I slept late this morning, 8AM.
So by the time we pulled Whiskey's things together and piled into the Simca, it was already 8:50. We hit the road and checked the tide by the level of an inlet of the Sound off the Hutch adjacent to Co-op City in the Bronx. We saw the water was high, and so headed toward a beach we found in Rye where no one seems to bother us.
Whiskey was bouncing in the back seat. She was ready to take over the wheel. Anything that would get us into the water sooner. I pushed her off with my upper arms and she settled in the back.
When the water is low, we head to Larchmont. But the beach there shrinks to living-room size when the tide is up. So we head to Rye, where there's a long, but perilously rocky littoral. Rye is better when the water is up. Fewer rocks to turn your ankle on.
Today, for whatever reason, the cops were out. They were looking to push people off the beach, though the beach was virtually empty. They would drive over in sturdy ATVs and scowl and ask you to leave.
I had a strategy for handling them. Dead on eye contact. I stared them down, looked unintimidated and they let us stay. They pulled back from harassing me.
So Whiskey got two hours in the water. Two hours of running along the sea and fetching her duck decoy out of the water as far as I could sling it.
The cops flew off like fireflies in a summer night.
Another day in the water.