Traveler's...guilt?
A weekend at Santa Cruz Island spent wondering if I should really be there
Is travelers guilt a thing?
If so, I had it on this trip. I wanted to do something adventurous this weekend from the outset. When everything fell into place, a day trip out to Santa Cruz Island sounded awesome, but I craved a little more. As always, the options were either: go home early Saturday and not feel like I fully adventured, but still have a nice weekend at home after getting some good waves; or be slightly unprepared, decently uncomfortable, and kinda guilty for bailing on everyone back on land and staying out at the islands on a sailboat, and trying to live the adventure dream. Too little or too much, take your pick.
After some drinks Friday night, everyone spent the night with their girls and left home early. We loaded up and were out of the harbor by 8, sitting in the channel with the other onlookers by 9. A small squadron--boats of every kind, waited in the bay for the high tide to clear out and the waves to turn on. Decker’s board floated away and he had to swim after it bareback in the mid fifties water and air. Laughs from the boys. Once the tide settled down to an acceptable level, everyone got out there at the same time, and the waves were clean and fun with a pack like you’d expect back on the mainland. I paddled from Decker’s boat over to Shea's sailboat and sat and talked to Shea's dad. We discussed the possibility of me staying out there with them, and the facts of a life spent like this. On boats far from civilized life, you sacrifice possessions, organization, comfort, and relationships in order to feel freedom. I pondered that as I paddled over to the peak.
The waves were surprisingly easy to catch among the crowd, and our group of four friends—Decker, Ethan, Shea and me often split all 4 waves of a set. Lips were cracked and rails were set for multiple hours before the cold and lulls got to each of us. Ethan backdoored a peak and got a really clean frontside tube for the wave of the day, and I had the perfect view from the shoulder.
After a long surf I shivered out of my wettie and wrestled with my options. Stay: possibly check some mysto waves, and definitely bask in the glory of a special place, but sacrifice the time I’d be spending with loved ones back home and the comfort of not really being prepared for the mission. Or: head home with my waves, get back by dinner and have the rest of the weekend to do what I want. Tough call. I luckily had service and was able to get texts through to parents and girlfriend, and amazingly got their support for staying. So I packed my shit, hopped in Shea’s (my old) dingy, and said ‘bye, love you’ to Ethan and decker. I was keeping it going.
That’s about when the doubt set in. My life for the next 48 hours was basically fully out of my control at that point, and I knew that even though they were ok with it, this was going to put a strain on my relations with loved ones and my ability to accomplish work on Tuesday. I was stuck in a 35-foot sailboat with 2 other crusters for the next 2 days.
A dreamy afternoon surf of basically just Shea and I trading peaks was spent wrestling with doubt and guilt. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was dodging responsibilities and letting people down. I was also worried about what the next days would bring and whether everything would turn out ok for me. We finished the surf and decided to try to find a better place to stay the night. We motored over to prisoners for a more comfortable anchorage, and I spent the night tossing and turning over those thoughts. I finally had to take a deep breath and just accept my decisions and my situation and just roll with it. The decision was made, all I could do now was enjoy it.
The weather was in our favor that night, and the next day turned out mint as well. We motored west to Cueva Valdez, the westernmost safe anchorage on the front side of the island. We wanted to meet up with Shea's friend Tom, and use his more powerful skiff to motor around the corner to forney cove and check the waves. When we arrived at Cueva, I flashed back to a memory from years before, when I went to this place on a junior lifeguard boat trip. I spent that day jumping off the deck of the boat, exploring caves and swimming. We anchored up and relaxed in the sun. Tom informed us that the day before, he had pulled his skiff up to the beach after a couple beers and returned to find it taking on water. The mini shorebreak and cobbley rock beach had pried a tiny hole in between the fiberglass and metal transom. We spent the day trying to figure out if it could be fixed and still get us around the corner. After a few hours of deliberation and procrastination, we decided not to worry about surfing the mysto unknown wave around the backside of the island. We said fuck it and went about enjoying our day at cueva.
We explored the beach, tried hiking up the canyon, and got stopped by brush. Back down to the beach then, and around the corner only passable at low tide and through a cave mouth into a slot canyon. All the way up we found a pool, a peanut butter jar with old notes from many years past, and a tiny abalone, mysteriously far from the beach. We hunted ab shells some more and then went back to the boat. Dinner, some beers and a bong rip sent me spinning. I had to sit for a while to gather myself, and some surf clips helped too. I got in touch with my people once I calmed down and sent some messages. Things seemed good with them, and I finally relaxed.
We woke to more blue bird conditions and started our way home. We had the sails up, but we mainly motored at 5 knots—a 5 hour trip across the channel. I got home at 2pm and had time get myself cleaned up and rested before dinner. I even had time to say hi to the gf later that night. No one was mad, everyone wanted to hear about what I did and see some photos. It was comforting to know that they supported my decision to stay.
I guess the guilt I felt for making a last minute unplanned decision was all in my head. All the problems I thought I might cause by staying did not really happen, and were pretty much imaginary. Does this mean that travelers guilt isn’t real, that there are no downsides to following your gut, your dreams, and just fucking going? I won’t say there will never be a downside, but things probably won’t turn out as bad as you think. It’s pretty much always worth taking the ride when you can.
Couple dynamic cranks in a pristine setting.
And of course, the notorious crew of sailing vessel Immortality, under way in the sb channel.