Los Angeles to San Diego
My old film school friend Rob Wait cast off the lines for us Thanksgiving morning, and we left Marina del Rey on a port tack, the wind blowing SW almost directly from Catalina. I guess we were so used to being blasted down the coast from SF, that we underestimated the time it would take to get out there. The sailing was good, though it wasn’t taking us very far in the right direction, and we stuck to it a little too long. Finally, near sunset we had to concede the point and turn on the engine. We arrived in Cherry Cove late. Amazing how close a rocky shore feels in the dark, and how difficult it was finding buoy E22 in the tight maze of clustered moorings.
Diana’s birthday was celebrated by doing virtually nothing except a short dinghy ride. I don’t think she got out of the bunk until after 11. What a spectacular day!
We embarked for San Diego at night, allowing plenty of time if we needed it, to keep sailing. The sea was incredibly calm and we ghosted by Avalon near sunset, going about three knots in just four knots of wind with our big beautiful dragon wing, our light wind sail, the Code Zero unfurled off the bowsprit. Anyone watching the tracker closely might have noticed some erratic zigging and zagging out in the channel as I dodged a parade of cruise ships headed for Long Beach. Star Princess hailed to ask our intentions. “This is sailing vessel Allora, just trying to get out of your way.” Allora pointed her damnedest to avoid that glowing ship of consumer dreams, the natural and perhaps most obscene extension of the power of advertising. Goodbye, for now.
San Diego, our final US port of call, and last Amazon shipping address, will be remembered for our host at the Southwestern Yacht Club, Frank – owner, with his wife Nora, of Outbound hull 16, Ocean Dancer. A former Army Colonel, he chauffeured me around to pick up the last few things, starting the tour with a couple beers and a burger. Over the course of a hectic week, we learned a little about frank Frank, about the couple of hand grenades he managed to keep upon retiring, and how those were put to good use, one to blow up a car. The vehicles owner got the message. Never heard from again in America’s most southwestern city. Learned the useful saying, ‘a three body trunk’, which explains the real use of those ludicrously gigantic compartments on the late model cars of our childhood (larger than Allora’s galley). Son of a NY policeman, he earned $5,000 dollars for services rendered to local criminal organizations, less the cost of chain (for weight) and a lock.
Maddi flew from Churchill, Canada (where she was working with Polar Bears International) to crew with us down to Baja, shedding her subzero down parka for something completely different, ice for tropical waters, polar bears for dolphins and whales.
