Inez and Mike, Kathy and Henry, Duane, and I showed up for the 8:30 scheduled launch from Dana Point sunday 8/21. It was surprisingly foggy and we joked of navigating by compass. The six of us shoved off promptly from Mothers' Beach and headed out of the harbor. Turning the corner of the jetty there was no Dana Point just the riprap disappearing into the white soup. So we used our finely honed navigating skills and stayed close enough to the rocks to maintain sight of the shoreline. It seems we were not the only ones using this refined navigation method, as a cabin cruiser was bearing down on us in the opposite direction. We stayed close enough to the rocks for them to defend us from (or at least retaliate for) any collision.
The coastline of this frequented route seemed entirely different in the fog. Houses we have never noticed were lining the shoreline. Distances were exaggerated. The tide was high and never receded. And new points and rocks extended out into the ocean. It all seemed like a lost scene from the Pirates of the Caribbean. We finally recognized Treasure Island approaching and the adjacent sandy strand was lined with people holding shields and swords standing around odd stick structures in the fog. It turned they were wielding palettes and paintbrushes taking on-location oil-painting lessons from a local art studio.
Four of us paddled, right on by this usual stopping place, deeper into the depths of Laguna (Mike and Inez had opted for a more leisure pace). We finally stopped and took a break on the water in front of the big box hotels (Surf and Sand Resort). We turned around then headed back to Treasure Island. The landing at Treasure Island was odd with the huge six-inch shorebreak high on the steep sand right at the foot of the lifeguard tower which was oddly outfitted with three lifeguards who had little to see in the fog.
After chats and snacks we all did feet-out launches to avoid broaching in the sneaky little shorebreak. The lifeguard, with the Johnny Depp demeanor and unable to touch the water for an hour because he was eating a sandwich, assured us his two comrades would rescue us if we got thrashed in the surf. What a comfort they were.
The fog soup thinned some on the return and the wind picked up as we turned the corner of the jetty. For a grand finale, the six of us met at our favorite Irish pub for eats and drinks. Another fine day with paddle and friends.
Dave Houser