waves crash and aimlessly walking through the fine sand. 

I wonder what Anna and her father will uncover today, if the fishermen will catch enough fish for dinner tonight, and if there will be a second date. I’m inspired by Anna and her father’s enthusiasm for uncovering even the most mundane treasures. I’m perplexed by yet envious of the fishermen’s dedication to their craft. I’m heart-warmed and hopeful for the fate of the couple.

I leave the dunes holding onto socks full of sand and vivid observations. I have new impressions of people and purposes like the ones Anna and her father attach to their trinkets. The stress of my midterm seems to fade. I have a feeling I’ll sleep soundly tonight. The lingering Motel 6 soap feels a little less sticky. My footprints have now fully disappeared, but the experience of wandering through the timeless dunes has calmed me, reinvigorated me, and engaged my mind. And as we drive away, the empty, grayish terrain becomes even more entrancing and beautiful. 

Words: Robin Ying

Photos: William Fei