Such a strange series of double takes on the way outbound this morning. Pull my pocketknife out to put in…no, I don’t need to do that. Gauge the level in my water bottle so that it’ll be empty for…no, not an issue either. Heading into Seattle this morning on the fast ferry, then catching a bus to the terminal. But the thing I keep tripping over is that I’m not flying out: my ride, all 261 feet and 3900 blue and white tons of her, is waiting for me at Pier 91.

I’d mentioned it ever so briefly in passing at the tail end of my last post: home from Colorado early last week, then a few days of hosting our Israeli cousins and their preternaturally curious and adorable kids and now I’m outbound again, on Sikuliaq, northbound for Alaska.

It was all very last minute. Tara from UNOLS wrote to say that they were organizing a training cruise during the ship’s reposition from Seattle up to Nome. They were bringing aboard a bunch of young marine techs to provide practical training on at-sea operations. At this point my OpenRVDAS (my software project) is what we used to call “a part of this nutritious breakfast,” so they’d love to have me along, if I happened to be available.

You know, way back when, Devon and I had hatched plans to be in France for the second half of August. When that fell through, I pivoted to the idea of a solo trip to Slovakia, to finally visit “the old country,” and see the towns and countryside where my grandparents met and grew up. (I even started in on an online, app-based Slovak language course!)

But amid the burgeoning opportunities to travel, it took me a while to remember that this season, right in the ripe warm heart of summer, is about the most glorious time to be simply lollygagging around Port Townsend and the Olympic Peninsula. Only a fool would pass up the chance to just stay close to home and soak it in.

Enter the fool, stage left.

Because Tara nailed my two weaknesses: 1) I’ll bend backwards over hot coals if someone convinces me that “it would be really helpful” for to do so for them. 2) Nome. Farther north than I’ve ever been at sea. Up through the Aleutians, tantalizingly close to the Bering Strait. 3) Yeah, I said “two” but… Old friends. Folks I sailed the South Pacific with, celebrating New Years a scant few miles off of Point Nemo. Sailed the North Pacific with, getting chucked around like we were in an industrial washing machine. Drank with in Seward, Honolulu, Punta Arenas and Papeete.

Yes, I get terribly seasick. Two days from now, when we hit open water, I know I’m going to be swearing at this decision through my meds. But how could I say no? Much as with that deployment to the South Pole, Devon knew that the first question wasn’t “Are you going to say ‘yes’?”, but “How long will you be gone?”

And so here we are again. It feels good to be back.

We’re supposed to make port in Nome on the 30th. I’m giving myself a day to scope out the town, and will make the long aerial trek back on Sept 1st. Remembering, of course, to empty my water bottle and check my knife.

Pier 91 in Seattle. Last time I saw Sikuliaq was 8000 miles away, in Punta Arenas, Chile.