April 18-May 13, 2009 - From Arizona, we ran up and down the
coast of California in mad pursuit of a sailboat. We were driven
by the vision of a dream that had been developing for many
months: traveling with our trailer each summer, as we have
been, and traveling by sailboat in the tropics each winter.
We're both converted desert rats, most recently from Phoenix, Arizona,
and we like it warm. How warm? A fellow once told me he turns on the
air conditioning in his rig when the indoor temperature hits 79 degrees.
For us, that's when we start getting really comfortable. Our a/c doesn't
go on until it hits 90.
We have struggled to find a warm, uncrowded place to wander during
each of our two winters of fulltiming. We have ranged between southern
Arizona and Florida, but have done too much shivering. We aren't alone in
this quandary. When fulltimers meet each other, one of the first questions
they always ask is: where do you spend the winter? At first I didn't
understand why the seasoned veterans kept asking us that question, but
now, after wearing way too many layers for two winters, I understand.
Cruising in a sailboat
has been a longtime
dream for me, and Mark
has slowly come to
share that dream too.
However, there are a lot
of details to work out. Shifting between two homes is not easy, especially when
each has to be put in storage for a period of time. So, as our prospective boat
purchases in California fell through, one by one, this past spring, we tried to be
more philosophical than disappointed, taking it as a sign that we just weren't
ready yet. As we talked through the nuts-and-bolts of our plan -- getting beyond
our dreams of gazing at the scenic mountain backdrops behind our rig each
summer and snorkeling amid eagle rays and sea turtles alongside our boat each
winter -- we realized that our plan was very fuzzy.
This frustrating discovery came to us as we froze our tails off on San Francisco Bay
in May. It was a bitter surprise to find that the Bay Area rarely gets much above 60
degrees at that time of year, and we got several weeks of almost daily rain to boot.
We got to know the tiny Emeryville peninsula on the east bay next to Oakland quite
well. It is the one sliver of beauty in an otherwise industrial landscape of smoke
stacks, snarled traffic and congested urban living.
The marina there has an
interesting array of boats,
and we enjoyed getting to
know some of the
liveaboards who make it
their home. Those folks
are some sturdy stock, as
the wind blew at 25-30
mph every day across the
bay, the fog and dark
skies hung around relentlessly, and the cold was that bone-chilling kind
whose icy fingers sneak past any and all layers of clothing you put on.
One retired couple had lived on their boat in the Bay for 17 years.
We took many walks, jogs and bike rides around the area, and
especially enjoyed the pink flowers on the ice plants that were in
bloom during our visit. We left boatless, however, and made our
way down the coast to Ventura. There we enjoyed a long stroll
along the beach and watched a harbor seal teasing a seagull.
He had just caught a huge fish, and he repeatedly surfaced with
the fish in his mouth, taunting the gull. Each time he lured the
gull to approach him, he would duck under the water out of
reach. This went on for quite a while until the gull finally gave up
and flew off.
In a way, we felt like that gull, tantalized by the prospect of a
sailing dream, but taunted by the vicious boat selling industry that
barricades it. We started looking for a boat as wide-eyed innocents to the boat buying process. In just a few weeks we got a bath-
of-fire introduction to the cutthroat world of lying, cheating and stealing that is sailboat brokerage in the Golden State.
The stress of dealing with ruthless, unscrupulous brokers desperate for a deal in a stalled industry in a failing economy finally got to
us, and we left. Unfortunately, the stress chased us down I-5, and while turning in to stop at Pyramid Lake, north of Los Angeles,
for the night, the back of the trailer lightly brushed the guardrail. The damage didn't look like much, but upon assessment by RV
collision repair specialists in nearby Valencia (what luck that there was such a place nearby!), it would take 7 weeks to fix, most of
that time spent waiting for parts.
This news took a while to digest. We stayed in Valencia, north of the
Los Angeles tangle of freeways and insanity, for a few days, deciding
what to do. We couldn't stay in the trailer once they began the repair
work, as their insurance did not allow it. However, our insurance gave
us some money for "emergency" hotels. We took a few day trips
around the area as we mulled over our options and waited for our
insurance claim to be processed.
The Valencia area is desert: no fog, hot days and cool nights. We hiked
up Pico Canyon, starting at the base in "Mentryville," a former oil
boomtown founded by Charles Mentry who dug California's first oil well
here.
Some of the old
equipment from this first
oil well still stands today.
Oil well Pico #4 was the
longest running oil well in the world when it was capped (dug in 1876, capped in
1990). It was such a success that it prompted the formation of the Pacific Coast Oil
Company that became Standard Oil of CA which was later acquired by Chevron.
As we hiked up the canyon we passed some
unusual critters and flowers on the way.
The view at the top was
well worth the climb.
As we walked we found
the trail was neatly
marked by carefully
placed stones. Someone
had taken great pains to
outline the best route to
the top.
Hiking down we met a mountain biker
on his way up. He introduced himself
as Shams, originally from Afghanistan
many years ago. He asked if we'd been to the summit. Not quite. He seemed
disappointed, explaining how the very steep section that had stopped us was actually
very short and the view beyond that was spectacular. He then explained that he had
built the trail over the last 14 years, grooming it, creating little stone outlines for the
paths, so he and his son and others would have a nice place to mountain bike. There's
a man who has made the most of his new home.
We drove to another area
and saw the most
enormous tree. Standing
back to admire it, I noticed
another person taking
photographs of it too.
We got talking, and I learned that this tree, a Valley Oak, had been
moved 1/4 mile to make way for a road, and that he, Lee Lumis, had
been the horticultural consultant overseeing the move. It took 18
months to relocate the tree, and required 126 hydraulic lifts, 24" I-
beams and a 43' diameter box for the root ball. They had started the
project and then had to wait 6 months when the tree suddenly
budded out and couldn't be moved. He had rotated it a bit from its
original orientation, but it looked truly majestic in its new home.
Even though we were here by accident -- because of an accident -- we could still look at each other and say, "what a cool area!"
As we gathered our thoughts about how best to handle the upcoming seven weeks, we finally decided to fly out to Michigan to visit
Mark's family and do some sightseeing in a state we probably would never reach by fifth wheel.