7 months of intense preparation have finally culminated in an actual departure from Oxnard, California on our 2008 Seawind 1160 Deluxe (I love that "Deluxe" part) and we're off on what I'm calling our "second-childhood adventure." I sold my car at the very last minute, rather unexpectedly, to the Subaru dealer who sought me out after a visit for some routine maintenance. I had done a deep-clean on the interior the night before, removing the workhorse look and restoring the somebody-loves-me-look, and was just pulling into the car wash when he called. We discussed price ranges on the phone, and a few hours later I drove little Hedwig into Kirby Subaru and within 15 minutes she was destined for the used car lot. I named the car Hedwig after Harry Potter's owl because she was white, and very smart. I found a tiny little hand-knitted white spotted owl on Etsy and made a teeny-tiny face mask for her, since I got her at the very beginning of the Covid era, and she served as my dash mascot for 2 years. Now little Hedwig is hitching a ride to Mexico on a boat.

The unexpected sale of the car delayed us a day waiting for the check-writing person to come in on Monday, so we used that extra day doing the last, last, last things that always dangle at the end, and had one more Sunday dinner with family.

We left the dock before noon on Monday, and pulled up the sails so we could move smartly past friends and family who had gathered on shore to wave us off and take pictures. We hooted and hollered and jumped up and down, waving furiously, while Allan tried to keep the boat sailing at the right angle to the wind to keep our new sails from going all loose and floppy, which is what happens when a sailboat goes into the wind. Which is what happened when we turned the corner to sail smartly past our friends and family who were waving from the shore, but happily, we did get some nice pictures. It was so amazing to see them all gathered - Allan's mom, brother and sister-in-law, my sister, and some dear friends who had all made the trek to the edge of the rocks, taking time out from work to cement in all of our minds that after years of talking about it, we really were going off on this adventure.

We turned left out of the harbor and set our course for San Diego on flat seas with light wind, and here we are 18 hours later with about 6 hours to go. It's been a good trip - ironic that we picked late November to do our first all-nighter in years, with 12 hours of darkness, but it's gone very well. All our new groovy electronic equipment gives us peace of mind. A new radar, which shows stuff you don't want to hit: boats, land, big things. Our AIS thingy which shows other boats (assuming they also have an AIS thingy) and gives you so much data it's staggering - boat name, boat type, the MMSI, (super-secret radio ID number), COG (course-over-ground), SOG (speed-over-ground), CPA (closest point of something that starts with an A), and TCPA (I have no idea what that stands for.) It shows the boat facing the direction it's actually going, and even has a little green line protruding, in relative size-to-speed, to show if it's actually moving. And by the way, there were a lot of really big ships out there tonight not moving. Tankers and cargo ships are parked offshore in droves up and down the coast. (Wonder where that toaster you ordered last spring might be?)

All of these things came in very handy in the dense fog that embraced us for most of the long, dark, damp, cold and foggy night. Fog makes standing watch difficult, especially at night, because high-powered lights just reflect off the moisture in the air, so other than a horn or these fancy new electronics, there's no way to detect that another boat is in your way. Having flown top-of-the-line aircraft with top-of-the-line electronics for many years, we are grateful for this new-fangled technology that allows us to relax in the cabin in the thick fog, snuggled under a fuzzy blanket with turkey and rice soup, monitoring the Raymarine display and making occasional checks outside for things we can't see anyhow. We acknowledge that in the event of an alien attack on our global satellite system things might revert to old-school, and we're prepared for that. Although, we haven't gone so far as to get trained on the use of that ancient navigation device, the Sextant, which requires a massive investment in time, a sunny day, a horizon, a chronometer, a chisel and some fairy dust to plot your position. Maybe we'll get to that at some point.

Our carefully planned night watch schedule fell apart almost immediately, we're so out of practice. We had decided to have dinner together around 5, I'd take the 6-10pm watch, Allan would do the 10-2am, and then me for the sunrise 2-6am stint, which I actually love. But instead, we ate dinner, I took a 2-hour nap at 6pm which turned into a 3.5 hour nap, then we had more dinner, then Allan napped for 5 hours, and then finally my turn. As I slid between the bamboo sheets I was grateful the boat wasn't heeling (tipping uncomfortably to one side, throwing a person who wants to sleep off the bed or at least into an awkward position that belies actual sleep.) Monohulls (boats with one hull) when under sail do the heeling thing. Catamarans under sail do a different thing, which is weird and lumpy and can't decide what it wants, but at least it doesn't heel. So I fell into a nice, deep sleep until Allan woke me around 5:30. And here I am, writing this blog, wondering about breakfast, wishing I had bacon but then remembering I'm mostly vegan and vegan bacon is gross. So I think it's going to be granola with bananas and fresh pomegranate seeds.

Fun stuff: just at sunset, our left engine, which also goes by the name of "port engine," ate some seaweed. I've done this many times, not seaweed, exactly, but if I see something especially yummy I take a way-too-big bite and then can't talk for a long time. The engine started making "mrph" and "glorp" sounds and we looked back and saw a huge patch of seaweed. Luckily, the right engine, which sometimes likes to be called the "starboard engine", wasn't hungy. Mainly because it wasn't running at the time, so the prop wasn't spinning and therefore it didn't get all tangled in the kelp. Allan did all the things a person who does NOT want to jump into cold water at sunset might to do to clear the prop, but all for naught, so he reluctantly but bravely suited up and jumped in (tethered to the now-stopped boat, of course, lest you have sudden visions of me sailing off into the last of the sunset while he waves goodbye with a handful of kelp.) He made quick work of cutting the thick tubes wrapped tightly around the engine shaft and then gave thanks for our cockpit shower, which was warm and toasty since we'd been motoring all day.

Another fun thing was the smoke I saw wafting past the stern (back of the boat) in the middle of the night. It just caught my eye in the stern navigation light as I looked up from my LA Times September 5th crossword puzzle, which I finally had time to tackle. Stepping into the cockpit I saw lovely, blue-white billows of smoke emanating from the right/starboard engine. I summoned my inner calm, and applied logic: where there's smoke, there's (maybe) fire. IS there fire? Door to starboard engine room is cool. Open door slowly. Room is fine, no smoke, no unusual heat. So, no fire. Most likely, my logical brain said, it's condensation, but I hadn't seen it earlier in the night so it was odd. Time to wake Allan anyhow, and we agree to use scientific methods to determine what's happening - start the left/port engine, shut own the starboard, and see if the port makes the same pretty blue-white smoke. Yep. It does. Condensation. But it was a first, and we were glad to have the second engine to test the theory.

And the last fun thing for now is this, the definition of the word "catamaran" per Wikipedia: "derived from the Tamil word, kattumaram (கட்டுமரம்), means "logs bound together". However, the original kattumaram did not refer to double-hulled boats at all, but to a type of single-hulled raft made of three to seven tree trunks lashed together."

San Diego is drawing near. We'll spend a few days here getting more last, last, last, last minute things with the help of friends John and Carol, who drove down to hang out with us for a few days. We plan to head for Ensenada on Thursday night, another overnight trip that should take around 10 hours. There, new adventures in routine boat maintenance and Copper Coat bottom paint await in the Baja Naval boatyard. We'll stay through Christmas. And speaking of such things, Happy Hanukkah!

Next post: Ensenada! (And don't forget to click on the Gallery for a few new pictures.)