Mornings with no wakeup time are a treat. The light and sounds of the day pull consciousness out of dreams. Unconstrained, senseless flailing of the mind becomes thoughtful deliberation about things that matter; like corralling a wild sail by pulling in the sheet, bringing in order, subduing chaos, building control with each passing moment until I find myself cataloguing what needs to be done, where the challenges lie.
Sound sleep for me is just the opposite: it is the art of freeing myself from the constraints of thinking, abandoning all worry, leaving the cataloguing and considerations of all that is to come for another day, for the person in me that will take up the reins in the morning. Another day, another person.
The list of remaining challenges for this trip is dwindling. Will clearing customs in Friday Harbor be a challenge? I hope not. Docking to fill the tanks might be, depending on traffic and wind. We had intended to fill our water tanks in Nanaimo, but 15 knot winds were blowing through the harbor and we were told we'd have to raft up to some commercial vessels in a narrow fairway with few options for getting turned around. I decided we didn't need water that bad; it could wait. Hopefully getting water in Friday Harbor will be easier. We won't need diesel, propane, or outboard gas again until we're home.
Getting ourselves across the Strait of Juan de Fuca is the last remaining open body of water. On the wrong day that crossing can always present a challenge: open ocean is westward. I like to rely on luck more than skill for timing such things, but we'll take what we get. From the sound of it, nothing big is on the way that would prevent our crossing.
The itinerary shows us spending our last two nights in Anacortes and Langley, but I'm not sure what I was thinking there. Perhaps I was thinking we'd be longing for creature comforts by now. Instead we find ourselves combing the books for better things to do with those nights. There must be one or two remote coves to be enjoyed before time runs out.
And time is running out; like bittersweet chocolate dissolving on the tongue that leaves its flavor dispersed and lingering for a time.
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