The moon is incredible. I am navigating Malibu Canyon Rd at 3:30am on a Thursday morning. My call time for the commercial is 5am, and I hate being late. It’s so dark, except for the glorious moon. I have never traveled this road before, so I am careful. The only vehicles I meet are two power company trucks lumbering at me, and then by me. Their lights are bright, bright, and then they are gone.
The moon is just this side of full. It pics up the dashes of paint on the road, and seems, to my eye, to play out some sort of constant Morse code, as I zip by. I wonder what dash, dash, dash, dash, dash, dash, dash, dash, means in Morse code. Suddenly, there is a man. I think it’s a man. It is, and he is on the far side of the road...running. Jogging, to be precise. At 3:45am? He wears nothing reflective or bright colored. I almost didn’t see him. I wonder how the power trucks saw him. I wonder if he does this everyday. I wonder if he is famous. This is the back side of Malibu. I wonder if he notices the incredible moon.
And, then I am over the mountain. I can’t really make out the ocean, but I can sense the open vastness ahead. It has a different air than the lurking mountain behind. I am winding downward, now, past the mansions and Pepperdine. Finally, I turn right on PCH, the Pacific Coast Highway to be precise, also known as Highway 1. Now the moon is straight ahead of me as I glide up the coast.
This beach, “Leo Carrillo State Park Beach,” to be precise, is supposed to be 14 miles ahead. At around mile 7, I see a Starbucks. I start to slow, to pull in to it, but then I realize that I am even too early for Starbucks. There are a couple cars parked in it’s parking lot. Their running lights are on. They must have their heaters on, too, to keep warm. I can make out the exhaust from their tail pipes curling up. Starbucks itself is lightless, a black hulk of a tiny building, waiting in the moonlight. I whiz by.
I see the sign for the beach, but I am nearly an hour early for my call time. I don’t need to be there, yet, so I go past the exit. There are some distant lights out on the water that have caught my attention. They aren’t nearly bright enough to compete with my friend the moon, but I can make them out. A couple of cars fly at me and then by me. Their lights are bright, bright, and then they are gone. Probably film crew slightly late for their even earlier call time than mine. Still those lights out on the water are getting closer as I get further north, and eventually I get up even with them. The lights belong to boats, of course.
I pull onto the land side of PCH, and stop the engine. Looking across the highway out to the sea, I role down my window. I count eight boats. Each boat has a single spotlight tethered high that shines back down on itself. Eight lights bobbing in black. The light from the boats is moving? Fluttering? And, then I can see that these are fishing boats, their spot lights reflecting off of the hundreds of frenzied gulls that fill the air. Such a dazzle to my eye! But, in the inky vast open darkness of the sea, they are small pinpoints of dazzle. I know there must be a horrendous sound as the gulls scream for fish, but none comes to me across the waves. It is quiet...but oh, so, frantic.
Soon, I will be with the commercial, the director, the cranky costume lady, and the other actors that will make me laugh. The beach will be bright. The sea will be bright, and the fishing boats in the background of the shots will have to be photo shopped out of the scene. But, for now, right now, I am on the edge of a continent, staring out of the darkness at the dazzling, fluttering, frantic, quiet lights, and I am the only one here.
Well, me and my friend the incredible moon, to be precise.
