254 Days In - Santa Catalina, Day 1

Chris’ dad likes boats.

When he was a young businessman he had a sailboat for the wild seas off California. When he was father he had a smaller sailboat for the calm lakes of inshore Great Britain. When he could see retirement he had a comfortable Dutch barge for the slow canals of hilly England. And now he has treated himself to a rather plushy (new-to-him) yacht.

He is once again back on the shark infested waters of the Pacific, but this time with a sat-nav and ice maker.

Since their purchase, Chris’ parents have been keen to take us on a trip down memory lane, 26 miles across the sea to Santa Catalina Island; a place that they sailed to many times before moving to grey old England. And, in-fact, the place that they were married.

This is also to be the boat’s shakedown cruise. A term that I appreciated more fully, post trip.

So last week we pack up enough stuff for about three weeks, and toddle off to the marina. There is something very special about being on water, and even more so about being on water where you can only see the haze of land in the distance.

I have only seen one dolphin up close once before: half way around the world in New Zealand’s fjordland.

Last week, I saw more dolphins than I can remember, as they hurried towards our boat to ride the pressure wave in front of us. We even heard them squeal at each other - as if in delight. We watched mesmerised as they played, weaving over and under each other.


After a while they would disappear down into the inky-turquoise sea to join their pod, and we would wait for another group to join us.

Amidst the wonder, disaster strikes. We hit heavy, thick fog.

Chris dad goes to turn on the radar. It doesn’t work. I ask what they did when they hit fog when in the sailboat.

They just kept going, and it was always ok.

So we kept going.

Luckily the sat-nav stopped us missing the island and ending up in Japan.

Once safely moored in Avalon, Catalina’s only town (and one of two “settlements“), we disembark for land. Chris helps his dad pump up the dingy and attach the out-board motor. In the end, we are rowed to shore.

Avalon is a sweet little town, reminiscent of a Devon fishing village; with too many hotels, and shops that sell things you “like” but will regret having purchased, once you are home. Chris takes lots of photos.

As it is January the streets are almost empty, and the bars very quiet; but we find a lovely Mexican restaurant that will serve me my desired fish and chips and Chris the most enormous margarita I have ever seen.

Soaked with wine and food we row back to our little “home” and are lulled to sleep by the banging of buoys against boats.



If you followed the hyperlink, I hope you enjoyed the song!