9 years ago, when we still had the Cal 28 Emerald Pelican, we decided to move the boat back to King Harbor in Redondo Beach. We hadn't berthed there in 30 years. This was the first trip over to Catalina since the move. Just the two of us. We didn't realize this would be the last trip with this boat.
We had had some trouble with the engine when we went to pick up the mooring but overall it had been a great trip. We left on a beautiful clear day with very light winds. Once getting clear of the effect of the island the wind dropped enough to lower the jenny and put on the engine. It immediately started having problems that were clearly fuel pump related. We were able to keep it alive by pulling the choke out almost all the way. It was still struggling. I rattled around down below but it was obvious the fuel pump was toast. I adjusted the course to come in high, almost course for Del Rey instead of King Harbor. I was trying to avoid that area off the tip of the Peninsula where the wind almost always dies in the evening. We were a little less than 10 miles out when the fuel pump died completely. I went back up forward and hoisted the jenny but it just hung there.
We must have been moving somewhat because we were able to maintain the course. Looking at strands of kelp nearby there was no apparent movement. The afternoon turned into the evening and we watched a glorious sunset. The stars started to come out as did the lights on the mainland. It was beautifully clear and you could see the lights from Malibu around to the Peninsula forming the Santa Monica Bay. It was a dramatically dark night so the stars and the lights were in extremely sharp contrast.
There was a slow large swell but in the darkness you couldn't see it. So the rise and fall of the boat just seemed like the ocean was breathing. There was something else. It startled the mate. There was the woosh of something else breathing. We looked around port and starboard and we were surrounded with large luminescent creatures. They were also rising and falling and breathing out moist fishy air. The boat wasn't moving. We stayed with them and they stayed with us. We were with them long enough to grow comfortable in their presence. After a time they were gone.
It was about 3 in the morning when we finally entered the harbor. The harbor was asleep. No other boats, no activity, just quiet and still. It reminded me of our favorite times in that harbor. With the Cal 25 Island Sun we would come in late from a day sail or a long trip to the island and find the harbor in the same condition. The wind at night would be steady and true but not a ripple on the surface of the harbor. We would sail down the main channel towards the yacht club and instead of heading to our slip we would tack back towards the mouth of the harbor. We would tack again and again. There was no sound when we were tacking just the slap of our own wake against the hull and the spinning of the winch. The stragglers at the Yacht Club bar would be standing at the window wondering what we were trying to prove. We weren't trying, we were dancing. Eventually the mate would lay her hand on my tiller hand and softly say it's getting late. We would fall off into our channel and I would go up forward and drop the jib. We would ghost into the slip with just the main. That was a long time ago before kids, houses, loss. We are now headed down that same channel with the lights reflecting on the glassy surface. This boat has been with us through all of that. The mate reaches across and lays her hand on mine. She says nothing. When we finally ghost into the slip I find I'm making a wish. I hope we always have this connection to one another and to the sea. I hope we will always dance to the music of the wind.
The Next Chapter
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rcvesselstyn
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- Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2019 9:54 am
1977 Cal 2 29 Emerald Flash #964 , Isthmus, Catalina Island , California
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