The winds were fickle and contrary. It would blow from the North ten knots for ten minutes or so, then back to the West for a few minutes, die out completely, then blow from the South for a few minutes, then clock to West, die out again, show up from the East, blow for twenty minutes, then vanish again. . . . behavior that any amateur should have been able to see as an evil omen.

Several California bottle-nosed dolphins guided the boat for about ten minutes, then vanished utterly.

After nearly endless sail changes and sail trims, I left the sails in their down-wind position since that seemed to be the prevailing pattern--- wind from the East, which is unusual because the wind here is mostly "Light and variable, prevailing westerlies, decreasing in the evening." After setting the auto- pilot, I decided to (finally) check the whether forecast.

NOAA said that the wind would be from the north-west at 25 knots. Rather stiff for a full sail, so I shortened sail to the first reef point, trimmed the sails to a "close reach," made up my bed in the cockpit, and took a nap in the cockpit while I awaited the promised wind.

And waited. And waited. Seems NOAA is not quite inerrant as some boat-fundies would like to believe--- when I woke up and looked around to see if any tanker ships were bearing down on me, I noticed I had made roughly half a mile in over one hour. At that rate I'd be in Catalina in time to have to turn around and go back to work.

The engine fired right up, and I set the throttle to 2.5 knots (Myste doesn't like her engine to run too fast). I made Avalon Harbor at three in the morning, woke the harbor patrol up, and asked them for a mooring. (The guy insisted he was already awake, but his mien and <cough> "pleasant attitude" made me wonder otherwise.) US$15.00 later I had Myste safely moored.

To celebrate I put eight doughnuts in a plastic bag, dumped in a cup of granulated sugar, gave the bag a good shaking, and ate the doughnuts as a hearty reward for my flawless navigation skills.

I slept for five hours then set out to round the east side of the island. The quarry was silent that day because of the holiday--- last time I past by there they had scared the poop out of me by blasting. There was -NO- wind at all: where was NOAA's 25 knots of wind they promised?!

When I got to the south side, the wind finally started to blow at around 12 knots---- from the west. I had to tack back and forth to get around a point on the island, going many miles from side to side for every mile forward: mostly on a lee shore.

I finally got around the point and changed course north-north- east. This put the sea swells right on my port beam, causing the boat to roll like Don Martin on his third fifth of scotch. To keep the swells on the bow, I had to again beat into the wind, making roughly one mile every hour. Everything in the boat was flung violently around until it all collected on the floor. It was a horrible mess even BEFORE the toilet decided to start spewing water everywhere. The galley sink also filled with water. Seems I forgot to shut the valves.

By the time I finally got to windward of Little Harbor, the sun was nearly setting. I put Myste on a "run" with a following sea, into a lee shore, with the fundy-like faith that I would be able to round the inner reef, drop two anchors, and have the boat stay put.

For reasons I can only attribute to the benediction of the Cosmic Star Goat and Her Saltiness the Twelve-faced Leather Bitch Goddess of Pluto, I managed to get into the tiny bay and anchor just as the sun's upper limb dropped below the horizon.

Only problem was, the wind went to 28 knots, with gusts to 35, and the swells were rolling right over the reef and slamming into the boat. It was madness being in there, with a beach to windward, rocks to either side, and a reef dead ahead. I could not imagine the anchor being able to hold in those conditions.

I spent that night sitting in the cockpit staring at the rocks to starboard, waiting for the anchor to drag. To keep myself awake and somewhat alert, I sang blasphemous songs and took off most of my clothes. The bitter cold kept me awake while I wailed "Damn it's cold! Bloody goddamned hell it's cold!" in my best Captain Vanderdecken voice. Well, it was much better than falling asleep and dying when the boat slammed into the shore to be broken up in the surf....

(Parenthetical element: unlike with Captain Vanderdecken, no unearthly visage showed up, ethereal and glowing, on the bow to damn me forever for my "blasphemy." Goddamnit.)

Star Goat was indeed with me, because both anchors held. I got out of there at first light and tried to make my way into Catalina Harbor, only a few miles north.

Going directly from Little Harbor to Catalina Harbor should have taken at most three hours, but that route would have put eight- foot swells on my beam. That disaster would have been compounded because I was on a lee shore. If the island had not been in the way I would have put the swells on my stern and ran with the wind with just enough sail to keep up with the speed of the swells. But with the island in the way, I had to once again beat into the swells and try to make enough northing to get windward of Catalina Harbor so I could run in.

A rouge wave came at me, towering like Jehovah's wrath, and slammed into the port beam, rolling the boat nearly far enough over to dip the spreaders into the ocean: it flung me out of the cockpit, into the air, and, "luckily" for me, to starboard where I came to rest on my back in the other side of the cockpit. Needless to say, I didn't land very gracefully (translation: hurt like a sun'o'bitch). Rather belatedly, I put a tether on in case I was tossed out of the boat.

I finally weathered Catalina Harbor and ran into it. The place was very crowded from boats escaping the wind and high seas.

There was one (and only one, as far as I could see) place left to anchor with only one anchor, so I was quite happy to get there before more boats showed up. The boats around me had one bow anchor out, so I could not put out a stern anchor ("like vessels" must anchor the same way as their neighbors, so that they will swing together).

For Thanksgiving dinner I had planned on cooking tofu tacos (DON'T ASK!) but when I opened up the cooler where the food was, utter ruin looked back at me. Glass had cracked, contents had decomposed like a Star Trek transporter accident had happened, and there was hardly anything fit left to eat.

Two boats showed up later and anchored next to me--- each with a bow and stern anchor. I thought this highly rude, because now my boat WOULD swing into theirs because their boats would be stationary and mine would swing with the other boats. The alternative was for me to put out a stern anchor and have OTHER boats swing into MINE. Damned if I do; damned if I don't.

Rather than pick an argument and get the crap beat out of me, I left the anchorage as soon as the wind dropped below 15 knots.

Two hours into the leg home, the wind quit completely (again). It took 15 hours to get back home. Most of the way I had following seas, which was easy enough for me to sleep most of the time. I only had to avoid two vessels--- the rest of the time I slept on the bow of the boat while Stud, the auto-pilot, steared the boat.