The beach beckons

LET’S admit, there’s hardly anything so obvious as bringing our summertime yearnings to bear on sand, surf, skimpy swimsuits, longboards, short boards, skim boards, volleyballs, webbed chairs, straw hats, escapist novels and the tang of Coppertone on the seashore.

But this is no time to shirk. At least half of the best things in life are those we can count on, year after year, especially as we anticipate the sun beating down on our overwrought, overheated noggins.

Remember back. Was it second grade? On summer vacation I went to the beach. The sentence dripped with meaning. In my case, the teacher (and I’ve forgotten her name) stifled a yawn and looked around to see if anyone else in the class might have something original to say. I don’t recall being dissuaded, not then and surely not now. Some cliches have earned their place in our hearts.

Just a few steps west of the last “For Sale” signs, at the terminus of a continent that we have divided up, paved over and civilized as best we can, our beaches are our grandest public spaces. Pity those we call “urban planners” who are forever dreaming up ways to bring us together in pleasant surroundings outdoors. They’ll never do so well, and they know it.

Deed to this slender terrain, barely as wide as a freeway, is the most valuable we hold in collective trust.

Arriving at the seashore barefoot and buttered up on a sizzling day is license to breathe easy. Have you noticed how few people spend their time at the beach talking on mobile phones? How very few laptops you see in laps? How seldom children descend into tantrums? Whether you are out to work up a sweat in a pickup volleyball game or to simply repose on a towel, the beach energizes those senses that are understimulated and soothes the others.

The experience is different from going to a theater or a stadium, where you escape not only your surroundings but yourself too. At the beach, engulfed in the comfortable anonymity of crowds, with the metronomic white noise of surf blotting out the din of the city, you have the leisurely chance to enjoy your own company.

When I’ve left Southern California to postings afar for this newspaper, I missed my friends foremost and, secondly, the beach. Today, many of my friends have given up on the beach. Teenagers no longer, they are mindful of skin cancer, sewage spills, potbellies, parking -- not inconsequential things, granted. But might they be giving up too soon on their youth?

The beach invites us to leave behind those things that partition us. Distinctions of caste, color, occupation, accent, address don’t strike sparks the same as elsewhere, except maybe for the occasional sighting of a prison tattoo. Can we smile at the thought of all those pink beings trying to roast themselves to the color of coffee beans?

The beach is smothered with rules. In return, though, we are seldom burdened by the commonplace aggressions of urban life. Besides, you can always move. There are no premium seats at the beach, except for the gated skyboxes of Malibu and a few other places, about which much has been said.

Above all, the beach remains our most vibrant connection to nature. Where the sand turns wet, the greatest wilderness on the planet begins. As editors remind me, I’ve written that line before. Yes, and it delights me each time. California’s grizzly bear, that indomitable symbol of nature untamed, was extirpated from our landscape 84 years ago, but a predator of even greater magnitude still laces through our shore break, our old friend the white shark. Imagine.

My advice to those heading for the second grade: Come September, rework that opening sentence on your paper. On summer vacation, I stuck my toe into the wildest place on Earth. See if that gets the teacher’s attention.

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John Balzar, a Times staff writer, would like to mention that this summer is the 60th anniversary of the invention of the bikini.

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An opinionated glance at some great summer beaches in the belly of the beast:

Huntington: Surf City has gone mall-ish. But if you wander in the shadow of the great pier, with miles of sand in either direction, you might still imagine echoes of the Drifters singing the old anthem of summertime, “Under the Boardwalk.”

Laguna: Sometimes scale is everything. Not as in upscale, never mind that. Here the scale is intimate. And people still wait for sunset with their hearts in their throats.

Venice: Why worry? If the remainder of the city seems to be getting evermore uptight, Venice still strives to keep it loose for the sake of fun. Too loose? Proceed north to Santa Monica.

Redondo, Hermosa and Manhattan: Mainland surf culture was born in the South Bay 99 summers ago. And it thrives still. Let’s say a word of thanks to our forefathers. Not every state held on to its coastline in the name of the public.

Avalon: Where else will 26 miles take you so very far? This is no place to bring worldly concerns. Try pondering something whimsical for a change. Such as, has Coppertone changed the scent of its lotion? Hint: The company insists it’s been the same for 45 years.