The public dock in San Diego is an interesting place. Part of our San Diego samba for Mahdee involves spending a few days a month here. Each time we come, we find an interesting mix of people and boats. I am often intrigued by their plans and dreams as well as their realities.
Today, we met a clean-cut 50-something couple from Perth, Australia who have flow to the USA (Long Beach, CA to be exact) to purchase their cruising boat: a decade-old Island Packet in immaculate condition. They’re spending 10 days here while they get the paperwork all settled and the boat properly titled in Australia. With shiny new West Marine folding bikes on deck and playing with their newly purchased electronics, they look to be quite the cruising couple. They’ll be scooting on down to Mexico to embark on the Puddle Jump to the South Pacific. No interest in going North from here–their dream cruising will begin once they hit warm tropical waters to the South.
The Aussies complimented me on the fine job I did at the helm while bringing Mahdee into the tight space between the dock and another large boat. Both David and I felt very lucky that there were no significant wind or current today or it wouldn’t have been quite so pretty a docking. They need not know that. I took the compliment, smiling.
While David took our bike for a ride to the ferry to retrieve Buttercup from Coronado Island, I met a scruffy looking couple on a scruffy looking boat, with scruffy looking bikes and a scruffy looking dog. Liveaboards here, they’re doing the San Diego Samba as well. They were friendly and somehow seemed quite desperate; I wonder how far their dreams are from today’s reality.
Next to us sits a 50 foot or so ocean racing boat. Spiffy and new looking; not the sort of boat that usually sits here on the public dock. It’s the sort of thing that we usually see in the yacht clubs and marinas–but not all alone on the public dock. Numerous running backstays and hi tech lines everywhere. Lovely teak deck on such a modern hull–really nice. I can’t imagine comfortably cruising with it–no freeboard and almost a sled. No, it’s purely a good-looking racy boat. A nice toy for somebody.
Across the finger pier is a pocket cruiser that’s seen better days. 25 ft at most–a tiny little boat for weekend jaunts. Just the sort of thing for gunk-holing along the East Coast or up in the Sacramento Delta. The Port dockmaster, a harbor policeman, came down from the office to talk to the owner–it seems the boat has been tagged for a day and the owner needs to move it; it doesn’t belong here on this row of the only 6 slips available for the bigger boats (like Mahdee). The owner was told “move it” in no uncertain terms to the smaller slips. Amazingly, in the way that many senior citizens have, the pocket cruiser skipper totally ignored the dockmasters’ demand and said “it’s hard to start my motor.” and “I can’t find a good person to paint my boat, do you know of one?” Then, he glibly proceeded to engage the policeman in conversation about painting boats and good help. Amazing. The policeman wandered off, likely wondering (as I do) if the particular senior citizen might have a touch of dementia? The smiling pocket cruiser skipper remains for the night. The boat is safe, with the armour of having a slightly senile owner, from the harbor police, for another day. I believe I witnessed another version of the San Diego samba therein.
A small-ish catamaran with 4 men working hard on projects sits across the way. They’re working on last minute repairs and add-ons. They’re going to Mexico, soon. They’re looking for warmer days and less government interference in their lives. They’ll find the former there for sure, I’m not sure about the latter.
A photographer walks along the docks, snapping pictures here and there. We walked by him and asked politely “which boat is yours?” “I have no boat. Yet. I’m just taking pictures.” Reaching the top of the gangway, we see a familiar car in the handicap parking spot and know that motor vessel Creampuff must be nearby at La Playa anchorage. I look forward to seeing Larry and his wife tomorrow morning, as they’ll likely stop in for a day following the weekend anchoring. All part of their version of the San Diego samba. They’ve lived aboard boats in Southern California for–at least–the past 40 years. They’ve fought, in the courts, for the rights of boaters to free-anchor in San Diego Bay for the last 25 years. White-haired and obstinate, Larry, I’m so glad that you’re fighting that particular fight. If you win, the tempo of the samba will change to a slow and quiet dance that would likely be appreciated by all.
After returning to Mahdee, David and I settle into our “dockside” tasks: me doing laundry while we’re on shore-water and shore-power. David turning on his more power hungry computer and monitors and settling in for an evening of writing code. Playing our music in a random shuffle order, we go, song by song, from Vivaldi to Jewel and Mariah Carey to Alan Parsons Project to Sting’s Valparaiso. Good tunes for today’s version of the San Diego samba.
