Drifting alone for 200 nautical miles in the Pacific Ocean

Coincidence or Omen (1/5)

I am not superstitious, but I believe in the existence of supernatural things.

Last week was the company's annual summer vacation, and I planned to use this week to complete the final leg of the sea journey from the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco to San Diego, which is the stretch from Los Angeles to San Diego.

I divided the sea journey from the Golden Gate Bridge to San Diego into six segments:

Golden Gate Bridge to Half Moon Bay, a two-day-one-night journey.
Half Moon Bay to Santa Cruz, a one-day journey.
Santa Cruz to Monterey Bay, a one-day journey.
Monterey Bay to Avila Beach, a three-day-two-night journey.
Avila Beach to Los Angeles, a three-day-four-night journey.
Los Angeles to San Diego, which is the final leg of this journey, covering 200 nautical miles and taking three days and four nights.

I spent several weeks preparing everything I needed in advance. On the evening of June 30, 2023, Friday night, I happily set off for Los Angeles.

To my surprise, just two miles onto the highway, I heard a "bang" sound, and the tire blew out. It would have been fine if it was just a flat tire, as it could easily be replaced. However, upon inspection, it didn't seem like a simple flat tire. It looked like something had forcefully damaged the rim of the wheel, causing it to have a gap and deflate.

This became a major problem. I needed to replace the entire wheel, and that required ordering parts, which would take some time. It seemed like my wonderful plans for this week had to be canceled.

When my wife saw me return, she rushed into my arms like a little bird and exclaimed joyfully, "I have someone to spend the holiday with."

But I suspected that it was divine intervention preventing me from going. It seemed like fate wanted me to stay at home and accompany my wife. Otherwise, how could such a strange incident, like a wheel rim being damaged in a way I had never heard of before, happen right at the moment I was about to leave?

It was strange, and I felt puzzled.

But my heart was already set, like an arrow on the string, and not launching it caused me extreme discomfort. I decided that the next morning, I would take the damaged wheel to a tire repair shop and try my luck. If it could be fixed, I would set off again. If not, then my enthusiasm would die, and I could peacefully stay at home with my wife, enjoying good food and watching fireworks on Independence Day.

My wife couldn't understand my persistence, so in order to convince and comfort her, I said, "It's like when you women want to buy a handbag. If you see one you like but can't buy it, you feel restless and can't eat or sleep well until you have it."

I continued, "When I come back, I will treat you to delicious food. You can have whatever you want, without considering the price."

The next morning, on Saturday morning, the tire repair shop wasn't open yet, so I waited outside the shop. I wanted to be their first customer. After they inspected it, they said the wheel wasn't severely damaged and just needed a repair and a new tire.

So, around 9 o'clock in the morning, I set off once again.

Unexpectedly, before even getting onto the highway, the tire was punctured again. What kind of situation was this! It was no longer just an accident, but it seemed like something was deliberately making things difficult. Could it be that fate really wanted to prevent me from going out? But once the arrow is released, there's no turning back. So, I called the people from the tire repair shop, they replaced the tire again, and with my wife's constant reminders to stay safe, I hit the road once more.

This stubborn decision to continue the journey led to some bizarre incidents later on.

Picture 1
This was the planned sea journey, covering approximately 200 nautical miles:

Picture 2
In the middle of the night, the tire blew out on the highway. I'm experienced in changing spare tires, so I managed to fix it in less than twenty minutes. I slowly drove back home, feeling puzzled.

Picture 3
Perplexed, I wondered how this gap came about.


Picture 4
Feeling frustrated, I drove home, uncertain if this journey could be completed.


Picture 5
The tire repair shop technician replacing the tire.

+++++I should say sorry to NCKA guys， I use translator to translate Chinese to English， so some sentence might not that correct， maybe sometime you have to guess the meaning， sorry about that+++++

Embracing Death (2/5)

From the moment of birth, humans embark on a journey towards death. I do not know if the soul exists or if there is a possibility of rebirth after death. Perhaps life's journey is a one-way street, with no chance of returning.

