Ho-Hum; Another Day of Motoring

Blue skies meet the deep blue of the Pacific in a near seamless transition this morning. There's not a cloud in sight, and the sea is as calm as it gets hundreds of miles offshore. The good news is that the ever-so-slight trickle of wind is now coming down out of the north, where I expect our breeze to eventually fill in from, though I fear it may take another day. Thus my birthday wish: All I want this year is a breeze to sail home by (and I'll gladly take my present a day early). Our day has already started off nice, with the catching of another football-sized albacore not thirty minutes after sunrise, right as the ship's clock struck 0400. The clicking of the reel roused me from a semi-deep sleep, and I was greeted with the chance to fillet a fish bright and early. Even so I was back in bed within the hour for a bit more sleep. Such is the sailor's life: stand watch, read, write, eat, sleep, and repeat process again and again. After 19 full days I've slipped into a routine, and am still loath to change our clocks off Hawaii time though the sun now sets at 1800 and is up before 0400. Just another benefit of being el capitan--I get to choose the time.
Last night was the first truly clear night this trip, and the stars were out like I'm sure many of you have never seen them before. With the nearest lights hundreds of miles away, and the moon away on vacation for the time being, Jupiter became the brightest object in the sky and actually cast a glare across the surface of the glassy sea. Over in the southern sky we watched as Scorpio gently laid down from an upright position, his heart (Antares) burning an extraordinary red all the while. And above, streaking from horizon to horizon in a thick swath stretched the dim cloud of the Milky Way, terminating in the northern sky just east of the Dipper's ladle which spent the night gently pivoting till the spoon was lying perfectly flat just above the horizon. Far above, a good deal higher than I've grown accustomed to, Polaris stood alone on her northern perch, guiding these sailors across the sea like she has so many other throughout the centuries. Every now and then a bright streak shot across the sky as one of the holes to heaven slipped from the sky, and I swore one was going to make it to the sea (though of course it never did). Nature's magnificent display was almost enough to keep my mind off the bone-chilling night air. Those same blessed clear skies allowed the earth's heat to dissipate into the atmosphere and it was by far the coldest night I've experienced in years. But now the sun is up and in the absence of any wind it will surely become another hot day.
This clear fourth provides a perfect window into the past, and my thoughts can't help but return to the various baseball fields (in godforsaken towns such as Mira Mesa and Ramona) I spent this same weekend at many years ago; rarely a participant, but usually a happy patron of the snack bar while watching as my brother lit up the stage and carried his All Star teams to many a victory. Sunshine, dirt, junk food, frog hunting, and baseball--what better way for a kid to spend a summer day? Well perhaps with a dip in the Kuntz's pool or a quick game of volleyball for me to lose at. I hope your 4th is as beautiful a day as it is for us, and that the June gloom of Point Loma has dissipated enough for the fireworks to shine bright (at least I hear they still have fireworks shows; though I haven't actually seen one in 4 years now). Aloha and Pura Vida to all.

July 4. 0800
34.03N by 131.04W

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