Marooned

Still in Sullivan’s Bay, Monday May 22

Max and I slept in until 8 am. This can only mean one thing: the skippers met at 4:30 am and determined again that it was too rough to attempt a crossing. Always keeping the interests of the slowest, smallest boat in mind, the group decided to stay put. This got Max and Buck running around like crazy people. 2 weather days were built into the trip, but not at this early point so plans need to be cancelled or rescheduled. Internet is available easily here in the restaurant, but there are no working phones anywhere. The weather was actually pretty decent here today, but out in open ocean, swells of over 10 feet were reported.

I’m a bit anxious as all thoughts seem to be that we are going to attempt it firstthing tomorrow morning. “Moonwalk” set me up with some Pepcid AC and I still have maybe 1/2 day left on the patch. Might pop a Bonine as well as some ginger tea. I’ve decided that I’ll probably be a zombie tomorrow, too drugged up to even slur the most basic of directions as to where meals are located. “Sschuuur, hep yerseelves….sooome carrit stix thhere zzzz.”

I’d been advised to not even attempt to cook during the 7 hour crossing. I have various things prepared that can be eaten immediately or thrown in the microwave. Some boiled shrimp, leftover roasted turkey breast and cranberry sauce, various cheeses, fruit, a few leftover sushi rolls, cold poached halibut with green goddess sauce, some muffins, and granola. Our captain keeps scaring me with his descriptions of rolling ocean waves. He describes the waves in terms of how many seconds come between them. I immediately prepare myself as if I’m going into labor. Perhaps Max and I can squeeze in a quick Lamaze class before 4:30 am? He further attempts to “comfort” me by telling me that the boat will be fine, that the boat can take far more than the crew. Oh, thanks, I feel better already. Our first-mate scolds the captain for freaking me and Max out.

I feel much like I did one infamous afternoon at Great Adventure (or was it Disneyland?) when I was a kid. There we were, my brothers, my Dad, maybe a girlfriend of my Dad’s at the time, all together in a rollercoaster car. As it creaked and quivered its way up the track, I remember feeling happy and excited, almost proud of myself that it wasn’t scary as my brothers insisted it would be for me. Then, as our car slowly approached the apex of its climb, my little eyes peered up and over and I suddenly realized that this thing goes down, all the way down. Fast. I did the reasonable thing for an 8 year old. I asked my father if I could get off the ride.

Now.

I was done and I didn't need to see how the ride ended. I remember him laughing, and then me screaming and then lots of crying.

This has been a fabulously invigorating experience. But 10 foot waves? Ocean rollers rocking us all over the boat? Gale force winds? I’m sure I’ll be just fine, but I’m just a wee-bit anxious. I’m trying to be happy about the fact that, essentially, I get a day off work tomorrow. But I keep wondering if I ask the captain to pull over and let me out, if he will start laughing. I’m fairly certain that I’m not too old to follow that with some screaming and then lots of crying.

I’m trying to keep my thoughts positive. One way for me to remain optimistic is to distract myself by thinking about the amazing ingenuity of folks I meet all around the world. People are so crafty, especially in their approaches to food. Take this local recipe that I found in the Lagoon Cove, B.C. Cookbook. Just when you thought a hot dog was a hard thing to prepare, out comes this trend-setting simplification of a challenging foodstuff.

Easy Hot Dog Appetizer

I won’t write out all the details but suffice it to say you take a couple of hot dogs, slice them, put them in a hot pan, add a can of coke and cook until the coke is gone. Serve the dogs with ketchup and mustard in separate containers.

What makes me laugh hysterically (and temporarily forget my neuroses about the crossing tomorrow) is the idea that the commingling of coke and hot dogs probably came about by someone spilling their coke on their hot dog and then saying, “wow, that’s not half bad!” Sort of a reeses peanut butter cup moment, as in those old commercials where an unsuspecting woman in an office was walking with her spoon in some peanut butter and she comes around the corner only to run smack into a man dangerously walking with his outstretched chocolate bar.

But my favorite part about this “recipe” is that it makes it very clear you should keep the ketchup and mustard separate. Like, truly, it’s a-ok to mix your beverage with your weiner, but make sure those condiments remain perfectly isolated from one another.

I’m left with this question: exactly what on earth would be a Difficult Hot Dog Appetizer?

Some scenes from our days in Sullivan Bay:


With the help of Margo, Max and Jeff I'm slowly but surely learning how to tie up the fenders as we dock and throw out the lines.



Artsy-fartsy shot of the day.



Not much action here on Hoochie Lane. This land-lubber guessed that Hoochie referred to either alcohol, as in "hooch" or perhaps a B.C. take on getting some nookie. Imagine my surprise when I heard some of the skippers talking about "hoochies" - pink lures to catch salmon and halibut. Not to be confused with "hoochie mama".



Where's a dog to find a tree? Poor Max.