But the weather just wouldn't cooperate and we were forced to head out into a dry, cloudy sky braving the 58 degree ocean temps.
Crystal Cove was the agreed destination, although Duane berated us for opting for such a short paddle. Abalone Point would be a more worthy goal, he said, but I countered, "if God had wanted me to paddle to Abalone Point, he wouldn't have put Big Arch Rock so close to the harbor!"
Through the crystal clear sky, the cottages of Crystal Cove were an incongruous site from the sea. We landed near the Green House and enjoyed a leg stretch.
To prove we're just like you northern folk, we found a pine tree on shore and posed for a photo which a local Maitre d' was nice enough to snap for us. Of course, I don't know if you northern folk have trees so nicely decorated as we down south.
A comedy of errors ensued on our departure, as Ken, perhaps still blinded by the camera flash, failed to notice the wave coming in as he tried to assist his lovely wife with her launch. The best of intentions led to Barb being window shaded by the one foot surf with her only solace, she got to take Ken with her! Duane stepped in to assist and with his help they launched her into one of the larger waves hitting the beach, but she handled it with damp aplomb.
We paddled home sharing chat and chocolate and a beautiful day on the water. As we paddled, I was surprised to find a coconut floating on the water and stopped to take it home. That lead to a short discussion of the 150 or so people killed each year by falling coconuts. Duane thought it was a myth, but the rest of us argued for its veracity. I told him coconuts were so dangerous, I was even afraid of Hostess Sno Balls! After explaining the joke to Duane, we paddled home in silence.
That is my story, and I'm sticking to it!