Many Hours on the Pacific Ocean
This past weekend found me suspended between Mushroom Surveys for the Government. I had a couple days and a minute amount of scrilla to burn, so I headed south and substantially west to the open ocean.
For those of you who didn’t know, I also like birds. I’m not very good at birdwatching but I truly enjoy looking at them and thinking about them. I am hoping to get an image of one tattooed on my body very soon.
A bunch of my friends are “notorious experts” at birds, most of whom were in attendance this weekend. I learn lots of good stuff about birds from them.
They also tell me lots of stories about romantic relationships and life in general, most of which I now wish I could forget, although they did reup my belly-laugh account, which had been in the red.
Darth Searcy caught a cockroach at the train station that he was planning to hand me later, but an attractive looking lady walked by, resulting in an awkward situation and massive cognitive strain. His decision-making neural pathway nearly went haywire, he related, but he managed to refrain from saying hello to her, in case the presence of the cockroach was somehow revealed. I guess he had visions of his face on warning posters around the city with accompanying text that would cast serious aspersions re: his character.
Personally, I really like blattids. I think the ladies are losing out. Darth Searcy is a Man Of Quality.
It was good to see Darth Brady again too. Another Man of Quality, although this title may be revoked if a check doesn’t appear in my mailbox soon. Although I guess I do owe him a bunch of… well… nevermind.
So we arrived, bivouacked at Seagull Steve’s house (which is really more like an elven fortress complete with koi and M.C. Escher tiles). It was cool waking up to the sounds of gurgling water, just inches above the snuffling proboscis of large orange carp.
Seagull Steve. Author of the infamous and influential Bourbon, Bastards, and Birds.
The next day we got on a boat and wandered around the ocean for 12 hours. Good god, I can hear you saying. Good God is right, I echo. A couple miserable wretches got seasick within the first couple hours and had to endure the milling horde of enthusiastic and upright nerds as they puked. I felt bad for them.
Birds were seen, but not too many, and none of adrenalin-spiking rarity. Photos below.
A Pink-footed Shearwater, like most shearwaters, super fun to watch. I like Buller’s better.
A South Polar Skua - these guys eat penguins! I am super inexperienced with pelagic birds, but it appears that these are kind of uncommon. Much strangled excitement and high-pitched shrieking was emitted from among the ranks of bird geeks, and the nonstop patter of camera shutters was creepy.
Darth Brady, innovating.
After many hours spent contemplating the expanse of the Pacific Ocean, we Drank on El Cajon Blvd and played Buck Hunter, which, it turns out, is not a very fun game. Later still we returned to the Jive compound and engaged in more drinking, grits, and other enhancers of alternative-style-thinking (and walking).
