It was a leisurely morning. I didn’t expect that! I assumed rugged macho sailor types would be sail at dawn; either with or without some nautical rationalization.
I’d mentally steeled myself for an early morning. All my life I’ve been surrounded by morning people. As a night owl I’ve accepted my lot in life; 300+ days a year (year after year) I’ll be dragged out of bed by some social norm that doesn’t give two shits if I’m groggy and miserable. Then someday I’ll die.
I fuckin’ hate mornings.
Well aware that I’m the odd duck, I darted out of my tent as soon as I heard voices. Indeed, everyone was up and fixing breakfast and so forth. I did my level best to be polite and be ready. I didn’t want to be left behind. (This is unusual for me. 99% of the time I’m doing my own thing and don’t give two shits about sticking with any group.)
I was ready but nothing happened. WTF?
Folks hung around the sopping wet campground. Everything was listless. If I’d known I could have slept another hour! I coaxed a smoldering fire to life (barely) and settled in my chair (which was bone dry!) to percolate pot after pot of coffee. (I down coffee damn near as fast as the old-style percolator brews it. First cup is a mite weak, but the latter ones have a deep and rich taste. I’m slowly mastering the art of making perfect coffee and keeping a steady supply at the ideal temperature. If you meet someone with this skill, congratulate them.)
Eventually, the truth dawned on me. Getting up early and fixing breakfast wasn’t a sign they were early risers; it was a matter of everyone’s tent leaking. Once again, my supertent had shined. My tent floor was bone dry. Also, my cot is something like 19” high. It could have been ankle deep water and I’d have slept through it. All hail the raised sleeping cot!
From time to time someone would stand up, turn their back to the fire, and stare at the waters. They did this with a cool photogenic pose… pensive… deeply observing the situation. It was majestic as fuck.
I had no clue what they saw. Nor did I have any idea what would happen next. Nautical words were spoken. Was the wind too light? Would it build during the day? What about the fog? Would the wind become a broad reach from the south? Was the chop short? I have no idea what a short chop on a broad reach means but it sounded like serious shit.
Frankly I didn’t care and it was a nice break. I’ve spent too much of my life leading the way. I was absolutely basking in “being a follower”. I would follow when they walked toward the boat trailers. No need for me to worry my pretty little head about the chop on the reach. Is this how most people live their whole lives?
Thus, I had plenty of time to drink coffee while smarter people than me pondered the day’s events. Nice break for the Curmudgeon. (More to follow.)
