Sandcastles are transitory, and so is life. Building a sandcastle is like living your life: You build something out of millions of granules, you give it a large, intricate shape, and then it just washes away. The sands of time and all that.
No such metaphors for Jeff Benesi. So why does he build sandcastles?
"Cuz it's fun," he says. "It's an active, physical challenge, and it's competitive. It's also social-I do it with my friends-and it's sustainable. It just goes back to where it was."
That's merely a fact, not a metaphor.
Born, raised and educated in Michigan, Benesi moved to Seattle in 1974 with his wife, Kay. Not long after their arrival, they moved into the house on Queen Anne in which they still live. They now have two grown sons, as well as two grandchildren.
Since 1990, the couple has operated Colorwheel Studio, a children's art school on Queen Anne (see article in the News dated 6/2/04).
Benesi began sandcastling in 1983, when he joined a team of sandcastlers called the Orbital Sanders. "Back then," he says, "many of us worked together. By happenstance, a co-worker participated in a sandcastling competition one weekend and came in on Monday talking about it. She suggested others try it, and several of us did."
Over the years, some team members have come and gone. Many are architects of one kind or another. Benesi is a landscape architect and urban designer. "That helps," he says, "but it's not necessary. Another team is led by a dentist."
Currently there are eight Orbital Sanders.
"I can't remember how we came up with the name," he continues, "but I do remember we considered a list of over 300 goofy names."
The name is not only off the wall and a play on words; it is ironic. In competition, sandcastlers are not allowed to use power tools (such as orbital sanders). Allowable tools, in addition to their hands, are shovels, buckets, garden sprayers and misters, simple kitchen utensils, palette knives, concrete trowels and straws (for blowing loose sand away).
The most common method of building a sandcastle is to build a 2-foot-tall wooden form, fill it with sand and compact it; build another, somewhat smaller 2-foot-tall wooden form on top of that, fill it with sand and compact it; and so on, like a wedding cake.
Then, standing on the penultimate form, remove the top form and carve that layer; step down, remove the form above and carve that layer; and so one, working downward.
The secret to spectacular sandcastling is good compaction. "Having the right amount of water is key," says Benesi. "If the sand is too dry or too mushy, it won't hold the desired shape."
On a beach, sandcastles must be built below the high-tide mark in order to get wet sand for good compaction. "It's a race against time because we are limited by tides," Benesi explains.
Even though an ocean beach is a natural setting for a sandcastle, the quality of the sand is not ideal for that purpose. "The granules are washed and round," explains Benesi. "They don't stick together very well."
Lake sand, like the sand at Harrison Hot Springs in British Columbia, is better. "The granules are more angular," says Benesi, "and there is clay and silt that binds them together when you add water."
The best sand, however, is brought in. "There's a sand and gravel company in Silverdale that is said to have the best sand in the world," he says. "It compacts well, it's easy to carve and can be very vertical, and holds its shape."
With sand brought in and no time pressure imposed by tides, it's actually more relaxing to build sandcastles in an artificial setting. "You can take the time to be more careful," says Benesi. "The results are cleaner, smoother and more intricate."
Sculptures can be bigger, too. At the recent Seattle Sandfest in Westlake Park, the Orbital Sanders were able to work with 20 yards of sand-more than twice what a plot provides them in a competition on the beach.
Springing to action
Not surprisingly, sandcastling season is summer (and the greatest danger in the avocation is sunburn). The Orbital Sanders meet in spring at the home of their captain, Vern Cooley, to brainstorm ideas. Some bring sketches to the meeting. Once a theme is decided, Cooley draws it in detail.
They have a different theme each year. On occasion they have done what Benesi calls "straight sandcastles," but usually they employ humor. Past sculptures include "Toad Jam" (frogs playing musical instruments), "Garden Party" (fruits and vegetables having a barbecue) and "Hog Wild" (pigs on a roller coaster).
"There is a performance aspect to what we do," Benesi says. Once all the team members dressed up as Elvis Presley to carve a sculpture with a 1950s theme, complete with jukebox and tail-finned Cadillac.
Another time, carving a sculpture of pirate rats absconding with a chunk of Swiss cheese, they dressed up as pirates. "We interacted with the crowd," he says. "We do performance pieces, really."
This year's sculpture, entitled "Plumbing Nightmare," featured oversized pipes extruding from a whimsical house in all directions and unhappy plumbers toiling with the pipes in awkward positions. "We did that four times this year," Benesi says, laughing. "The pipes were tedious."
"Plumbing Nightmare" was the exhibited centerpiece of the Seattle Sandfest, a competition between nine novice teams. When Benesi and other Orbital Sanders completed "Plumbing Nightmare," they coached the novice teams.
Over the years, the Orbital Sanders have built other sandcastles for exhibit only, but usually they participate in competitions. Often they win, or at least place among the top three competitors. To name but a few contests, they have participated in the Neptune Festival in Virginia Beach, Va.; Sandcastle Day in Cannon Beach, Ore; the Sandsation Competition in Long Beach, Wash.; the U.S. Open in Imperial Beach, Calif. (which they have won twice); the Canadian Open in Parksville, British Columbia; and the world championship in Harrison Hot Springs, B.C. (in which they have placed three times).
"We've had some failures, too," Benesi says. If the compaction isn't quite right, or the sculpture is top-heavy, it's prone to collapse.
"Once we were carving the wizard Merlin," Benesi remembers, "and his entire face sloughed off. Another time we were trying to beat the world record for height (24 feet). We were almost there when the forms collapsed."
After successfully completing a sandcastle, Benesi rarely sticks around long enough to watch it wash back into the sea. Sometimes a sandcastle is destroyed before then anyway. "Kids gather around us, impatient to jump on it," he says. "We make them wait until it is judged. Then we have a countdown, and they go at it.
"It's only sand," he adds.
Teru Lundsten is a freelance writer living in Queen Anne. She can be reached at rtjameson@nwlink.com.[[In-content Ad]]
