Today has not been a good day at all. No siree. I was awoken at 6:28 to the sounds of Kaya heaving and then throwing up. Without a doubt, this is the Least Pleasant way to wake up.
I woke up again at 7:20 when the alarm went off. I felt like I was being resurrected from a nice, warm, cozy death. I made a quick assessment of my head, realized it was filled with throbbing cotton wool, rolled over and went back to sleep. I woke up again when Zack got up, and finally heaved myself out of bed at 8:16. I called my dive buddy Lisa who said I sounded like hell. Then I called my advisor; both he and his wife agreed with Lisa's assessment of my health. Those of you who dive know that diving with sinuses full of snot is a terribly bad idea. So, I had to cancel the whole dive trip. This project seems fated to end in the way it began: with false starts, crappy weather, and a dearth of treefish.
I remember the first collection we did to Palos Verdes. SFSU's 19' whaler (that's a boat) was in the shop because someone had broken the prop and filled the motor with mud while doing work in the delta. We arranged to borrow a boat owned by Occidental College, and arrived in LA to howling Santa Ana winds and an ocean that closely resembled the contents of a washing machine. The following day was calm enough to get out, though big swells kept the bitterly cold water full of particulate matter and the visibility to about 12 feet. The big swells also kept me heaving over the side of the boat - and let me tell you, the only thing worse than feeling sea sick is throwing up in front of your advisor and colleagues on your first trip together. At the end of a day, we had four treefish to show for our trouble. Four! That's a tad shy of the 70 we were hoping for.
And that's how the project began. Every time I would come really close to calling the whole thing off, we would have a productive dive trip, returning with enough fish to think the project was a go. The trip after that would either be blown out or we wouldn't have a van or we couldn't find any fish. And so it went, alternating useful expeditions with futile ones. And somehow I have been dumb enough to stick it out and make it work. Finally, after almost two years on this project, I can say that it has worked. I have 316 fish to show for my trouble, a little short of the standard 400. But I got what I got, and boy am I ready to be done.
My most recent trip was to Santa Cruz Island in November. We had aimed for a window between two storms, driving to Santa Barbara in the pouring rain. Thursday night's marine forecast confirmed that Friday would be calm. While stopped in a strip mall to get ice and coffee on Friday morning, my companions turned on the boat radio and tuned into the weather. The NOAA announcer has a lot of area to cover, so it's easy to tune out and miss the forecast you're listening for. Nevertheless, someone thought they heard something about 15 knot winds in the channel. That's pretty darn strong. As I walked back to the boat with the ice, I noticed some trash being whipped around the parking lot and the eucalyptus tops tossing about. It was not yet 7:00am; this was a bad sign. We drove down to the harbor anyway to have a look-see. Sure enough, the water was more white than blue. One of us managed to get a call through to a friend out in a boat who reported that the channel buoys were measuring gusts up to 25 knots. So, we turned around and drove home. By Friday night, I had spent 24 of 36 hours in a car. Given this disaster, I thought that I was due for a break and that my next trip would be smooth as buttah.
But, it was not to be. With Lisa and I sick, there's no way we can dive. We're now planning a fish-lab mad-dash mission: tow the boat to LA on Monday; arrive in Torrance at about 11pm after spending several hours negotiating hellish traffic and lovely LA drivers while towing a behemoth of a boat; get up at 5:00 for breakfast; launch the boat at 7:00am from Redondo; motor the hour or so to Catalina; dive until the sun is almost down; eat; sleep too little; eat; launch at 6:00; dive until 3:00; pack; motor back to the mainland; eat; drive home. We should be back by 4:00am on Thursday. I just hope that we get a decent return for our efforts; it would be really nice to end this two-year fiasco with a no-worries, she'll-be-right-mate dive trip.
After speaking to my fellow divers this morning and calling off the dive trip, I took Kaya on a much-needed walk up to kite hill. It is so much steeper with goop-filled sinuses. I got home only to realize that I had forgotten to take my keys with me. Yep, I was locked out. I spent an hour sitting on Market Street, waiting for Z to come home on his lunch break to let me in.
I will now crawl back into bed and wake up to a different and better day.
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2 comments:
your masters project will go down as one of those experiences that when you're in it, you hate it more than like it, but in years to come it will be all, "Ohhh, I loved diving on my project! It was so great! The adventure and unpredictability! It was one of the best times of my life!"
at least, for you, I hope so :)
I also hope that you kick all those colds in the ass once and for all.
"I was awoken at 6:28 to the sounds of Kaya heaving and then throwing up. Without a doubt, this is the Least Pleasant way to wake up."
Now now, waking up to Kaya heaving _on_ you would be without a doubt the least pleasant way to wake up. The sound of one dog heaving has to be better than the feel of one dog heaving... Or perhaps that's just me.
-Ad Nonymous
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