Good Friday

Red flags all week, the Harbor Master’s way of saying, don’t go out, don’t come in. But this morning I finally spy a yellow flag — yes! — proceed with caution. (No one I know has ever seen any other colors on the pole. Flags are either red or yellow.)

I quickly ready Habibi for adventure: covers off the dodger in order to see out and about; check the engine oil (fine); turn on the VHF (channel 16) and navigation electronics (depth, tide, wind, charts); test forward and reverse while still docked (functional); stow surfboards in the V-berth; close all hatches; secure sunflowers, teakettle, and bananas; cast off docklines.

I hop back to the helm, unlock the wheel, and put ‘er in gear. She swings backwards sweetly, and we’re clear. Onward! 

6:13 a.m. turns out to be rush hour for fisherfolk. Big power boats pass as I putter along at 2-3 knots (nautical miles per hour). Plenty of room, don’t mind the wakes. Incoming tide, no breakers in the channel, and we’re out!

In fog. Dense fog. Visibility is about 100 meters. I know the sun has risen, but … ah, a pale orb appears. And gone. Instruments are now crucial. There are islands out here, and shallow reefs.

But I’ve always loved fog, it’s so peaceful and quiet. Except, there’s a power boat to port! Jeez. We wave. Maybe I should go back in. Ah, here’s Bird Island. Suddenly. Even though I’ve been watching the chart. And depth. And wind. Etc.

Stubborn, I am. I really want to practice anchoring. Another boat passes. They’re not showing up on radar or AIS. Hmmm. Should I go back? But I slow down instead. And listen. Just me and the pelicans, and a few black-faced gulls. Depth is 19 feet. No audible traffic. So I lock the wheel and drop anchor. Fog still not burning off. Bruise a ring finger. We’re outta here. Raise the anchor and head north. Slowly. A panga zooms by — follow him! He’s headed for the harbor.

Now even the entrance is veiled in fog. Ah, red buoy on starboard, where it’s supposed to be. Ah, lighthouse on jetty, no light. And what’s this? A red flag on the breakwater where before had been yellow. Mary and Joseph.

But I’ve now done this a couple of times. So in we go. Perfect. The entire Disneyland-like marina is shrouded now, but there’s zero traffic because … red flags! 

Putter putter past docks and water taxis and a dredge and boats of all sizes, including ginormous. And look: two pairs of helping hands at my slip. Everybody loves Habibi. “You purred right in like a kitty-cat,” says my neighbor as the sun breaks through. A good Friday indeed.