Judy and I left San Francisco on Monday the 17th, driving down Highway 101 to Ventura, our point of departure for Santa Barbara Island. We left a day early so that I could spend Tuesday looking into two final research questions I’ve had for Street Song, questions that could only be answered by making a trip to Los Angeles. While neither question has been important enough to justify the expense of going there, they’ve been tugging at my mind for years. It was only recently that I figured out where the keys were. Since we were going to be in the area anyway, we drove to L. A., and I got my answers. Always very satisfying.
On Wednesday, the sea was too rough for a boat landing, so they sent us out in a helicopter. (Many thanks to our pilot Charlie and all the folks at Aspen Helicopters.) We are scheduled to be here in absolute solitude for two weeks. It’s not exactly hardship duty. We’re in a small house that’s powered by the sun and propane. We have lights, a kitchen with refrigerator and stove, a shower (military showers only) and internet access. There’s also a television with a satellite dish—although we don’t watch it. I’m working on my book, Judy has her film notes and another project, and we read. (Judy is reading Robinson Crusoe and I’m reading Allen Ginsberg’s Planet News and the Tao Te Ching.)
We have three daily duties: radioing in the morning report (the weather and the condition of the ocean); turning on a pump if the rainwater collection tank gets too full (it requires getting up in the middle of the night if there’s a downpour); and helping with the restoration of the island through the planting of native plants (see photo). The rest of our time is devoted to writing, reading, hiking, cooking—and sleeping. For some reason island life makes us drowsy. Every time we come out here, we tend to get in bed around 7:30. Some nights we sleep ten or eleven hours.
One anecdote: Two nights ago, there was a sudden squall. The rain was pounding hard on the roof, and we had to jump out of bed to check the water collection tank. It was filling up fast, so we had to pull out the instructions on how to turn on the pump, something we’d never done before. No sooner did we get the pump running, than the rain began to subside. Then it stopped entirely. Once we were certain that everything was okay, we got back in bed. Just before turning out the light I opened up the Tao Te Ching to a random page. My eyes fell on these lines:
Violent winds do not blow all morning.
Sudden rain cannot pour all day.
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that jazz
Tags: Santa Barbara Island