This is a saddening fact. For me, only by facing death, understanding it, and seeing through its destination can I live peacefully in the present, living genuinely and calmly, savoring the happiness in every breath.

Life is not just about breadth; it also has depth. All accomplishments and experiences contribute to breadth. One person can travel paths that few have walked and experience stories that few have experienced. However, the depth and profundity of life are different from breadth. It can delve down to death and ascend to heaven. Buddhist monks who have attained enlightenment may have spent their entire lives within temples, with limited worldly experiences, yet they have comprehended death and realized human nature. They possess great depth.

In this earthly existence, I also pursue my breadth and depth. I fear death, but only by looking into the eyes of death and walking past it, by touching the edge of death without being captured by it, can I fearlessly walk between heaven and earth, free from dwelling on the past and unafraid of the future.

Picture 1
In the late afternoon, I arrived in Ventura, Los Angeles, and assembled the kayak, preparing for departure.

While assembling the kayak, I realized that I had forgotten something extremely important: the compass. Without it, navigating in unfamiliar waters at night would be nearly impossible. Fortunately, there was a West Marine store near the pier that was still open, so I quickly went there to buy one.

This seemed like a warning. This voyage of mine would surely be full of obstacles, but in the end, I would still reach my destination because despite the many difficulties encountered along the way, there is always a solution that leads to a successful journey.

Picture 2:
Slowly setting off from the harbor.

Picture 3:
It quickly turned dark. During the actual navigation, I used the GPS on my phone to check my current position and the desired direction. However, for the specific real-time heading, I relied solely on the compass and not the GPS because the compass responds quickly, while the GPS direction indicator is slow. Navigating solely with GPS at night would likely lead to going around in circles, which is frustrating. Another important reason is to conserve battery power. The phone consumes a lot of power, and if it runs out of battery, there will be no accurate positioning, no knowledge of my whereabouts, and no precise heading.

Therefore, when kayaking at night, both the compass and the GPS on the phone are indispensable.

In the image below, I used a glow stick to read the compass. Glow sticks are useful as they can emit light for over twenty hours, saving me a lot of battery power for illumination.

Picture 4:
The unknown ocean, the unknown future, full of dangers and temptations— I relish it.

My Heart Aches (3/5)

Humans are inherently lonely, and the underlying tone is that of sorrow. Only by experiencing desolation can one truly develop resilience and strength. Tragedy holds a deeper and more profound meaning than comedy; it is also more authentic.

A profoundly melancholic piece of music can transcend time and space, while a pair of clear yet mournful eyes can make the soul tremble. The destination of beauty lies in helplessness and sorrow.

By listening to the following music, I completed the entire journey.

"Concerto of Aranjuez"



From Ventura Bay to Santa Barbara Island, a distance of forty nautical miles, although I couldn't go in a straight line, the actual distance covered was much greater.

After a night of sailing, the sky gradually brightened. At this moment, there was no wind or waves, and the sea was exceptionally calm. Only a large group of dolphins leaped joyfully on the surface, accompanying me on my journey.





The wind gradually picked up, and I found myself alone on the vast ocean.

I enjoy this feeling. It is as if I have found myself within this sea, able to continue sailing in such waters without ever ceasing.

Unaware of where I came from and without questioning the path ahead, with no past and no future, I only savor the present, enjoying the subtle and continuous sense of joy during the journey.



As evening approached, the thick fog dissipated, revealing a clear sky and a blue ocean. What else can compare to this scenery?

In a certain year, on a certain month, on a certain day, I had once paddled gently across these waters. A hundred years later, when I have long turned into dust, leaving no trace, the sky and the sea will remain as clear and serene as ever, with the waves still rippling...


Picture 1:
Before it got dark, I arrived at Santa Barbara Island. It is an uninhabited island with only a small pier for landing. I believe it would be difficult for most people to ascend this peculiar pier and set foot on the island. Therefore, I decided to fish for some dinner here, then rest for a while before continuing towards San Clemente Island, which is forty nautical miles away.

