Holding the Boat, 2

January 6th. Thursday night. The calm before the storm.

I'm driving my old van around the windy roads at Montaña de Oro State Park, listening to KPIG radio. It's nighttime, there's a few clouds blotching the sky but I see the intermittent star shining through. There's no wind to speak of- yet. My plan was to spend the night in the state park campground, and get an early surf session before the storm. Sometimes the south-east winds that blow before a storm make the waves at Montaña de Oro quite good, so I'm gambling that I'll get some waves.

A funky bluegrass song plays on KPIG. When it's done, the radio announcer, Ralph Anybody, talking in his quirk yet serious tone, de-briefs us on tomorrow's weather: "Yeah folks, we're going to see some strong winds early tomorrow morning, upwards of 40 miles per hour, and you know what that means! Trees on the roadway, fallen power lines, that kind of stuff. Keep the kids and piggies indoors, and batten down the hatches." Hum... did he really say "batten down the hatches"? I had never considered what that actually means. Hatches. Boat hatches. Battening down because the storm might blow them open. Hum... It's time to go hold the fort.

I do a three-point turn on the narrow, eucalyptus-lined road, and start heading back to Morro Bay. Not that KPIG radio is the most reliable source of weather info, but the chances of good surf tomorrow is virtually zero. And as a boat owner, the responsible thing to do is be aboard, in case anything goes wrong. That's what everyone tells me, anyway. Not that my boat is irreplaceable, if it ended up on the rocks; but if it starts dragging anchor, or worse, breaks free and starts floating downstream, it could crash into another boat or pier. And that would cost ten times as much as my boat costed me.

I park my car near the Bay. The breeze is starting to rustle the trees. Was that a raindrop I felt? Not sure. I put on all my snowboarding clothes - jacket, pants, beanie, and load up my backpack with stuff. The temperature is around 45 fahrenheit, or 10 degrees celcius. I walk right by the Inn at Morro Bay, where I have my day job, which overlooks the bay and happens to be in line of sight with my boat. It's quite reassuring to go out to the veranda and glance casually at my boat, to make sure it's fine.

My friend Jonas, a waiter at the Inn, is also in the carpark, talking to a cute girl. My buffy snowboarding outfit catches his eye, and he says, "Hey Beadle, you going out to your boat? That's hardcore bro. It's gonna rain tonight! You can come crash at my house, if you want." I don't know if Jonas is being hospitable to impress the cute girl, or if he's genuinely concerned about me. But either way, I'm on a mission. "Nah, man, it's cool. I've gotta be out there. You know, to hold my boat's hand, in case things go wrong." He wishes me good luck and I keep walking, away from the Inn.

The Inn is adjacent to a bird sanctuary, and there's a nice path running underneath eucalyptus trees towards the little beach. That's where I keep my dinghy- tied up to a tree on a muddy beach. I put on my rubber boots and drag the dinghy through the mud. It's no fun when the tide is low- I have to drag it 50 feet on soggy, muddy layers of condensced bird crap. High tide is a lot better, sometimes I can just hop on my dinghy and row away.

The wind's already picking up, making zooming noises around the boats. As I row through the darkness, the wind swirling around, I feel stabs of adrenalin hit my heart. The storm's coming in, and I have no idea what's going to happen. A vision comes into my mind: the lone fisherman, taking his boat out to sea to "ride out the storm", anxiety and determination all over his face. I'm so proud of that damn fisherman, putting himself on the line for the sake of his vessel. Maybe one day, that'll be me.

But for now, I'm in a fairly harmless situation. Even if all hell breaks loose, I couldn't be too much safer than inside this narrow bay. After all, I can swim pretty well! I check my chaffing gear on my anchor line- duct tape and rubber hose still intact. Good- now I can go into the cozy cabin, and wait for the storm.