Swimmingly
There has been a massive heat wave attacking the West coast for the last week or so. Along with some intrepid adventurers, I hatched a plan: to swim, or die trying.
We left dock at about 12:30 on Sunday, when the temperature was about 125 degrees Celsius, or something like that. I’m pretty sure of the 12:30.
I was thrilled to have Official Indian Summer Cabin Boy Gabe back on board, and he is still small enough to stand up straight below deck, an important feature in a cabin boy. He immediately began cleaning the cabin (glad to see his skills have not slipped) and helped me start the motor and monitor things such as gas. Miles bounded about the boat putting up sails and pulling up fenders and Janet made herself generally useful and agreeable.
The boat now has its own rubber duckie, which has been named ….its another boat secret, like what the head is actually called. You can only be told on the boat. We tied a line to the duckie and tossed him over once we were under sail, and found out that he prefers the sidestroke. Either that or he was drunk. It kind of looked like he was waterskiing on his side. 
We circled Angel Island with some serious wind, did an okay (not great) controlled jib that sent Janet flying down below. I guess I should be louder with my “Prepare to jib”s.
Arriving at a cove on the leeward side of Angel Island, the wind died and we motored in and threw the anchor over. The (evil and soon to be replaced) swim ladder was attached and then I finally got to dive off my boat. Janet and I pretended we were off the coast of Italy, the boys refused to play.
We fell and dove and jumped off the boat in as many ways as we could think of. Embarrassingly, I had a lot of trouble getting back in the boat – the swim ladder sucks. I kept on winding up under the boat rather than over the edge. But after a hugely refreshing swim, I sunned on the deck with Janet and drank wine while Gabe used the duckie to reel Miles in. Liam the selkie showed up and hung out for a while and then as it got late and the anchor dragged for the umpteenth time, we headed back to port.
That was when the real excitement began.
All true captains have a hat. Captain Jack Sparrow has his, I have mine. Captain Jack’s has been lost at sea and swallowed by a Kraaken, while mine has been lost down the mighty Zambezi, the Fish River, Casco Bay (multiple times) and a mudslide in the White Mountains. As we tacked gently West along Angel Island, a gust hit and my beautiful McGill hat went flying away.
“MAN OVERBOARD drill.” I roared. Miles poked his head up from below, where he was snacking, and looked confused to see me, Janet and Gabe all still accounted for. But the crew gamely sprung into action. “Miles – get that thingy that’s on the thing to your left, no the long thingy, I’ve lost my hat!” and he got the boat hook out. “Gabe, Janet, prepare to tack, helm to lee!” and we did. Repeatedly. We kept getting very close to my hat, but it was very small and wet and wouldn’t grab at the boat hook. Note to passengers: if you ever fall off a boat, grab for the boathook – it saves time. Another boat saw what was going on and tried to play. They missed as well. On the fifth try, Janet scooped up my hat and the day was saved. I was so happy to get it back, I shoved it on my head soaking wet, but my crew insisted it go below so it wouldn’t blow off again.
It was great to get some MOB practice in, and San Francisco Bay has not claimed another victim. This is the second time that Janet has made an essential save – if she does it again, she gets a commemorative plaque.
