Catalina

Marlow departs in 48 hours for Catalina with a crew of four prepared to land at Avalon before completing a lap around the island Galapagos style. Galapagos style means many different things to many people but this crew will start by smoking fish with ginger and garlic, and aspiring for two snorkels and two hikes per day while tuning all focus to animal brain waves.

Mark Dingle is elevated to First Mate, bringing his deep and tenured understanding of Marlow culture to the boat, having most recently acted as Minister of Culture on the legendary Galapagos run. Unnamed will be Party Captain, a role that did not exist before he invented it on a recent passage to San Diego. And Taylor will step aboard Marlow for the first time and play the role of Shore Leave Watch Commander. There are many crew we wish could join us and we sail on with your good fellowship behind us.

It will be an emotional return for me, as I recall the wilding days of my youth, left free by our parents at 13 to disappear for the weekend to the island on our own with little money and no place to sleep, to meet a sailor named Boyd at the bar who agreed we were old enough to handle a few gin and tonics while he regaled us with tales of adventure at sea. I will order a G&T in Avalon and think of all that Boyd alighted.

I'm back on Marlow and can say with certainly that Diego the rat has vacated the premises. I am almost proud of this model of survivability, a trait we most admire among any member of the crew. Diego managed to last three months on board, feasting on the Galapagos stores and a few power cords, and dodging all manner of traps. He traveled a long way with us from his home in San Diego. He preferred the captain's cabin aft which had afforded him months of spacious luxury before I became aware of his presence.

I had an opportunity to kill him at the peak of my frustration when he was sabotaging my previous vacation with late night antics and droppings uncomfortably close to bed pillows. I was alone as my crew had fled for more sanitary accommodations, and sleeping in the forward bunk which Diego had left untouched. I heard real and imaginary noises all night, sleeping very little before sitting up suddenly to the sound of scratching in my cabin. It was after midnight when I flipped on the light and found myself three feet above Diego, a seemingly territorial rat scampering to get to his escape hole but he wasn't making it. He stopped and looked up at me holding a long, heavy duty metal flashlight in my hand poised to swing down on his head. He was shivering. We looked into each other's eyes. Three seconds went by and we were both frozen. Then he turned his head back to the business of the hole, calmer now perhaps because he figured if I wasn't going to attack him then, I wasn't going to do it at all. He climbed in the hole and disappeared. I never saw him again, nor any evidence of him. But I know he's out there like Templeton and Ratty, working fairgrounds and river banks, Diego Angelino, the crafty rat moving along the California coast, just like us.

[Post Mortem, June 22, 2024]

The body of Diego Angelino Paolucci was found dead on board today under the watermaker plumbing 2 years after ravaging Marlow's wiring. All we can say for sure is the crafty rat died doing what he loved. Diego will not be missed and out of respect for him we will take all preventative measures to avoid ever letting a rat welcome himself aboard again.

Looking back on the 4 day lap around Catalina a week ago….

Thursday, 6pm PST. My brother Ron and I arrive at Marlow with a limited time to sail as usual to find our planned day of departure coincides with storm warnings and gusts up to 50 knots. We look down at white caps from our dads house in Palos Verdes and celebrate our first good decision to delay the trip a day. The next night we arrive on Marlow and Ron reads Moby Dick aloud with character voices and all to prepare us for sea. At 7am we depart for Catalina figuring we'll sneak out before a second bout of nasty weather approaches, a gale that will bring 40 knot gusts and two days of precipitation. The guy at the fuel dock isn't expecting anyone today and laughs out loud when I tell him we're from the east coast. The gale makes national news as it will also bring snow to LA county, quite the rarity. It alternates rainy and sunny on the way out as we wonder why among the 10,000 boats in the area we are the only people sailing today. Five hours later we are greeted by the harbor master in the port of Avalon on Catalina who says he'll give us a mooring but he won't guarantee our safety. He takes us to our mooring and we tie up in the usual fashion of Catalina which includes a bow line and a stern line to prevent any swing of the boat so they can cram more boats into the harbor. Boats are designed of course to take wind from the bow, and normally mooring fields allow for boats to swing so they are always pointed into the wind. We notice the local boats are tied up to two moorings, which I've never seen before. Apparently if you live here and there is a gale about to blow, you get an extra mooring. Gosh, I hope one mooring is enough for Marlow particularly considering she is the heaviest boat in the port at the moment. The geography of the port suggests Avalon should be the perfect place to ride out a gale from the south/southwest but as we are learning the adventurous way there is no culture of sailing in California. Avalon is a picturesque port framed by a faux Main Street and run by bureaucrats wearing official looking uniforms who feel it is their primary duty to warn you away rather than provide refuge in a storm. We forget at our peril that Los Angeles is sometimes just a movie set. Cue the wind.

Friday, noon. An air siren sounds for two minutes making us uneasy. Is this what they do at noon every day around here? We arrived yesterday around noon but we didn't hear an alarm then. Is the port being evacuated? We hope not. An hour later Ron reports from the Avalon harbor website that an emergency test alarm shall be sounded at noon on the last Friday of every month. I suppose it's good to know that's working. We stand down.

Friday, 11:30pm. The gale rages. Ron and I have been driven amidships for whatever sleep we can manage while Marlow surfs in place over building seas. It's a gusty brew in the lee of a small mountain to our south holding back the fury until it bursts forth down over the town at 40 knots. The port has been orderly all day with patrol boats motoring through the mooring field and neighboring dogs hosting a party. Another hour and the blizzard gale of '23 will have blown itself out, providing the crew a taste of adventure on the low seas and the cozy comfort of shelter aboard Marlow in her element.

Saturday, 7pm. We celebrate with Guinness for breakfast and sandabs for lunch, the entire port to ourselves much like the Galapagos during Covid. Apparently if you're the only boat that comes out for the gale, the third night on the mooring is free. Whatever calls us to sea in the first place, the chance to test our strength, or humble ourselves, or break free from a world that overly insulates us from our survival instincts, we achieved it in record time and closer to home than ever before. Our mission accomplished, we return tomorrow sharper for it and ready to rejoin the battle of civilization.

Sunday, 7am. Nothing signals departure time like the arrival of a cruise ship.

Sunday, noon. Ron and I arrive back in San Pedro surprised to learn we have been declared winners of the Blizzard Gale Catalina Invitational!! 10,000 boats were eligible and only one crossed the finish line. We are humbled to rank among such an esteemed field of competitors and we are told appropriate hardware will be awarded. We never set out to collect trophies but it will be displayed as an honored remembrance of that glorious gale we fear and respect.