Man I’m stressed out. The inundation of media and information, family drama, stuck at home; I just feel as if I’m running on autopilot, not even conscious of what I’m doing anymore. I can no longer do any one thing well, too much going on, too much to manage and process. I’m continuing to log changes in my health that started earlier this year: a sudden sense of nervousness while eating, disquieted dreams almost every night instead of a couple times a week, and a steady deterioration of my eyesight. It’s as if I never slow down anymore, always thinking of the next thing, and the next thing, trying to do more but end up doing less.

Planning this trip was not off to a good start. I had to cope with a tremendous amount of uncertainty. Was it going to be foggy? Was it going to be too windy? Forecasts showed a large WNW swell along the northern coast, gale force Santa Ana winds down south, on top of it all, who knew if everything was going to be shut down again? Refreshing the 30 tabs I had open showing reports for each location, it got to the point where I considered just cancelling the whole idea. But there was nothing really to lose. I had to go. There was no way I could have cleared my mind sitting at the computer for the entire holiday weekend. I only wanted one thing, a photo of a Garibaldi. 

With expectations low, I took my snorkeling gear out of the closet and drove down the coast. I stopped for lunch at Partington Cove again, and ate the same sandwich on the same rock as my February road trip. The drive down Highway 1 along the Big Sur coastline never ceases to amaze me, the winding road juxtaposed with the vast blue Pacific Ocean. I made it to Morro Bay right before sundown and treated to perfectly groomed backlit offshore surf. I may have set my expectations too low, as I left my zoom lens back home thinking I wouldn’t have needed it. Oh, the regret.