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It’s been a yearn now but the memory is as close as it is far away.  I’d been warned about sailing the west coast of Texada island by commercial fisherman, perhaps that’s why I chose that route, I prefer a good challange.  Ghosting into the dead calm of Blubber Bay it looked like a water bomb had gone off in Sookie.  There was more gear  on the cabin sole and berths than in the lockers from which it came, everything including myself was soaked to the bone.  A rising Gale to the south chased us the whole way but we were fortunate to have a rollicking and comfortable yet soaking wet ride finding safe heaven before the tempest arrived. 

The guide book gave a very low approval of Blubber Bay which is exactly why I went there, it was one of my favorite anchorages of the whole trip, not another boat and lots of space to explore, wrapped from head to toe in foulies, camera in hand I could of easily been the only person for hundreds of miles.  The ferry came and went, the rain came and went and as silently as I drifted in I to came and went.

Now sitting in the boatyard with a jigsaw puzzle of projects and chatting with a few passerby arm chair sailors,  they tell me I’m living the dream.  I wonder if I am, my boat a hostage to the yard, winter bearing down on me and a wasted season doing anything but sailing. Is this the dream? Or the reality of living the dream.  Its been months since I felt the magic carpet ride of Sookie.  Hard on the wind, her rail burried with a bone in her teeth and doing hull speed less than 40’degress off the wind.  She loves to sail and I love to sail her.

Her anchoring system is easier than any boat I have ever experienced.  I can tuck or shake a prefe in seconds, not minutes under any point of sail and her non overlapping head sails give me a dozen working options with a genniker for those wonderful calm days dirfrting just faster than the tide.

I check my bank account and my calander, by October I will almost have enough money saved to make a critical decision, one I’m not prepared to make.  The New York Times says we make about 35,000 decisions a day but I only have to make one.  Saddle up on Brompty and pedal south or sell her and everything I own so I can ship Sookie to Southern California for a solid year of workable weather before heading south.  I’m torn on every account except for one, I’ve decided to make either journey a solo endeavor…

From the log of Sookie, on the hard.  The path less taken can’t be found until you have completely lost all roads you already know.

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