Two Terrible Crew
The crew is having “Terrible Twos” aboard Jupiter.
Children by the age of two have learned to visualize great expectations for their small worlds, and to react horridly or worse when reality fails to meet the dream.
We are aboard Jupiter one week, navigating only 150 nautical miles, busy sorting ships stores, provisioning like starved castaways, and finding faults and failures and our own selves left to our own devices.
We spend all winter expecting the summer to bring the exultation of visiting curious nexuses of land and sea, meeting keen folks and phratry and caging immense crabs.
We scout prospective routes and arrivals in the wilds of northern British Columbia, Haida Gwaii and the realms of ancient peoples. Friends will come aboard sooner and Southeastern Alaska later. Mountains in BC backstop the sea, a Doctor Seussian scape of crooked peaks peaking and snow slopes sloping.
Whales, bears and sea otters with hairs are waiting for their photo-shoots.
Tides and timed passages rapidly approach, rain is promised, thrumming the overhead seducing all into sleep. And the moon tugging at the fabric of the sea never satisfied with the drape.
The crew is having the fretters, an adult emotion seemingly derived from an abundance of good fortune.
What if the goony Garmin chart-plotter goes dark, or one’s head enclaves, or the ship is overcome by big big waves. The dryer might quit, a pump might leak, and there are recent carmine drips from the port engine. Socks can shrink, freezers can thaw, filters can foul, fowls can foul decks and cell-phones fall overboard to the bottom of the cold cold sea.
And where on this hairy coast can we find a quality haircut?