I paddled away from the marina in the black of 4 a.m. morning.
There was no moon. A part from the lights of the buoys, the air and water fromed a wall of black into which I traveled.
I blindly ventured out past the wave breakers into the small but deep bay that I had explored the day before. Without the visible markers from the shore, I had to guess where exactly I was. I paddled, floated, and jigged for fish that decided not to cooperate.
As the day eventually began to light up, I paddle into a flooded canyon and worked the rock walls. With vision now, I experienced better results, with one story I’ll share maybe tomorrow.
I spent all these hours alone. No music, no voices, and no other humans.
I’m not against human interaction, but I recharge when left to myself. Instead of talking, I think. Of work, of family, of writing, of money, of this blog, or really of anything that makes its way through my head. Bigfoot, geology, or sports; they can all fill in moments of my thoughts.
I also take note of where I am, what I am doing.
Today, I witnessed another miracle of a sunrise, in a place, where if heaven resembles in the slightest way, would be almost worth going to church on Sundays.