Shortly after, I caught a halibut. I wanted to catch some smaller fish for dinner, as dealing with a large halibut was both difficult and wasteful. Aside from the extra effort required to fillet it, it would be a waste to discard any leftovers.

This time, I prepared two fishing rods—one for catching medium-sized fish like grouper and halibut, and the other for catching large fish like tuna. I brought various seasonings to enjoy fresh fish. I brought Japanese soy sauce and mustard for sashimi and oil and salt for frying fish. If I were to catch a tuna, I would use its belly meat for sashimi and give the rest to nearby boats. If there were no other boats around, I would release the excess fish back into the ocean, returning it to the natural world, as I couldn't bring the surplus with me.

In truth, I have conflicting thoughts. I both hope to catch fish and hope not to. I brought plenty of other food and didn't necessarily need to rely on fish as sustenance. I don't want to unnecessarily take lives and offend the divine. I want my journey to be safe.

In the past, whenever I caught fish during long-distance voyages, I would release them. The only exception was when my kayak capsized in rough waves, but otherwise, I have always been unharmed. At most, there were close calls.

Is there an inherent connection in all this? I cannot prove it; I can only acknowledge the facts. Therefore, I am inclined to believe that not catching fish on long voyages leads to safe travels, while catching fish leads to unsuccessful journeys.

Picture 2:
Seeing a nearby large sailing boat, I sought their permission to attach my kayak to their vessel. This way, I could comfortably prepare dinner without constantly worrying about being blown too far away by the wind, always having to paddle back to my original position.

I wanted to share my halibut with them to avoid wastefulness, but they were not prepared for cleaning and cooking fish. Since they declined, I released the lively and jumping halibut back into the sea.

Picture 3:
My dinner is noodle

Picture 4:
After enjoying a dinner of noodles, I took a short nap and left the large sailboat at midnight, heading alone towards San Clemente Island, forty nautical miles away.

However, after traveling just a few hundred meters, I found myself entangled in a kelp forest. The thick kelp prevented my kayak from moving. I furled the sail, retracted the rudder, and even pulled up the downrigger and foot pedals. I stood up and leaned forward on the kayak, using the paddle to slowly maneuver my way out of the kelp forest.

Nighttime navigation presents many challenges and dangers, and getting caught in a kelp forest is one of them. If the shore is nearby and the wind and waves are strong, failing to escape in time could result in the kayak being washed onto the rocks and shattered.

Picture 5:
The primary rule on the sea is to avoid capsizing at all costs! The word "capsizing" has reached such an extent of taboo. I remember when I was a guest at a fisherman's house, while eating fish halfway through, if I wanted to flip it over to eat the other side, I couldn't say "flip the fish." I had to use a different expression, such as "turn the fish around," or else the host might kick me out of the house.

Looking at the weather forecast information stored on my phone, I decided that it would be safer to head to Catalina Island. So, I made a ninety-degree turn and set a course for Catalina Island, twenty nautical miles away.

In the image below, the turning point is where I decided to head to Catalina Island.

Picture 6:
The next morning, I arrived at Catalina Island. It is a popular tourist destination with many residents and complete facilities, but I had no intention of going ashore to explore. Such crowded islands have long lost their natural charm, and they are not the kind of place I desire.

My Heart Aches (3/5)--Continue

Picture 1:
Does it look like a protruding turtle head? Or does it look like a raised middle finger? Insulting humanity?

Picture 2:
From Catalina Island, a tourist boat filled with people is fishing. I seriously doubt how many people will actually catch fish.

Picture 3:
Passing by the island, heading towards San Diego, eighty nautical miles away.

Picture 4:
Looking at the white sails, it reminds me of the poem "Sail" by Lermontov:

In the pale blue mist on the open sea,
There is a lone sail shining bright!...
What does it seek in a distant land?
What does it leave behind in its beloved home?...

The waves surge and the sea breeze howls,
The mast bends and creaks...
Ah! It is not seeking happiness,
Nor fleeing from happiness to another place!

Beneath it, there are clear waves bluer than the sky,
Above it, golden sunlight shines brilliantly...
And it, uneasy, prays for a storm,
As if only in the storm does it find tranquility!

