No Respect

I figured I might as well get to the beach before daylight, since I awoke around 5:00 a.m. I love the morning solace, but I also was curious to see what the crowds had wrought during the holiday melee.

While I could barely distinguish an end to the boardwalk in the dim early light, the real first comer, a pair of narrow headlights, was bearing down my way. In a moment, more headlights from another a smaller vehicle.

They warmed my heart like Don Quixote and Sancho coming to save the day - - actually, a surf rake and a mule.

The rake, pulled behind a tractor rig, scoops sand, sifts it removing trash and sprinkles sand back onto the beach in a level surface, while carefully avoiding the staked sea turtle nests.

The mule, a tough half-breed kin to ATV/jeep, hustled along from trash can to trash can gathering the overflow and delivering it to a pick up truck and returning for more bags - - - many many more bags.

Within an hour, at least one mile of beach was properly groomed. It will never be as clean as early creation, but it was without visible traces of revelries. I was heading back home as the 6:30 a.m. slackers were arriving.

Overhearing one groggy gent, I was dismayed. Clutching his Styrofoam coffee cup he decried to another swaggering comrad, “Oh, (s-word) that (7-letter adjective) beach cleaner is down here again. (s-word!)”

No respect for Don Quixote.

For an Interesting automation of the Barber surf rake see: http://www.hbarber.com/Cleaners/SurfRake/HowItWorks.aspx