Last day in Troncones. Lasting impressions will include the incessant onslaught of the ocean pounding onto the beach. There is a continuous surf here, all day, all night. The noise of it is an assault on the senses, like listening to the cannons of Napoleon’s army at Waterloo, or the thundering jet engines of an airliner as it slowly lifts off a runway.
At first the pounding surf provides a bit of drama to the scene, but over the course of days it has become a wearing, irritating and constant presence – like living next door to a job site, with heavy machinery at work 24/7.
However, there is a positive to the constantly roiling surf. The waves attract formations of pelicans that fly in perfect formation, like air show combat pilots, skimming the ridge of the cresting surf. It seems they do this for fun. They don’t break formation to catch fish, for example. They just glide effortlessly along inches above the breaking waves, occasionally taking a wing beat, each in turn, to maintain momentum.