The Island

The breeze was warm as it gently brushed against us. We had hiked a good three and a half miles and decided that we had finally found where we should have lunch. After eating sandwiches, some fruit, and chips, we lay back on the ground, enjoying the sunshine while listening to the crashing of the surf below us. What was so captivating about the place was its quietness. We had stepped off the ferry onto the island with a hundred other people, and three hours later, it was as if the place was our island. As we lay there, I could hear the sound of crickets off in the distance. It seemed odd as it was only March, but I would take it. There we lay, not a cloud in the sky, looking into the blueness of the sky as if it were a mirror of the ocean that surrounded us. It was as if we had been transported back to children when you looked for the puffy clouds that suddenly came to life like figurines in a waltz...

I had struggled with severe insomnia for five-plus years, often waking up at twelve or one in the morning and then staying awake for a good two or three hours. So there we were in Santa Maria, California. We had rented an Airbnb for a week, and as usual, I ended up in the spare bed there. The best way to describe the bed was that maybe it was a kid's single bed? You might say I had to contort myself into a bit of a fetal position to lie in it. But there I was, wide awake. I began scrolling through my phone, looking at the map. It had been a long time since I had been in the area, over twenty years, and my mind was racing like a Greyhound at the racetrack. As I looked at the map more closely, I noticed a chain of islands that lined the coast just south of our location. I began looking closer at them; they were called the Channel Islands National Park. The website stated that a ferry departed for the main island twice in the morning and returned twice in the evening, all dependent on the weather and ocean conditions. Wow, I thought to myself. This just might be what Deb and I need. In an instant, I had booked a ferry ride for the two of us for the following Wednesday morning. The only issue was that we were taking the eight a.m. ride; we were almost two hours away, and I had zero clue what the weather would be like.

Finally, after closing my eyes and counting sheep jumping backwards over the fence, I was asleep. The next morning, as Deb and I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee, I announced that I had booked the trip. Looking at me with the exasperated look that I knew way too well, she asked the question, 'Why didn't we talk first?' I replied, 'I wasn't sure you wanted to have that conversation at one-thirty in the morning.' Shaking her head, she looked at pictures of the main island as I painted a picture of utopic proportions with euphoric nostalgia. With a sigh, she finally conceded that it was stunning and that we should do it, especially after learning that the tickets were non-refundable.

Wednesday morning came quickly for both of us. Half awake, we packed our backpacks full of food, water, and two beach towels, and before long, we were on the road heading towards Ventura, California, where we would catch the hour-long ferry ride out to Santa Cruz Island. We hopped on Route 1 and headed south to the 101 that ran along the coast. After the early morning drive, with a melody of snores coming from the passenger seat, we had finally made it to Ventura. Deb found a place a few miles away from where we were going that offered breakfast sandwiches. After pulling in, we stepped out of the car and walked into the bagel store. Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the car heading towards the harbor where we would meet the ferry. It was not hard to find where we needed to go; there was a throng of eclectic people that had encircled the building. This had got to be the place, I thought to myself. Having parked the car, we grabbed our backpacks and headed for the office, where we checked in for the ferry ride. We were given four tickets: two for our trip to the island and two for the return trip. The workers rushed around, connecting with people, figuring out who were campers and who were day hikers, and ensuring they had all their belongings.

Forty-five minutes later, the boat was loaded with belongings and people, an incredible feat considering the herd of cats they had dealt with. The boat horn sounded, and with that, the ferry pulled out of its spot, and we were headed towards the islands. Deb and I found spots on the upper deck that were protected from most of the wind but still allowed us to see the horizon and coast. Sitting there as the sun began to rise, we pulled out our sandwiches and began eating them. It was amazing how much it hit the proverbial nail on the head. After having sat there for a good twenty minutes, I stood up with shaky sea legs at best. Slowly, with a hand on anything to help keep balance, I walked to the left of where we were sitting, through a door to the front of the boat, next to where the captain was steering the ferry. I leaned back on the front of the ship and anchored my legs at an angle in front of me. A cold wind blew through my hair as mist greeted me with each wave we met. Slowly, in the distance, the islands began to grow larger and larger.

My eyes darted across the water, glancing at objects that caught the eye. I kept hoping that a whale might appear...