30 Dec. 2009
Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, CA
Shortercat:
[1] Woke early to receive a beautiful sunrise. [2] Conversation with my father regarding handguns. [3] Dana point harbor to Avalon by boat. [4] The Hancocks. [5] The Airport in the Sky. [6] Unexpected run-ins with friends. [7] Evening with Hancocks.
Longercat:
[1]
Through dull gray plumes of an early morning cloud bank burst a revelatory matchstick of sulfur sun. The empty restaurant lot where I stood with my father ignited under a cherry glow, refracting upon the windows the consolatory ambiance of fresh day. Then, as if to prevent the whole land from coming alight under such beautiful tongues of flame, that old, ever looming marine layer of my coastal California town set his silvery shoe back firm upon the dawn glow. It would remain so for the rest of the day, but the image of first light had burned in me with lasting warmth.
Sunrise over Oceanside. 30 Dec. 2009
In the Christian scriptures there is little place for subjective interpretations of natural providence, yet in many of us remains an almost inherent tendency to think in such ways. On the first morning of what is intended to be five months of travel -- a kind of panning of the mental lens across the broad country of my birth, and an internal reflection upon who I wish to become -- I cannot deny being moved by the momentary sunlight.
What is this latent impulse within mankind, that when one observes an unusual phenomenon in the heavens or earth he is stirred to personalize the sight into some fated sign of personal fortune? Whether passing of comets or eclipsing of celestial bodies, heavenly spectacles were for the ancients certain omens of coming events. Are we moderns so advanced that we have overcome natural superstition? Hardly. Who has not once glanced the fall of a star only to half-consciously affirm in himself an increased likelihood of a wish being fulfilled?
[2]
Driving to Dana Point harbor provided an opportunity to speak with my father. The conversation was not especially deep, but I valued the time as significant in this period of transition for both of us. "Your mother's target groupings," he said, "were the size of a coffee can. Very good for a snub nose." Perhaps this was a hint of his concern at being too debilitated to really defend the home. Having recently purchased and practiced with their first handgun, he expressed repeatedly his relief for my mother having done well. Of course, I thought, that was under ideal circumstances. I suppose if one must be robbed, he can only hope the assailants are a rogue band of static printed silhouettes.
My father outside Grandma's Restaurant. 30 Dec. 2009
[3]
Standing in queue for the boat amongst chipper tourists frocked in brightly colored garb, there seemed a certain conspicuousness about my own appearance. The whole of my apparel and accouterments -- pack, satchel, pants, fleece, hat, bottle -- was uniform olive drab. "Is this the boat to Felujah?" Ironically, I would say my preferred color is a gas-flame blue. Item by item, however, my purchases have revealed a predilection for discretion and ambiguity when traveling. But combined, the whole green ensemble probably does little to make me blend in with city folks on an island one-and-a-half hours off the Los Angeles shoreline.
Myself, too much green. En route to Catalina Island. 30 Dec. 2009
Soon we boarded and the Express began making way across the channel. My seat was top-deck in the open air where salted spray and a brisk wind were free to cleanse my cheeks with seasoned tears of joy. What better accompaniment than Robert Shaw's Sea Shanties, harking "Whup! Jamboree!" through my earphones? A squall in pursuit made for the most unusual atmospheric formations which hung ominously above like haphazard chandeliers.
Ominous cloud, en route to Santa Catalina Island. 30 Dec. 2009
[4]
The purpose of my coming to Santa Catalina for New Years was in part to visit a dear brother, Tobey Hancock, and also to pay homage to the beginning of my youthful travels. Eight years earlier, though newly become friends, Tobey and I set ourselves on an adventure together. Really it was my first experience striking into the world without parental oversight. He was twenty-one and I was seventeen. We planned almost nothing but went to Yosemite for a few weeks and then to the island. Our only idea was to spend that month as companions in prayer, fasting, evangelism. Ironically, I wasn't to come to my own religious conversion until four years later, but that trip was the beginning of my travels and all they have lead to.
Santa Catalina Island. 30 Dec. 2009
Port at the city of Avalon, SCI, California. 30 Dec. 2009
Eventually Tobey moved to the island, even marrying a young woman we met there with whom he has a son, and another baby on the way. Like many residents of Avalon who work hard to make ends meet, he tends several trades -- construction worker, courier, and tour bus operator. Meanwhile his wife, Charity, remains home to love, teach, and discipline their child. They seem very happy with their almost anachronistic life of paternal masculinity and maternal domesticity.
Tobey's tour truck. 30 Dec. 2009
Charity greeted me at the port with two loaves of freshly baked banana bread and brought me shortly to the bus plaza. Tobey was already walking towards us when I saw him, with full beard and ten-penny nail earring -- the mark of a biblical bondservant -- which has hung in his ear since we met so many years ago. In our brotherly embrace I was glad to feel the sense of a true friend long after so many transitory ones had faded.
