I arrived there 45 minutes before launch time and I cruised the full parking lots and then parked on the street. I bumped into Jon Brindle sorting stuff on the lawn, no boat, but lots of stuff. There was now some hope, at least for me, I had a boat. Well, Jon had unloaded his kayak at the beach and then parked. A real man isn't afraid to do a little portage. I sorted my stuff quickly, put on my neoprene and PFD hoisted my kayak upside-down and backwards on top of my head and headed to the beach. I arrived at the sand behind Jon and stopped next to some neat little sign someone had stuck in the sand and struck a pose of overwhelming intelligence. I was magnificent in my rudder suit, rubber pixie boots, mish mash of assorted bright colors of nylon garments, a rubber skit that was too short in the back, topped with a 17 foot long hat while leaning on the No Swimming High Bacteria Level sign. Who wouldn't be impressed?

Dublin Dave O'Conner immediately walked over to his boat that was already sitting on the sand next to us. Duane Strosaker and Steve Wilson could be seen at the far end of the beach fussing with boats. And to top off the circus some lady was scooping water into little bottles on a long pole while trying not to get her toes wet. We real men pushed our boats out into the water and jumped in and paddled off into the cesspool at a quarter after eight. We rounded the far end of "The Pool" and I thought it was nice to have that behind us only to be overwhelmed with the stench of sea-bird guano from the white washed breakwater. Ah yes beautiful Dana Harbor.

We turned the corner of the too far end of the breakwater and pointed north toward Laguna. Dana Point has some interesting rock gardens off the point. Dublin, Jon and I took the high road while Duane and Steve paddled through the churn. To me it looked if you timed it well it wouldn't be too bad through the churn but the breakers at the far end were not for me. The three high roaders cut through a couple big rock gaps and came out outside the breakers. Duane and Steve charged right through the middle and timed it just right to miss the breakers at the exit.

We paddled at a good pace, enjoyed the beautiful coastline and I always appreciate the fine houses especially the ones that seem to defy engineering reason. We chatted off and on about "The Fest", boats, paddles, skegs, lack of skegs, broken skegs, rudders, the pending Catalina Trip, the Bay2Bay Race, the coming symposium, yatta, yatta, yatta. It seems we had two skeggers on the trip. Jon but his was broken from a kinked wire. And Dublin who reveled in using his.

Trying to be "the intelligent one" I stayed to the out side around the points and we were again approaching a rocky point. I kept fading left and the others kept heading into the headland. Duane finally said, "We are landing straight ahead on the sand. We're here. This is Treasure Island." Now I'm not always the most observant guy but I never saw any gap in the coastline. This island is firmly attached to the mainland, so not to cast any concern about my intelligence I decide not to ask to see the treasure. The treasure must be the landing because it is quite protected from the surf. There was just a little surge to time and my kayak settled high on the wet sand. As I like to say, "Even a blind pig gets an acorn once in a while."

After 30 minutes on the point with Power Bars, Granola Bars and water, Steve started dragging his boat and carrying his boat and dragging his boat. Duane took the hint and we decided it was time. We were soon assembled outside the swells and the rocks. It seems that Dublin's skeg got stuck up inside the well from the coarse sand at "The Island" and it was, with great fanfare, going to be a skegless trip back. And of course it was noted that the only good skeg is one that is stuck up.

The paddle back was more focused and direct. We got in a rhythm and just stroked away. Our speed must have matched the speed of the swells because my kayak was tracking well in the sort of quartering following swells. About half way back, I discovered I was about ten or fifteen yards ahead of the group. Not wanting to turn the return into a race to the finish, I stopped until I was again with the others. Then Duane started stroking out. I think he must have lit a skyrocket stuck in his aft rigging, all of a sudden that steady rhythm became a flurry. I wanted those fifteen yards back. Steve was sort of keeping up but rocket man just kept stroking out. Things slowed down when we were approaching the rocks at Dana Point and we reassembled. We told Duane we expected that pace for the full Bay2Bay 20-mile race. We stopped for a few minutes rested and practiced a few rolls and then pressed on.

The whole group was headed straight through the rock garden churn. Either Dublin must have seen my saucer eyes or some of that crazy must have leaked out of that eyebrow cut he had a while back because he said he was headed outside and Jon was right there with us. I pushed to get around the outside quickly because I knew Steve and Duane would be much faster going straight through the churn. I actually got to the other side just as Steve came through but Duane was no where in sight. I looked ahead to see how far ahead of us he must have been and still no Duane. So I ask Steve, "Where's Duane?" He said he should have been just right there with him. So we started looking back at the churn, the surf, the rocks, the churn, the waves, the tide pools and no Duane. Dublin and Jon were now with us and they both said, "Where's Duane?" And we all continued looking with no success. I started looking at the sea gulls on the tide-pool rocks to see what they were picking at. I couldn't tell but I didn't see any plywood from a boat. Finally Duane popped out from behind a rock still at the entrance of the garden. He was playing in the surge around the rock while waiting for the wave set to clear and joined us in no time.

It was straight back to "The Pool" where we did a little stroke, sweep and brace practice, no rolling there. We started drifting into the fly fishermen's territory. That must be quite the robust catch. We moved on between the moored yachts and back to tippy-toe beach. We were back at a quarter to twelve. We were a total of three hours on the water.

If this is a little too wordy it is all Rocket Man's fault. He told me I had to write the trip report.

Dave Houser