beach – Life In A Word

Beachy Keen

South Carolina’s heat and humidity are quickly moving the dial to “broil” – as they always do this time of year – so my wife and I will go with our most dependable coping mechanism: travel to places other than South Carolina. Technically that’s not quite true because one of those destinations is still South Carolina. Doesn’t matter. The goal is to find temperatures closer to the “bake” setting, where the air movement qualifies as a breeze. Both conditions can be found, of course, at the beach.

I consider myself fortunate to have grown up near a beach. Others may counter by saying the mountains are more desirable, or the desert, or the shores of a pristine lake. To each their own. For me, an upbringing of Pacific Ocean sand and surf turned the calm of the coast into a part of my DNA. I thirst for the beach several times a year. And in the United States alone, I have 650 choices.

Inevitably, 10 of those 650 beaches are rated as “top”. The so-called authority on the subject is a guy nicknamed Dr. Beach. At first I scoffed at the notion that one person could choose the ten best from hundreds, but this doctor takes his medicine seriously. Dr. Beach has identified fifty criteria (fifty!) to evaluate beaches, including water warm enough to swim in, sand clarity, presence of pests (like mosquitos and seagulls), and the size of the ocean waves. He even rates the surrounding noise level generated by humans.

To further solidify his credentials, Dr. Beach disqualifies locales threatened by pollution, erosion, or out-of-control seaweed. He “retires” beaches that have reached the top ten too many times since he started his lists (in 1991). Finally, Dr. Beach has visited every… single… one… of those 650 beaches. He may be obsessed with his subject but I’d say he’s a bona fide authority, wouldn’t you?

Caladesi Island State Park in Clearwater FL

On his list for 2026, Dr. Beach prescribed four in Hawaii, three in Florida, one in Cape Cod, and one in the Hamptons. His tenth selection, coming in at #7, is right here in South Carolina. Whew, that was close. After all, he could’ve picked MY beach and then me and the good doctor would be having a serious conversation.

As you know, the problem with top-ten lists is exposure. Something or somewhere great suddenly becomes headline news and everyone wants a piece of it. Next thing you know that thing or that place becomes too popular, and no longer resembles its former wonderful self. With all due respect to Dr. Beach’s “retirement” strategy, once something becomes “top-ten” we’re not quick to forget about it.

Cape Cod gets busy in the summer months…

I’ve been to a few of Dr. Beach’s top choices for 2026. Maybe not Coast Guard Beach in Cape Cod, but just about every beach on Cape Cod is bucolic. Maybe not Caladesi State Park in Clearwater, Florida but I’ve dipped my toes in the sugar sand and warm waters of a beach in Clearwater. I’ve been to Poipu Beach on the island of Kauai, Hawaii twice, for my honeymoon and for a family reunion. I’m happy to see Poipu ranked as the #1 beach in the United States this year.

I’m even happier to see my two favorite beaches not ranked in the top ten (or anywhere near it) this year. One is on the West Coast and one is right here in South Carolina. One is big and one is small. Both have easy access to the quaint shopping of a nearby village. And both have the kind of views where walking, riding bikes, or simply staring out at the sea never gets old. The names of these beaches are…

Nope. Sorry, no big reveal. Not even the tease of a photo. There aren’t a ton of you readers out there but it only takes one to make my beaches go viral, and then what am I going to do? Find another couple of beaches? Uh-uh, no way. Go find your own beaches. You have 650 to choose from. And God forbid Dr. Beach ever ranks mine in his top ten. If that happens I’ll report him to the “surf board” and demand they pull his license.

Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “Hawaii and Florida top list of best U.S. beaches…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

The Times of Sand

I’ve often thought the airport is the best place to people-watch. With downtime while you wait for your flight and the close proximity to others, it’s inevitable you’re going to look around. Every kind of person can be found at the airport (sporting every size, shape, fashion statement, stress level, and age). Travelers are unknowingly entertaining to those who watch them. But today let’s explore perhaps an even better venue where people do their thing: the beach.

As I type today, a sweeping look at the sandy shore beyond my patio shows me (in no particular order): A mother and daughter in animated conversation with a lifeguard; a group of teenagers (male) playing an aggressive form of beach four-square called Spikeball; another group of teenagers (female) sprawled on beach towels in giggly conversation; a father dragging his young son through the shallow waves on a boogie-board; a surfer wiping out in the not-so-shallow waves further out; and an ambitious child shoveling dirt out of a divot of sand as if digging to China.

I look away for a second and then look again: A pack of aggressive seagulls pecking away at someone’s leftovers aside their abandoned beach chair; that same lifeguard sprinting into the water to rescue a struggling swimmer; an older couple having a (clearly) not-so-happy conversation at the water’s edge; a jogger attempting to put in the miles while dodging the less active in his way; and a paused beach volleyball game where the players can’t determine if the ball hit the (sand) line or not.