Man at work. 30 Dec. 2009
[5]
Riding shotgun in an enormous rumbling trailer-bus, I was whisked up the winding, dead-fall path of Sky Line Drive. I listened merrily as Tobey gave his rote dissertation of native trivia to the full load of tourists. Our stop was the Airport in the Sky, elevation 1602', which if not for the shroud of fog, would yield boundless views of the Pacific and back to California. But these clouds were more to my liking, having seen the blue over St. Catherine's so many times in the past.
From ridge to ridge. 30 Dec. 2009
Airport in the Sky. 30 Dec. 2009
The Unimog. Pure awesome. 30 Dec. 2009
[6]
Having time to read in the afternoon, I found shelter from the rain in Courtyard Coffee, a lovely little cafe tucked in the Landing. There was a young woman playing guitar in the corner, and who was it but an old friend from my first visit with Tobey. Sarah's stunned expression gave way to a shout and, despite confused patrons which surrounded us, she lunged upon me with a hug. Though twenty-one and in college, she was in many senses not a different person than that sprightly teen of eight years ago.
Sara playing. 30 Dec. 2009
We spoke of literature. I asked her if she knew John Muir. She blushed, opening a journal to reveal the old man's photo taped to the cover fold. I could hardly believe the irony of it: generally obscure Muir, whom I expected Sarah to know nothing of, glued within her notebook in all his bearded environmental triumph. We took a meandering walk through the town and back to the shop, stopping to look at gorgeous leaves lying scarlet and bumble bee on the rain soaked sidewalk. Another friend was now at the cafe and we spoke mostly of the state of American politics and culture, of patriotism and injustice.
Leaves on the walkway. 30 Dec. 2009
[7]
I concluded the evening with Tobey and his wife, playing board games and talking into early hours about theology, nutrition, family, until at last my head fell in thanks for this wonderful start to a long time out. Even if this first day proves only a brief flash of dawn fire, the warmth of it will remain for a long time in my heart.
View all images from this day, plus larger sizes, at this link.
Go to the next day >>
Back to the trip overview >>
Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, CA
Shortercat:
[1] Woke early to receive a beautiful sunrise. [2] Conversation with my father regarding handguns. [3] Dana point harbor to Avalon by boat. [4] The Hancocks. [5] The Airport in the Sky. [6] Unexpected run-ins with friends. [7] Evening with Hancocks.
Longercat:
[1]
Through dull gray plumes of an early morning cloud bank burst a revelatory matchstick of sulfur sun. The empty restaurant lot where I stood with my father ignited under a cherry glow, refracting upon the windows the consolatory ambiance of fresh day. Then, as if to prevent the whole land from coming alight under such beautiful tongues of flame, that old, ever looming marine layer of my coastal California town set his silvery shoe back firm upon the dawn glow. It would remain so for the rest of the day, but the image of first light had burned in me with lasting warmth.
Sunrise over Oceanside. 30 Dec. 2009
In the Christian scriptures there is little place for subjective interpretations of natural providence, yet in many of us remains an almost inherent tendency to think in such ways. On the first morning of what is intended to be five months of travel -- a kind of panning of the mental lens across the broad country of my birth, and an internal reflection upon who I wish to become -- I cannot deny being moved by the momentary sunlight.
What is this latent impulse within mankind, that when one observes an unusual phenomenon in the heavens or earth he is stirred to personalize the sight into some fated sign of personal fortune? Whether passing of comets or eclipsing of celestial bodies, heavenly spectacles were for the ancients certain omens of coming events. Are we moderns so advanced that we have overcome natural superstition? Hardly. Who has not once glanced the fall of a star only to half-consciously affirm in himself an increased likelihood of a wish being fulfilled?
[2]
Driving to Dana Point harbor provided an opportunity to speak with my father. The conversation was not especially deep, but I valued the time as significant in this period of transition for both of us. "Your mother's target groupings," he said, "were the size of a coffee can. Very good for a snub nose." Perhaps this was a hint of his concern at being too debilitated to really defend the home. Having recently purchased and practiced with their first handgun, he expressed repeatedly his relief for my mother having done well. Of course, I thought, that was under ideal circumstances. I suppose if one must be robbed, he can only hope the assailants are a rogue band of static printed silhouettes.
My father outside Grandma's Restaurant. 30 Dec. 2009
[3]
Standing in queue for the boat amongst chipper tourists frocked in brightly colored garb, there seemed a certain conspicuousness about my own appearance. The whole of my apparel and accouterments -- pack, satchel, pants, fleece, hat, bottle -- was uniform olive drab. "Is this the boat to Felujah?" Ironically, I would say my preferred color is a gas-flame blue. Item by item, however, my purchases have revealed a predilection for discretion and ambiguity when traveling. But combined, the whole green ensemble probably does little to make me blend in with city folks on an island one-and-a-half hours off the Los Angeles shoreline.
