Returning to Land

Returning to Land

Arrived in the harbor in Bodø this morning around 11am. And not a moment too soon…

This has been a trying week. As you all know, I’m not the most social guy around. In fact, I might even qualify as a misanthrope. (“The hell you say,” you reply…) But even a saint might have been tried this past week.

That’s not to say there weren’t great moments. There were. There was even some connecting going on — AFTER a stupendous meal of group-caught halibut and (especially after) peer-pressure-induced sampling of the various types of vodka. But for the most part, it was a case of “never the twain shall meet,” and rather than get into specifics (and be accused of being yet another Ugly American), let’s just leave the week as an incident of divergent cultures.

As a recuperative measure, and to escape the final night of our Polish guests’ presence within the close confines of Polar Bear, I’ve rented a hotel room overlooking the harbor for the night. A solid bed; no one other than me snoring; a long, hot shower with no time limit; a clear mirror in which to shave at an unpressured pace…these are wonderful things, and all unavailable on a charter boat.

The goal is to recuperate before our next charter begins on Monday. An interesting way for an American, ugly or otherwise, to celebrate the Fourth of July: heading to sea en route to Jan Mayen Island with seven Norwegian hikers/climbers. We’ll spend a few days there while they try to summit the big volcano at the northern end of the island, and then head south and west to Iceland.

Before that, however, there are two days of cleaning and prepping to do. And I hope to recap a bit of the past week — highs and lows — in between boat chores.

2 thoughts on “Returning to Land

  1. Hey just remember there are no strangers only friends we don’t recognise ………anyway probably won’t recognise me when I get cleaned up

  2. You manky sod, you! Some kayak guide YOU turned out to be…where were you when I was packin’ those damned things up this morning? And then cramming ’em into the forward locker (a wee locker that…not a muckle space, that’s for sure)? Nay bother, though: tell Murdo I stayed low while doing the boat work.
    Be warned: we’re sailing to Lewis in September. Count on it.

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