Isn't this poem describing me?

Picture 5:
Sail, drifting farther and farther, reminding me of an ancient Chinese poem:

"The solitary sail's distant silhouette disappears into the azure sky."

With such scenery accompanying me, this sea journey, no matter how tough, tiring, or dangerous, is worth it!


Catalina Island gradually fades away amidst the mournful and distant melody.


Picture 6:
Me in the sunset.


Watching the golden glow slowly sink in the setting sun, gradually disappearing. I can't hold onto the fading beauty, can't make it stay. Powerless.

The end of beauty is helplessness and sadness.



Today is the 15th day of the lunar month, a full moon. Silver light shimmers on the sea's surface, and I, alone, navigate my kayak in this uninhabited ocean. It's novel, exciting, and dangerous, but I love it.

It reminds me of the novel "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea." That day, while everyone else went to find food on a deserted island, that person went alone through a mysterious underwater cave to explore what creatures crawled up from the depths. I truly understood his adventurous spirit of exploration. Now, it seems like I'm doing something similar: sailing alone in the boundless darkness of night. This excitement can only be understood, not expressed. Those who understand will understand naturally, and those who don't will never understand.



Navigating a small kayak in the open sea, the ideal condition is a light wind and small waves. It allows for comfortable and safe navigation, but such conditions are rare. It's either no wind or strong winds.

Currently, there is no wind, so it relies entirely on human power. Stepping on the foot-drive to move the kayak forward is extremely tiring. However, this situation also has one advantage: I can rest assured and take a short nap.

At this location, the sea is over three thousand feet deep. I want to take this opportunity to see what lies beneath the surface. I baited the hook, let the fishing line sink to the bottom, and tried a few times, but there were no bites.



By the evening of the third day, we are finally nearing San Diego. The journey is almost over, and everything has gone smoothly. It seems that my worries and doubts before departure were unnecessary. The difficulties and setbacks I encountered earlier don't seem like bad omens.

However, it seems that I jumped to that conclusion too early, and I was overly happy. I seem to be getting carried away.

Life and Death Ordeal (4/5)

On my first visit to this unfamiliar sea area in San Diego, it was inevitable to take some wrong turns. Despite doing thorough research and studying Google Maps repeatedly, selecting the landing points, when it came to actually finding the exact location, it wasn't easy.

The first chosen landing point was the Kayak Launch and Landing Ramp in Mission Bay, and the second landing point was a ramp near the harbor in San Diego Bay. This second one was Plan B, in case the first one wasn't suitable for landing. I thought with these two options, I could easily land without any surprises. Although the second one was six nautical miles farther than the first, what difference would it make? I had come all this way, so what was another six nautical miles?

So, leisurely and slowly, I approached the coastline. I wasn't in a rush because I needed to wait until the next day to take a bus back to LA's Ventura Harbor, where I would retrieve my car and bring the kayak back to my home in San Jose.

When I got closer to the coastline, it was already dark. I realized that I had gone too far north. So, I slowly followed the coastline towards the south. It happened to be the Fourth of July, Independence Day, and there was a fireworks show. I decided to stop on the water and watch the fireworks. From this open vantage point, I could see all the dazzling lights of San Diego. It was better to come early than to come on time! I silently congratulated myself.

While watching the fireworks, I didn't forget to do some trolling for bass and halibut. Mexico was not far off to the right. It reminded me of "The Old Man and the Sea." This was the real place where the story of "The Old Man and the Sea" happened, not too far away. If it were a hundred years ago, there might have been swordfish, tuna, and other giant creatures here. I might have been fortunate enough to become the protagonist of "The Old Man and the Sea." So, I fished while watching, letting my thoughts wander as I approached the first landing point.

When I reached the harbor at the first landing point, it was low tide. A large amount of seawater was rushing out of the harbor through a narrow channel, colliding with the waves outside. It not only created higher and bigger waves but also generated huge eddies. At the entrance, my kayak was almost capsized. I didn't want to take that risk, so I quickly passed the first harbor and headed towards the second landing point.