Myself, too much green. En route to Catalina Island. 30 Dec. 2009
Soon we boarded and the Express began making way across the channel. My seat was top-deck in the open air where salted spray and a brisk wind were free to cleanse my cheeks with seasoned tears of joy. What better accompaniment than Robert Shaw's Sea Shanties, harking "Whup! Jamboree!" through my earphones? A squall in pursuit made for the most unusual atmospheric formations which hung ominously above like haphazard chandeliers.
Ominous cloud, en route to Santa Catalina Island. 30 Dec. 2009
[4]
The purpose of my coming to Santa Catalina for New Years was in part to visit a dear brother, Tobey Hancock, and also to pay homage to the beginning of my youthful travels. Eight years earlier, though newly become friends, Tobey and I set ourselves on an adventure together. Really it was my first experience striking into the world without parental oversight. He was twenty-one and I was seventeen. We planned almost nothing but went to Yosemite for a few weeks and then to the island. Our only idea was to spend that month as companions in prayer, fasting, evangelism. Ironically, I wasn't to come to my own religious conversion until four years later, but that trip was the beginning of my travels and all they have lead to.
Santa Catalina Island. 30 Dec. 2009
Port at the city of Avalon, SCI, California. 30 Dec. 2009
Eventually Tobey moved to the island, even marrying a young woman we met there with whom he has a son, and another baby on the way. Like many residents of Avalon who work hard to make ends meet, he tends several trades -- construction worker, courier, and tour bus operator. Meanwhile his wife, Charity, remains home to love, teach, and discipline their child. They seem very happy with their almost anachronistic life of paternal masculinity and maternal domesticity.
Tobey's tour truck. 30 Dec. 2009
Charity greeted me at the port with two loaves of freshly baked banana bread and brought me shortly to the bus plaza. Tobey was already walking towards us when I saw him, with full beard and ten-penny nail earring -- the mark of a biblical bondservant -- which has hung in his ear since we met so many years ago. In our brotherly embrace I was glad to feel the sense of a true friend long after so many transitory ones had faded.
Man at work. 30 Dec. 2009
[5]
Riding shotgun in an enormous rumbling trailer-bus, I was whisked up the winding, dead-fall path of Sky Line Drive. I listened merrily as Tobey gave his rote dissertation of native trivia to the full load of tourists. Our stop was the Airport in the Sky, elevation 1602', which if not for the shroud of fog, would yield boundless views of the Pacific and back to California. But these clouds were more to my liking, having seen the blue over St. Catherine's so many times in the past.
From ridge to ridge. 30 Dec. 2009
Airport in the Sky. 30 Dec. 2009
The Unimog. Pure awesome. 30 Dec. 2009
[6]
Having time to read in the afternoon, I found shelter from the rain in Courtyard Coffee, a lovely little cafe tucked in the Landing. There was a young woman playing guitar in the corner, and who was it but an old friend from my first visit with Tobey. Sarah's stunned expression gave way to a shout and, despite confused patrons which surrounded us, she lunged upon me with a hug. Though twenty-one and in college, she was in many senses not a different person than that sprightly teen of eight years ago.
Sara playing. 30 Dec. 2009
We spoke of literature. I asked her if she knew John Muir. She blushed, opening a journal to reveal the old man's photo taped to the cover fold. I could hardly believe the irony of it: generally obscure Muir, whom I expected Sarah to know nothing of, glued within her notebook in all his bearded environmental triumph. We took a meandering walk through the town and back to the shop, stopping to look at gorgeous leaves lying scarlet and bumble bee on the rain soaked sidewalk. Another friend was now at the cafe and we spoke mostly of the state of American politics and culture, of patriotism and injustice.
Leaves on the walkway. 30 Dec. 2009
[7]
I concluded the evening with Tobey and his wife, playing board games and talking into early hours about theology, nutrition, family, until at last my head fell in thanks for this wonderful start to a long time out. Even if this first day proves only a brief flash of dawn fire, the warmth of it will remain for a long time in my heart.
View all images from this day, plus larger sizes, at this link.
Go to the next day >>
Back to the trip overview >>
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Michael,
Be careful in Maine and Iowa in Jan and Feb! Are you sure that's when you want to be in those places? Yikes!
Am I the first pedacommenter?
Lovely photos - great stories. Can't wait for more to come!
Dr. Clark, thank you for visiting. I anticipate learning the value of warm clothing and boundless supplies of hot beverages.
Graeme, unfortunately for you, Dr. Clark left the first pedacomment. But the first shall be last.
Drat!
Wow, leaves and rain in January...I know nothing of this. All I know of January is sub-zero temps and the unpleasantness of having to leave the house and get into my freezing car or slightly warm car. Looking forward to reading more about your adventures yet to come :)
You're right, Alison, it's weird that it was raining. Normally it's just sunny and warm all the time. ;)