With repairs done as best I could, and likely no opportunity to climb the mast, I needed to think about leaving. The problem with leaving was getting everything on the bottom of the bay back on board. The anchors, chain, and likely a good section of the nylon rode would be well and truly buried.
I woke up Sunday at 0500 and half-awake, half-asleep stumbled to the companionway. Looking out I was startled awake. It was calm. With little or no wind, getting the ground tackle back would be almost trivial. Almost.
Knowing it would take hours, I Had breakfast, readied the lockers where the gear would go, got my tools and watched to make sure the wind was not just toying with my intentions.
All said and done, it took the better part of 4 hours. I had been so focused on getting the ground tackle back aboard, cleaned, and stowed properly that by the time I glanced back in the direction of the harbour, Stanley had gone.
I slumped at the wheel, head down, shoulders limp. I suddenly felt terribly alone as my experiences there were no longer reality but remembrances. I knew I had to go. And I knew equally well I hated to leave. I hadn't seen enough, done enough, or met enough of the people here to be leaving. But entire oceans lay before me and the seasons would not wait. Seaburban's bow was pointed east and east it was to be.
Reporting my departure to the Port Control Officer, I was asked my destination. What would be my next Port of call? Victoria, British Columbia, Canada I replied. There was a moments hesitation and then in a less officious, empathetic tone came "That's a long way away. I wish you safe passage and a quick journey home."
He was, I believe, speaking on behalf of everyone in Stanley. It could not have been more perfect.