Flopping up the Beach
25 September 2018
I should probably be banging out a blog post every two days talking about the awesomeness of the grand adventure.
And it is awesome.
But I'm left mostly without words.
I can't do a blow by blow "Left San Simeon at O'dark thirty today and motored south into the black morning arriving Cojo anchorage after a calm rounding of the fearsome Point Conception." Those are just words. Nobody cares. Or perhaps I don't care to write about it.
We are reminded that we are a long way from a comfortable life commuting to and from work, binge watching some series or another to fill time until we go back to work again.
Yet we are comfortable. Our pace is relaxed. Weather is forecasted to blow 30? Let's stay another day in Monterey. We are still hoping to achieve boredom, but we are still a long way from that goal.
We have ripples off the transoms telling us the boat is alive, the sails are drawing and we are moving at speed, effortlessly, a thousand miles from home at six knots.
Brown Pelicans organize themselves into squadrons of five or six patrolling in lines because that seems to be what brown pelicans do when they aren't dive bombing in loud splats or sitting on the rocks soaking up the sun.
Little white birds that never seem to land, but catch a fish every time they dive, taking off again in a long horizontal sweep swallowing the fish and giving a little shake to dry the feathers. They swoop in huge flocks as the sun sets.
Humpback whales leave their watery world and launch their bodies into our airy world. Humans can imagine why. Only the whale really knows.
The coast is wild. Hard to believe that California is a populous place. Most of the coast is undeveloped, raw, rocky with a pounding surf turning the rocks slowly into sand. It must look much like it did when this was Mexico in the early 1800s with the possible exception of the odd nuclear power plant, oil platform, or rocket base.
Sea lions, like the whales, leap out of the water. Having a look at us as we go by.
A mola flops a pectoral fin on the surface unmoving as we approach, its thousand pound body unable or unwilling to dive below the surface. I am a giant sunfish. Go around.
Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge in sunshine. Foster flying in and appearing magically on Pier 39 covering the distance from Vancouver in hours rather than weeks. Two different time scales perfectly synchronized for a few days.
Always there are great white sharks present and waiting to bite into a tasty snack. We've never seen one, of course, but we know they are there, Brief thoughts of hiring a diver in Santa Cruz to cut kelp from tangled prop rather than donning a tank.
Northern elephant seals on an offshore island flop up a pristine white beach like giant caterpillars. They breed on only four islands, two here in California and two more in Mexico. None of these islands has a place to rent a jetski, a hotel to stay in, a dock, a road, or a human settlement. On San Miguel we couldn't even find any human debris on the beach, no plastic, no floats, no old fish gear. Just beautiful white sand. Unnaturally natural. A spring with water flowing from the rocks and footprints of a fox that comes to drink.
Tiny popping shrimp that make me think perhaps my morning shit is effervescent until I realize the sound is coming from the hull and not the toilet bowl.
The awesomeness comes from the little things that creep in and touch the soul. Whales, foxes otters and molas are cool, but it is the wind and the waves that grip us and remind us of the vastness of the planet. Giant swells lift us and leave us wondering what winds created them how many hundreds of miles away. Winds pushed into low pressure we can't touch or see or feel but we take from them as we do from the sun that fills our batteries each day and makes our water and heats it up for warm showers.
And the human spirits lift us. Awesomely friendly people at every dock. Here have some crabs, we have plenty. Take a line for a fisherman, have a chat, "Do you have wheels, borrow my truck if you like." What? Do you even know my name?
And we do borrow a truck. From Jim, a fellow Manta owner in Monterey, an old friend we've known for 12 hours or more. We drive the long way to Ace Hardware in Carmel, 17 miles around Pebble Beach. It's highly civilized and reminds us that we don't want to be civilized. We give the keys back to Jim and plan not to drive a car again for a while. Though we do admire the floating community he and Andrea are part of which we pass through and sail on.
Dolphins appear and swim with us. Tracey cries out, "Good morning dolphins." Part of her world as surely as the cup of coffee she enjoys from her helm seat.
The whole experience transiting the coast is a little beyond description. We've done this before so we are able to relax and take it in without being anxious of what comes next. To just enjoy right now, right here is magical. Tomorrow is tomorrow and not really that relevant just now. Yesterday was wow. But today is today. Not all of it needs to be photographed or written about. It just is.
And perhaps most marvelous of all, maybe even the only thing that is really important, is to have someone to share it with who gets it all and wants to sail on with you. What more is there?