If it were only the large waves at the entrance, I could have found the right moment to charge through. I had experience in this regard. But once I got past the first obstacle, the challenge was how to proceed further. The water rushing out from the inside reached speeds of up to five miles per hour, while my human-powered kayak could only manage three miles per hour at best, and not for long. If I got stuck in the channel, unable to move forward or backward, it would be a helpless and awkward situation.

A careful ship can sail for a thousand years, and I couldn't afford to capsize in this narrow channel. So, my decision was the right one.

Thus, I continued along the coastline towards the south, preparing to travel an additional six nautical miles to land in San Diego Bay. The channel there was wider and would allow for a safe landing.

The problem was that there was an abundance of seaweed in this area. Every now and then, my foot-drive and rudder would get entangled and stuck. I had to pull them up, clean them, and put them back down repeatedly, which made my back ache and my patience wear thin.

I had already drifted far from the shore, yet the seaweed remained abundant. I thought that perhaps getting closer to the shore would reduce the amount of seaweed. So, I steered towards the shore and continued south. There was indeed less seaweed in this area. Just when I was glad to have found a solution, I suddenly heard a roaring sound nearby. I thought, "Oh no, is that the sound of big waves?" I looked ahead and saw a massive breaker forming and sweeping towards the shore, passing by my kayak.

Oh my, if that wave hit my kayak, it would be disastrous. I quickly turned my head and saw an even bigger wave rising behind me. It grew taller and faster the closer it got, heading straight for my kayak.

I couldn't escape this wave, so I had to face it head-on. It happened in a split second. I saw the wave curling, forming a hollow, just like in the movies when a skilled surfer rides through such a hollow. The wave peak towered over my height, roaring towards me.

At that moment, I felt numb. My mind went blank, and I reacted purely on instinct. Since I couldn't avoid it, I charged fearlessly. I didn't feel scared at that time; instead, there was a faint sense of excitement.

The roaring wave submerged me entirely underwater, and I felt as if I had been struck by a heavy blow. Then I resurfaced, hearing the sound of the wave passing by. I realized I was still on the kayak, not capsized.

At that moment, I couldn't care less about anything else. I knew it was a matter of life and death. I immediately used my foot-drive to charge into the sea. After getting past the first wave, if there was another wave right behind it, it could be the end for me.

I paddled forcefully, but I found that I couldn't control the direction. No matter how I adjusted the rudder, the kayak's direction didn't change accordingly. What's more dangerous was that the kayak gradually aligned parallel to the coastline, meaning it was parallel to the waves. This was extremely dangerous. If another wave came, capsizing was inevitable.

At that moment, I didn't have time to question why it was happening. I quickly grabbed the paddle and turned the kayak perpendicular to the waves, then immediately climbed to the rear to see what had happened to the rudder.

When I looked, I was shocked. The pin on my rudder had snapped. This meant that I couldn't control the kayak, and it couldn't move forward. In this critical situation, a kayak that couldn't move meant death was near.

I snapped back to my senses and swiftly grabbed the spare pin. I didn't have time to undo the wire loop on the pin. I yanked it straight, took the pin in my hand, and pulled out the broken piece stuck in the hole. I didn't know I could move so fast.

But the problem was that I couldn't pull out a small section of the broken pin inside. I became desperate. Every second counted, and I was almost in tears, feeling incredibly helpless.

At that moment, should I activate my distress signal? Should I call the coastguard for help? It was too late. By the time they arrived, it would be too late. Whatever was going to happen had already happened.

If I didn't quickly move the kayak out of this dangerous area, even if the next wave didn't capsize my kayak, it would push it towards the rocky shore, resulting in severe damage. Even though I was wearing a life jacket, it was still very dangerous.

I must save myself!

How can I save myself? Paddling with the oar? That's a good solution when it's not urgent, but it's too slow now.

At that moment, I suddenly thought of the expensive and good-quality fishing hook pliers I had. Perhaps I could use them to pull out or push out the broken pin. So, I quickly found the pliers and pushed and pulled the broken pin, gradually loosening it until I finally pulled it out completely.

