and writing in the cabin, we decided to brave the dinghy once more to get to stable shore for the afternoon. This time we called the harbormaster, politely asked if we could have permission to tie to the wharf (despite the signs), and he said, “Roger Skipper, go right ahead, just watch out for the sea lion population that lives on the landing.” Sweet. No more surfing. Besides, Sea lions equal cute. Wrong again, they’re not cute like
Author safely ashore at San Simeon, CA.
while he tried to pull me in against the undertow. A crashing wave came over the stern and flooded the boat, so I gave up and jumped out just as it started to rain. Prescott singlehanded the dinghy
back out over the surf, picked me up at the wharf and we trembled our way back to the boat to dry out. The surge in the cove was extra strong, so after a few hours of reading
seals, they’re big and territorial. They barked at us when we tied up the dinghy, and I felt compelled to carry an oar in my own defense. We fled up the stairs to the wharf and found a coffee shop from which we could keep an eye on the dinghy. Every once in awhile I would look up to make sure no sea lions had tried to board our vacant boat. And then I looked up… and it was gone! Noooo! It was the feeling of
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48° NORTH, APRIL 2010 PAGE 52
having a car stolen. Prescott was already running back. I packed up our computers as quickly as possible and followed him. By the time I got there it was absolutely pouring rain (I thought we’d left that behind in Seattle!). Prescott could not fight his way past the stubborn sea lions, despite his physical threats with a large orange traffic cone. The dinghy had broken free and luckily was floating just under the wharf – if only we could get the sea lions to let us by. Finally, with the help of a very kind wharf worker and a borrowed boathook, we snagged the dinghy and were able to bring it back around within reach of the ladder. The sea lions were vocally disgruntled that we’d disturbed their naps, and were swimming threateningly around the wharf and our dinghy as we jumped in and pushed off as fast as we could. We rowed back and the downpour
subsided just as we reached Velella – of course. I thought about how so much of this trip has been picturesque, but also how much more of our time is spent dealing with unexpected daily annoyances of living on a boat. In the dark, when no one is watching, it sometimes really stinks. But, I suppose that’s entirely fitting after all, because this life ain’t in freshwater—it’s all full of salt.
48°N
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