The Explorer leaves Long Beach about 7:30 AM. I haven’t been on this boat in quite a while, since June of last year if memory serves. I head up to the bow to enjoy the view of the early morning light as it hits the container ships and the cranes above them. The moon is still bright in the pink sky. An oystercatcher is sitting on the pylon near the port side, it stares at me inquisitively. It’s young plumage is slowly being replaced with striking black and white, but for now it’s mostly a ruddy brown. Puberty for birds is just as irritating as it is for the rest of us. Far from glamorous.
I stay up by the open-air helm as we head out past the break wall – I enjoy watching the Captain work – maybe I’ll learn something. My journey will eventually take me in this direction. To be a Captain is my long term goal, but I have such a long way to go. Learning about how the boat responds when you’re in quarterly seas vs following seas, and when the wind is behind you versus when it’s blowing abeam… these are the mysteries of life I will eventually wrap my head around.
Living on land, we are bound to solid ground. The sea kicked us out millions of years ago and she has made it clear she doesn’t want us back. She destroys everything we create, she changes her mood at a whim to make the most calm waters a death trap for even the most seasoned sailor. She shifts, she is the perfect representation of flow. On land, we are rigid and unwilling to adapt as she does. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t want us. From a spiritual standpoint, we aren’t really like her. We want planning and structure and everything in it’s proper place. With her there is no such thing.
We anchor up at Red Bluffs around 10 AM – Position is just northwest of Avalon. The sun is out, the trip over in the channel was very gentle. The bright turquoise of the sky is striking, there’s not a cloud to be seen. Lots of hunters on this trip, as well as students. They dive in and I make my way out after the deck has cleared. I’ve got about 2800 psi in my 2675 tank (for all you hardcore folks out there you will shake your head at the overfill, I accept your condemnation) and decide to take a west course straight toward the island. There is some lovely eel grass beds – something we don’t see too commonly in the northern channel islands. A few urchins, a few calico swimming about. Occasionally a large boulder with some reddish pink polyps growing on it. After enjoying the sunshine through the exceptionally clear water I head back and hang out at about 50 feet, very close the boat, enjoying the sway of the gentle surge, watching the eel grass follow suit. An abandoned anchor is nearby with a tiny bit of rode still attached. Lots of boat traffic today, but that’s typical for Catalina. I hear them zooming overhead and remind myself to be careful when I ascend.
I enjoy watching the shadow of the boat on the grass. It’s defined shape is interesting to view against the bright green of the grass when it’s hit by the sunlight, and how quickly it turns dark under the shadow. All around the light is playing against rocks and sand just like the light dance in a swimming pool, and then there is this odd perfect shape of the boat imprinted on the bottom. It’s quiet just for a minute. I covet the silence and close my eyes. There is nothing to me but now.
The boat moves to a spot called Long Point. The rocks descend down on a nice line to about 90 feet. I’m told a family of giant black sea bass (a common but thrilling type of jewfish seen in southern California) live down there, and it’s unusual to see a family together. I’m intent on going to look for them but at 60 feet the thermocline is too much, my face goes numb. The temperature drops from 72 to 56. Today is about having fun so I’m not real interested in being uncomfortable on purpose. At 60 feet there is a huge school of blacksmith, I always enjoy them.
On our way home, I hang out on the starboard side, there’s a little stairway leading up to the wheelhouse that makes for a great seat. The wind in my face has always been a beautiful and appreciated sensation for me. Suddenly the captain makes a quick stop and turns ninety degrees, and we quickly figure out why. A little spout is about 50 yards out, and he follows it carefully. We are rewarded about five minutes later when a grey whale tail snakes up from the deep and curls at the surface. Whales are always such a thrill.
Today was a worthy fun dive for me and a much needed break from the stresses of running a business. It was a pleasure to make new fish friends and to enjoy the peace that the ocean offers me freely. I thank her with gratitude and sincerity, although I am one of the humans she kicked out so many eons ago.