After quickly replacing the pin, I immediately left the dangerous area. Luckily, the waves were small at that time, and there were no big waves. I had been using the oar to keep the kayak perpendicular to the waves, and I successfully passed through the gate of death without any danger.

After leaving the dangerous area, I couldn't help but repeatedly say to myself, "OK," "OK," "OK."

What does "OK" mean? I don't know either. Perhaps it was a kind of comfort to myself after the terrifying experience. It could also be a way of acknowledging the accurate warning and the punishment for not listening. I willingly accepted the punishment and seemingly expressed to the heavens and the earth that I understood they had given me a second chance, sparing my life. For my stubbornness and arrogance, "the punishment for death can be avoided," but "the punishment for life is hard to avoid."

All those actions on the kayak mentioned above were actually completed in an instant. I still couldn't understand what kind of wave could break the pin of my rudder. It's unimaginable how big and fierce the waves were at that time, and I couldn't fathom how they managed to strike me. All I knew was that the cutting wave function of the Hobie TI Kayak was truly remarkable. When facing the waves directly, it could cut through the huge waves without capsizing.

I checked for any lost items, and anything that wasn't securely fastened to the kayak was gone, including the very useful stove.

I also recalled a line from the movie "127 Hours" when the protagonist used a poorly made knife to cut his own arm: "Never buy low-quality outdoor tools." With his lesson in mind, that's why I bought good-quality pliers. Perhaps this time, those pliers truly saved my life.

San Diego's fireworks display.


Picture 1：
This type of seaweed is extremely annoying. I had to stop the kayak frequently to clean it up.

Picture 2:
This is the broken pin. It never broke before no matter how I used it in the sea. But this time, it snapped. The wire loop in the red circle below is missing, and I'll need to reinstall it when I return.

Picture 3:
At night, I drifted through half of the city of San Diego. I enjoyed the glimpses of its beautiful appearance as night fell.

The next morning, accompanied by new friends Nancy and Brad, I deliberately went to the vicinity of the incident from the previous night. I didn't see similar huge waves, but they should have been similar to those waves, just longer in cycle and much larger.



Picture 4:
That night, it was probably around four in the morning of the following day, I passed the turning point of San Diego Bay. From then on, there shouldn't be any more terrifying waves. Barring any unexpected events, I could safely land and return home. The red dot in the diagram below represents the location where I landed.

Picture 5:
Around five o'clock in the morning, I finally approached the gentle sandy beach for landing. From this point on, my journey should have a perfect ending. It was impossible for anything unexpected to happen again. Well, I thought too soon.

Extra Tribulations (5/5)

Apart from life and death, everything else is trivial.

After entering the bay, unrelated to life and death, I wanted to put a satisfactory end to it, but there were still many twists and turns.

Firstly, I chose the wrong landing spot. Looking at Google Maps, I couldn't tell that there was anything wrong with landing there. I came all the way without seeing any warning signs prohibiting landing.

After getting ashore, I felt a bit unstable on my feet. I hadn't left the kayak for three days and four nights, nor had I stood straight. Suddenly standing up on land, my legs were shaking. I disassembled the kayak, moved the components one by one like ants carrying their nest, and placed them by the roadside, exhausting my last ounce of strength. I persisted and mechanically completed this physical labor, then sat down, took out my phone, and called Uber to pick me up and take me to the harbor in Ventura, LA, to retrieve my car and transport the kayak back home.

I kept calling repeatedly, but no car came. I waited for an hour, but still, no car arrived. Something was wrong. Perhaps the drivers didn't want to take on long-distance trips. So I booked a bus online, scheduled to depart two hours later. I took the bus from Old Town San Diego to downtown Los Angeles and planned to take an Uber from there to Ventura to get my car and bring the kayak home. There should have been an Uber coming to pick me up.

But even after calling repeatedly and waiting for over an hour, no driver showed up. At that moment, a restroom attendant approached me. I immediately went up to her and asked if she could give me a ride to the bus parking lot a few miles away. I offered to pay her double the amount of an Uber. I was in a hurry because my bus was about to depart.

