WARNING: SHAGGY DOG STORY:
This morning I went out, Redondo Beach, King's Harbor, --hoping to see more sharks--I guess.
Foggy--which I like. Navigation training. ( I love to go out in the fog, at night, in the rain--but not if there's a chance of lightning).
Visibility 1/5 nMile. My goal was to reach the red buoy off Lunada Bay Palos Verdes 5 nm out. 210 degrees magnetic. I was 6 minutes from it (about 4/10 nM) when I first heard the bell. Adjusted course to 240degrees. 3 minutes before arrival when I was finally able to see it's silhouette in the fog (so 1/5th nMile vis. based on 4 knot pace).

I didn't listen to my iPod this trip. I wanted to hear everything. A mile out away from the surf, I hear everything anyway with my ear buds on ( I listen to books) , but today was more critical--less visual distance, and less expectation of seeing a kayaker far off the coast in the fog.

The deep sea fishing charter gang was hanging out on the pier when I walked to the bathroom in my gear. I look like some kind of demented Halloween commando with my skirt, pfd (not yet leather), Tilley hat, and today I wore my wetsuit. Sort of like James Bond in drag in an episode of Sponge Bob. I might've gotten heckled but I've got that big knife attached to the front.

The next time I we met was 3-4 nmiles off the coast when I paddled right by them. The charter was slowly going around in tight circles like a dog about to lie down. I guess they were fine tuning where to drop anchor. They crossed my path three times in about 8 minutes. Weird. I waved at the skipper, but he didn't wave back. I'm not trying to make friends, I just wanted him to acknowledge that he knew I was there. No body had their gear in the water so I was the entertainment. Cameras were even out.

I was thinking about our colleagues who were hit by the speed boat, anyone speeding today and I might be toast. Knuckleheads seem to sleep till noon, or maybe that's when they're let out of jail.

I heard one boat which sounded like it might be making some speed. The typical course for boats is to head for the buoy. I always do a bit of a dog leg avoiding the busiest direct route. When I heard this boat I was still near the buoy, so I paddled to get between the buoy and the kelp--they wouldn't go there. He came by, two people at the wheel, both keeping a look out, and they weren't traveling fast at all. False alarms are practice.

I recommend kayaking in the fog in a safe place to work on navigation skills. On a good day are we really navigating by compass? If we can see, we cannot not look. (Our brains do a lot more than they let us know they are doing.)
Today, I followed my compass, the angle of the swell (which off California is long straight parallel and 11-13 second intervals), the wind on my cheek. I noticed the seagulls were heading towards the harbor, or the beach. The sound of the surf on the beach and the breakwater faded away quickly, but there was always a little j'une c'est quoi noise from the beach. Maybe something we hear but aren't conscious of.

We aren't lost until what we are looking at doesn't fit the picture in our heads. Wander around on vacation, in a new town (Venice is perfect). Set the alarm on your watch, when it goes off, try to figure out the most direct route to your hotel or the place you planned to eat. If you really were wandering you'll immediately feel uneasy and confused. This is good. This is lost. Or when you look at a landmark but it's in the wrong place, or there should be only one peak there, but there's three--you start to try to fit what you are looking at with what you know. (Maybe there are 3 peaks and a highway on the side of Mt Hood......) This is lost.

For me this morning, I had some brief moments (but safe moments). The first, outbound, when I noticed the swell coming from the side. I'd lost my heading and was about 40 degrees off. This means the swell was an important part of my feeling I knew where I was and where I was heading. This was neat--and a learning experience. After I rounded the buoy I heard whales--I'm pretty sure, 3-4 long loud breathes but off in the fog... I paddled in the direction, heard them again a couple more times but never saw anything. Gray whales don't migrate until November....
What was neat about turning to paddle in the direction of the sound was that I was near enough to the buoy to still see it, but it was behind me. I manuevered around to see the whales all on dead reckoning, and felt completely comfortable. When I looked for the buoy it was where I'd expected it to be. I couldn't find the whales, and if they were moving up or down the coast, I wouldn't see much anyway. Again, I wasn't lost because I where I was fit what I expected. I'd been in the fog off Santa Monica Pier once. I turned around to head back, no problem. I had one moment of doubt--and pow! I felt lost and confused.

I had more of these moments when I was heading in.

The trip in heading should be 30 degrees (210 out, -180 = 30 ) but I had a more difficult time keeping my heading. Maybe because the swell was behind me, there's there's a large kelp bed off starboard--so even though I was in fog, with no GPS, the worst that could happen was to run into the kelp and then poke along the cliffs till I got to the beach and then follow that to the harbor- - -which is sort of what happened. One reason I didn't pursue the whales was they were further out.
I saw some shapes in the fog, figured they were boats off Palos Verdes in a popular fishing spot. They turned out to be rocks off the coast, one with some bushes on it. It was amazing, like suddenly I was off Oregon instead of a bit of coast I knew like the scars in my hull. I'd never seen them before. At least I'd never seen them without the cliffs above and around them. The fog turned the familiar into a dream.

What I think kayaking has done for me this year, is to take me to a new level of seeing. We don't see with our eyes, we see with our brains. The more we learn the more we can see.
I'll bet I will now see blue shark fins every time I head out. They were probably always there, but now I know how to see them. There are fish everywhere. Mostly small, but I see more than ever before. The whales? I'm pretty sure they were whales, because a gray whale popped up right next to me in Marina del Rey last year he breathed and now I know what that sounds like. I heard breathing when I was inbound--shorter, quicker--sea lion. I saw him.

Love kayaking. Love the ocean. No wonder the Aleut didn't mind living out on those windswept islands.