I am comfortable enough with myself to admit that I am the Goldilocks of temperature. When it’s cold enough for layers (let’s say anything below 50°F on land, or 65°F at sea) I am easily irritated. It’s something about everything crowding up around my neck and turning my hair into a giant matted mess that just makes me tense my shoulders and everything spirals downward from there. In the heat, which I classify as anything above 80°F, I sweat way too much and get super self-conscious about pit stains and pit aroma. Plus, I lose my appetite which just makes me crankier because I’m not eating enough. I’m honestly not sure how I survived 10 years in southern Arizona, but I can basically guarantee that I was outrageously dehydrated for 100% of that decade.
The recent passages from San Francisco have pretty much all been below my cold threshold and I have been suiting up with an absurd number of layers. The addition of the life vest and harness does not help my neck sensitivities and this morning I found myself whining that I didn’t want to put on my onesie. Even though I love my onesie. It’s soft and warm and has a waist zipper so I can still go to the bathroom. (Looking back, I should’ve purchased the men’s style so I could use the flap to pee standing up, but hindsight is 20/20.) But after two weeks of traveling, I am tired of putting on that onesie, and all the subsequent layers, because I just want to be wearing shorts.
There’s no need to point it out, because I am well aware this is a Grass is Always Greener situation. I’m in rather moderate temperatures dreaming of warmer weather as we head to Mexico. Soon enough, I’m sure I’ll look longingly at sweaters and wish for some colder climates. But for now, I am tired of wearing my onesie, a bunch of layers, mittens, ear warmers, and wool socks every day. Living the dream is pret-ty rough, you guys. I’m just glad that my socks don’t have seams on the toes or this whole thing would be over.
And the fog… my god. When we left San Luis Obispo, it was no more than 50ft of visibility, at best. I cannot recommend weighing anchor and navigating an anchorage in this kind of fog, especially before the sun comes up. Radar was only semi-helpful, because it was picking up small, denser portions of fog as well as it was picking up boats. We ended up driving around in a crazy route because there was no way to tell between denser fog and a hard object on the radar and the only other way to find out was by driving right at it. This was probably the earliest in the day that I had planned an evening drink for myself.
Not too long after we left, a little dove passed the boat flying through the fog and came back to us, landing on a solar panel. I think it only took about two minutes for Craig to name her Harriet. She was rather far out to sea for being a land based bird and we think she got lost in the fog. For the remainder of that passage she was with us, grateful to have found someone to keep her afloat. I’m pretty sure we’re all Harriet – lost in the fog. #itsametaphor
In other news, we have officially made it into Southern California. We rounded Point Conception and I swear the clouds lifted to reveal the sun as if to reward us after a long journey and welcome us to the sunny side of the state. (Then we checked the forecast and it called for rain. Not out of the woods just yet.) We spent our first night in SoCal at Cojo anchorage just east of the point. There’s nothing really there, and it’s hardly protected at all. It was a little nerve wracking knowing that the whole ocean was just… right there. Nothing to stop it from coming at us full force. The wreck labeled on the chart and the sailboat hull on the beach weren’t any comfort. But it was actually a calm night on the hook, and probably the quietest night we’ve had in a while.
Over the last couple days, we have passed at least a dozen offshore oil rigs – barf. And yes, I realize the irony in my distaste since we were motoring using our diesel engine at the time. But this is Trump’s Post Truth America; irony and hypocrisy are dead. We actually ended up going through a pretty large slick near one of the rigs and reported it to the coast guard. As it turns out, the slick is (allegedly) caused by a natural seepage that releases about 4,000 gallons (96 barrels) of oil each day. So maybe we didn’t save the day on that one, but we did pull a mylar balloon out of the water. The whales were grateful and put on a show. (Not exaggerating – we saw lots of whales and they were breaching and we were giddy.)
Here are a bunch of photos from Monterey.
Small World Big Dream 
you are most definitely living the dream! it may not seem like it but sitting her in my office I find myself wishing I was out there and having to put on a onsie!
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Cool post, you guys are making us want to turn Rabannah left and catch up.
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Do ittttttt! Or just come stay with us Mexico!
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Don’t worry, soon you’ll be sweating so much that you’re going to smell like a two day old Moe’s Italian Sandwich, that was left in a warm cooler. Just spread your wings, like a cormorant, on the bow, and call out “look, Jack, I’m flying!” Craig will be at the helm, trying to drive the boat in that heat, with a double-can respirator on, so you might want to pick up some Gold Bond powder for the rash he’ll be getting, on his face.
In spite of the intense sun, the heat, the ants, the ‘what the hell is that?’ bugs, lizards and snakes, I just KNOW that you are going to LOVE the tropics.
From Panama,
Wiring Whisperer
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So what you’re saying is that I’ll always have something to complain/write about? Perfect!
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