The die is cast. I’ve committed to going on a kayaking trip among the San Juan Islands, located offshore of the northwest corner of the continental United States. It’s a treacherous journey, fraught with dangerous creatures, challenges to the body and soul and numerous chances to make the fatal error. No quarter is asked and none is given.
And then, you get to paddle. The kayaking is fine. It’s getting there and back that tests your mettle.
My approach is to start with a list of the known and work out the unknowns. Item one, I know I have to be at the docks on San Juan Island and ready to paddle at 8:00 am on a Thursday. Item two, ….uh, that was quick. My lists of knowns are frequently concise.
I don’t even know for sure when we’ll return. The outfitter gives you the day, but time is nebulous. I understand it’s subject to conditions and the collective speed of the undetermined group, but that doesn’t help me with the scheduling. I’ll begin with the easier stuff and get back to this later.
How does one get from mainland to the island? I can fly in on a commuter airline or take a ferry (with or without car). I check the airfare. Okay, that was easy. It’s the ferry.
The simplest way, with the least layovers and opportunities to miss connections, is to rent a car at the Seattle airport, drive to the ferry (a hundred miles or so) and take that to the island. Of course, you’re paying ferry tolls both ways and for a car that will sit idle for much of the week. I have to look at the alternative of using the bus service from the airport to the ferry.
The bus service has to synchronize with airline arrival and ferry departure, and it’s not like any of them run on the hour. So, I now have to bring the airline into the equation, while everything else is still a variable, and optimize the whole thing. I’m getting flashbacks of cranking through quadratic equations.
I call up a list of Delta flights to Seattle and then apply my Skymiles balance to see when I can get a free flight. I already know the answer, but have to go through the self-flagellation just to be thorough. Sure enough, I roll craps. Either I don’t have enough points or the flight is “unavailable.” That’s airline terminology for “thanks for playing.”
My next stop is one of the all-inclusive travel sites. I get an array of times and fares, don’t especially like it and exit the site. Then, I re-enter and get a slightly different selection. You keep doing this until you get something you want at the right price. I can only guess why it varies. Bear in mind, when you select the flight, you will receive a polite message that the fare has increased since it was posted (must’ve been five seconds ago).
It’s a house game and you’re not the dealer. Live with it. I make the buy and get the message that it’s not final until the airline confirms. Isn’t that why you have computers? This is supposed to be an instantaneous deal, not move at the speed of smoke.
I should wait for that confirmation, but I’ve got my momentum going and the lineup in my head (somewhat). I call up sites for the ferry and bus schedules, departing and arriving. Now I’ve got more screens going than a lanai in Orlando. Can’t handle the toggling, so I copy and paste to a single document. I’m a visual learner.
As usual, I’m faced with choices of either multiple hour layovers or connection spans that are a matter of mere minutes. Do ya feel lucky punk? Well, do ya?
Not only did Murphy enact a law about this, but the footnote is that the problem will occur early in the chain and mess everything up down the line. I’ll go with a cushion and take a book to read. Bus and ferry depots have to be a gold mine of people watching, anyway. I take a guess at the ending time for the kayaking and make the ferry and bus reservations both ways.
To make an 8:00 am tee time, I’ll have to be on the island the previous evening. The search is on for lodging. It’s a mecca for killer whale watching, so there’s got to be a lot of choices. Right?
An island, by definition, has a finite supply of land, which affects pricing. See Manhattan, Singapore or Hong Kong. This turns out to be a model of the disappearing middle class. Either you’re a spendthrift world traveler or an itinerant kayak bum. I know my type casting.
Eschewing the posh resorts with champagne flowing through gold-plated fixtures, I narrow it down to a hostel with dorm-style accommodations. I’ll arrive late and leave early, so I don’t need a mini-bar. And, after 18 hours of travel, I won’t be hankering for HBO.
I call the hostel and make the reservation, which consists of me reciting the date and her saying “Yup.” I ask if there’s a confirmation number or something, not anticipating what a hilarious question that turned out to be to her. No one ever asked her that. Can’t wait to meet my bunkmates.
A sit back and take a big breath. The second hardest part is done. The most difficult is the wait.
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