It’s a rare treat when I can create a blog post from the goings-on on right in front of me, but the beach allows me to do just that. More to today’s point, an active beach like this one changes character throughout the day. In other words, there are the sands of time and then there are the times of sand:

Dawn: Seagulls, sand, and surf. The beach at its most peaceful and pristine.
Early morning: Serious runners at the shore (unlike the casual joggers later in the day); an Asian elder performing a standing form of meditative yoga; a surf camp for pre-teens to the north; a lifeguard training camp for teens to the south; a pickup truck clearing the trash from the evenly-spaced cans.
Mid-morning: The gradual arrival of the masses (and all they bring with them). Also the arrival of the lifeguards, with bright cones marking the “no-man’s land” for emergency vehicles, flags indicating the adjacent street number so people know where to find you, and more flags to mark the beach’s “surf zone” versus “swim zone”.
Midday: Everything I observed at the start of this post (and so much more).
Mid-afternoon: The gradual departure of the masses, and (hopefully) all they brought with them. Also the departure of the lifeguards, signing off with a megaphone farewell to those who remain behind.
Early evening: The ritual of the sun-worshippers, who simply must remain behind to witness the (West Coast) sunset. There’s nothing like a setting sun to bring a person to a focused standstill.
Dark: An umbrella of stars, a rhythmic ribbon of white foam as the waves crash to shore, and an occasional party of two out for a romantic stroll at the water’s edge.

Trust me, it’s easy to be mesmerized by the times of sand if you watch them long enough. They’re the reason I never make progress with my latest “summer read”, and the reason I can abandon my electronic devices for hours at a time. Frankly, it’s a wonder I was able to turn away from the sands long enough to bring you this blog post today.

Old-World Charming

One of my favorite musicals is “Brigadoon”. The original production dates a long way back; to 1947. Brigadoon tells the tale of two Americans traveling in the Scottish Highlands. A town quietly appears to them through the fog: charming, simple and untouched by time. It is idyllic. To protect itself from the changing outside world, “Brigadoon” only appears to outsiders one day every hundred years. So when one of these travelers falls in love with a Scottish lass from the town, he only has a few hours to decide if that love means remaining in Brigadoon and disappearing into the fog forever. The ending is fitting (and not so predictable). I won’t give it away here.

My own Brigadoon appears to me, once a year for only a week or two. Just north of San Diego lies the little coastal town of Del Mar. It is a quiet village by the sea, with pretty little shops and restaurants, a prominent hotel, and a train that whistles its way along the nearby cliffs several times a day. You can stroll leisurely from the beach to the center of town in a matter of minutes. You can sit in the park on the bluffs and lose yourself in the horizon. The flip-flop pace is slow and the carefree inhabitants always seem relaxed and happy. Like Brigadoon, Del Mar is simple, romantic, and idyllic.

I keep returning to Del Mar, just as I did when I was a boy. Growing up in the bustle of Los Angeles, Del Mar was only a two-hour drive south by car or an effortless journey by train; yet always seemed a world away. My family spent the summers at our house on the beach, including countless hours in the sand and surf. In those days – a half-century ago or more (gulp) – Del Mar was as modest a burg as you can imagine. The beachhouses were drab single-story wood-sided bungalows. A walk on the shore encountered a lot of seaweed and rocks and only an occasional shell. The town was unremarkable; more practical than boutique. My child’s eye recalls the 7-Eleven as a highlight; the only place a kid cared about thanks to its Slurpees and pinball machines. Del Mar’s drugstore was almost forgettable, except you could buy chocolate malt tablets (meant for indigestion but candy to us kids). The park contained a snack shack where you couldn’t get much more than a grilled cheese and a Coke. And my friends and I used to sneak under the highway through a culvert, giving us a back door entrance to the nearby horse-racing grounds. I can still picture the jockeys, exercising their thoroughbreds in the ocean waves.

Del Mar is a wholly different animal today. The draw of the coast, the consistently good weather, and the summer horse-racing season has transformed a modest locale into quite the tony address. The beach is groomed daily and the sand is marked into areas for swimming and other areas for games and still other areas for dogs. The hotel commands a nightly rate of $350. The park on the bluffs is all spruced up – no more snack bar – and used for concerts and festivals. A sunset wedding/reception sets you back $4k just for the use of the park. The local Starbucks sells enough coffee and tea to rank among the most successful locations in the country. The racetrack patrons hit the town in their Sunday best the first day of the season (think Kentucky Derby). And most notably, a house on the beach – with a very narrow slot of property abutting the ocean – cannot be had for less than $10 million. Yes, Del Mar is all dressed up these days and hardly simple.

But it’s still my Brigadoon.

My family and I make our annual pilgrimage to Del Mar every July. We leave behind landlocked Colorado for yet another taste of the sun and surf and salty air. And as soon as I arrive, the little town I remember reveals itself to me from the fog that has enveloped it over the years. The fancy shops, restaurants, and patrons step aside in favor of the simpler and more idyllic memories of the Del Mar I first fell in love with. If it were possible, I might just choose to take a leap – forever – into the Brigadoon of my yesteryear.