Ok, so it was almost done. There was still the navigating of Berkeley Marina to contend with.
We dropped sail just outside the breakwater. Had I known then what I know now, we�d have left it up (but then, if any of us knew then what we know now, would it all really have been worth doing? Well, yes, but that�s beside the point.)
Berkeley Marina is a sailor�s paradise. Not only is sailing in and out of the harbor permitted, it�s encouraged! As we came abreast of the breakwater, I noticed that the few other boats going in and out were doing so under sail. We rounded the outer rock and concrete walls to enter a veritable forest of masts. A thousand � not an exaggeration � a thousand sailboats lined every available space excepting the main channel. We�d radioed ahead and gotten assigned to dock M slip 109. As we marked off the successive docks we noted boats representing all the different sizes, shapes and eras of sailing. Here was a 70 foot sloop, there a 25 foot cat, a group of 30 foot racing yachts, several big 42 foot yawls and ketches, and�low and behold!!! A pair of 1966 Pearson Commanders!!! Blue ones!! Our sisters!!
Donald and Daisy, we later learned, were the twin classrooms for the Cal (Univ. of Cal, Berkeley) Sailing Club. The neophytes here were learning to sail, effectively, on OUR BOAT! Huzzah! Welcome home, Faith.
I rounded a corner, spied M dock, and we ghosted up to the designated number. Brian and Eric leapt ashore from bow and stern. Faith�s hull was snugged against the floating concrete one final time as the Lark officially came to an end. I stepped onto the pier and immediately decommissioned the crew, as traditional when a classic voyage has come to its close.
The ex-mates sat in the cockpit as I dispensed a shot of our special stock of rum (Captain�s Rum, we�d started calling it).
�Gentlemen,� I raised my glass, �To the successful completion of the expedition!�
Bottoms of shot glasses sparkled in the afternoon sun. �Now,� I continued, �since Brian�s almost all packed, I think if we move his stuff up to the dock we can get in a quick cleaning before ��
�Whoa! Hold up there, Sean,� Brian glanced at Eric and something mutinous passed between them, �I believe you just decommissioned us, so there�ll be no orders�we�ll get to it when we�re ready.�
�Besides,� Eric continued treasonously, �I think this occasion calls for more rum.� He proffered his empty glass.
Damn! Should have expected this from these barbarous dogs�they could have stood another fifteen or twenty minutes of subjugation to Admiralty Laws� Still, I had to hand it to their spirit � it was precisely this sort of behavior that suggested them for the task in the first place.
�Alright, alright, you guys are right.� Captain�s Rum splashed out into welcome glasses. �Who wants to make the next toast?�
The toasts went on for a rather inordinate amount of time: we toasted the crew, the Faith, the foreign governments, the Panama Canal, the Oceans, the Rivers, our family, our friends, our lovers, our electronics, each other (individually, and again as a crew), our guests, the Coast Guard, the Mexican Navy, the sea life�.and probably quite a few other things�
By the time the toasting was done the five of us had run through our entire store of booze (which amounted to our bottle of special rum and a twelve pack of whatever beer had been on sale in Monterey), and it was unanimously voted that we should send an expedition out to get more, and maybe check in with the marina, too. So it was that with marginally light heads that Eric and I volunteered for the foray.
At the office I introduced myself as the captain who�d called a year ago and again a few weeks ago, inquiring about the possibility of a slip. The people working the desk didn�t know what I was talking about, but suggested that I return on the morrow when John would be in. He handled the new accounts, the said. John! Yes, that was the name. For the time being they gave us a temporary keycard and had me fill out the paperwork. They looked doubtful that a permanent slip could be found on such short notice, but if I�d talked to John�
We inquired about the acquisition of beer, and they directed us fifty yards away, to the bait shop on the street. Perfect!
Eric and I returned to the Faith laden with ill gotten gains. The others had yanked all their gear above decks � twin travel packs for Susannah and Dan, and a material cacophony of equipment and clothing for Brian. We gave the cabin a once over, while Dan and Brian arranged for pizza to be delivered to the dock. During the spot cleaning it became apparent that I�d be wanting to clear out everything once the crew was gone and get at the ferociously imbedded grime that had accumulated over the past five months. There were some out-of-the-way places that gave me chills�.but that could wait for later.
Eventually the pizza came and we mauled it ravenously. Brian talked Donisha through the process of finding us when she arrived to extricate the LA folk on the morrow. I called my friend Melanie, a student at Berkeley and my local contact, leaving a message telling her to come find us at her earliest opportunity.
I spent the first night in my boat�s new home surprisedly gazing at the field of stars hanging over the water. I had supposed that they would be blocked out by the city lights, but the marina stuck far enough out into the bay that they shone radiantly.
The next morning, the last of this tale, Doni arrived at eleven. I had anticipated a somewhat drawn out parting � perhaps lunch on the boat together, or some sitting around telling stories, perhaps. But Brian�s (and Dan�s and Susannah�s) departure was accomplished with the same efficiency with which he�d planned our voyage. We carried boxes, bags, books and the random odds and ends accumulated on the voyage up to his car, gave a quick round of hugs, and were waving goodbye before the realization that it really was over had sunk in. Eric went off to the store for some cigarettes and I meandered my way back to the boat trying to wrap my mind around the concept that we weren�t preparing to leave in a day or two. I got back to the boat and watched her float at her mooring, marveling.
Eric joined me a few minutes later, jolting me out of a daydream of lapping waves and cavorting sea creatures, people met along the way and new ports discovered. We sat in the cockpit and talked about the journey. I told him the statistics I�d run over with my brother the night before he left.
We�d covered 8,000 miles in five months (Brian would later tabulate our actual cruising mileage at 7, 567 � not including day sails, side trips, and running around in and out of harbors). In that time, most of it spent on the water, we had never once had occasion to put on lifejackets or safety lines (they were always readily available but never required). We had not lost a man overboard outside of port (continuing Faiths 40 year record of never once having to attempt an at-sea rescue!). We had visited seven foreign countries and seen every kind of weather � short of a hurricane � that the Midwest, Gulf of Mexico, Caribbean Ocean and Pacific Ocean had to offer. We had broken almost every single system on the boat; if it had moving parts it had been repaired. We escaped with no major injury or illness (at least none that required hospitalization!) And we had beaten our proposed 154 day deadline by three days.
All of this was possible because of the loving support of our families and friends. Everyone who aided us is in the story � and we thank you. So let�s leave our brave companions at the end of their voyage on the sunny coast of California. And I wish a fond farewell to all of you who�ve joined us on this lark, ye who have contributed to our adventure by joining us through these pages, oh ye of long perseverance,