To my surprise, the restroom attendant said, "Uber can't come here. No Uber has ever come here before." I asked why, and she said it was a military restricted area, and without special permission, no one could enter.

My heart sank to the bottom. What should I do? Who am I? How can I get out of here?

The attendant drove me to the gate, about a mile away, where several soldiers were stationed. It was heavily guarded. After getting out of the car, I went into an office where they checked my identification and asked many questions. They told me to wait there, and the military police would come and handle this unexpected event. They assured me not to worry and stay calm.

After a while, three fully armed police officers arrived. They were very friendly and asked me many questions. They were surprised that I had traveled such a long distance alone in a kayak. One of them even said he also wanted to try such an adventure.

They told me to wait for a moment and went to make a phone call. After a long time, they finally came back to me and said I should leave from where I entered and return to Seaport Village, five nautical miles away. It was a commercial area where I could dock the kayak and get ashore to go home.

I felt extremely disappointed. I didn't have the strength to go through all this trouble again. I asked why I couldn't transport the kayak from there to my home. The police said it was not allowed to transport anything without proper documentation out of that gate. They informed me of two options: either leave from where I entered, as if I had never been there, or go through the proper procedure, receive a citation, go to court, and after a court investigation determines no wrongdoing, then I could transport my kayak out of that gate.

The police continued, saying, "We also know that you genuinely didn't know this was a military restricted area when you landed, and we appreciate how cooperative you have been during our questioning. That's why we're allowing you to go back the way you came. Otherwise, you would have to appear in San Diego court multiple times, which would be very troublesome for you."

I had nothing to say but to move the kayak back to the water one by one, reassemble it, and leave from where I entered.

What a series of events! I thought I could return home smoothly, but all these unexpected things happened for no reason.

Before leaving, the police repeatedly reminded me that when heading to Seaport Village, I should not approach the right side, as it was an air force base with stricter security than the area I encountered.

Later, my newfound local friends, Brad and Nancy, told me that within this small San Diego harbor, there were many military bases of various sizes, with over two thousand nuclear bombs hidden here. Oh my goodness!

Brad jokingly remarked that if a war broke out, the people here would be the first to perish.

As I continued along the main channel towards Seaport Village, I noticed the fenced-off area on the right where I often heard the roar of engines. Fighter jets took off one after another, soaring into the sky with a deafening sound. I also saw military ships passing by in the bay. I couldn't understand why military bases were not built in secluded mountain areas. Why did they have to be in the city?

After paddling for a while, I realized something was wrong. Seaport Village was only for boat docking, without any beaches or ramps for kayaks to get ashore. I had to find a place myself.

So I took out my phone and searched for a suitable place to land the kayak. Finally, I arrived at an excellent location.

It was an unfamiliar place. I didn't know the people's character or the security situation there, but I couldn't worry about all that anymore. I parked the kayak by the shore, tying it to a large stone with a rope, hoping that when I came back in seven or eight hours, it would still be there.

At that moment, an older man approached out of curiosity and asked why I tied the kayak there. I told him the situation, and he called his wife over. They warmly offered to keep some valuable items for me and take them back to their home two miles away until I returned. When I came, I could go to their place to collect them.

They were strangers, but based on my intuition, they were not bad people. I trusted them and felt grateful for their help. I believed that only by fully trusting others would they feel respected and genuinely offer their help. This couple's name was Brad and Nancy.

So, following Nancy's instructions, I untied the kayak, dragged it onto the beach, and moved the valuable items to their car. After finishing, when I was about to call an Uber, I realized that my phone was dead. The huge wave from the previous night had soaked it, and it couldn't be charged. I struggled to set up my Uber account on my spare phone, and after calling for an Uber, it took me four hours to reach the parking spot in Ventura Harbor by evening.

It's strange that my car's battery died. I asked someone for help to jump-start it, but after starting the car, I found that the right front door window was broken and couldn't roll up or down. I also noticed a parking ticket under the windshield wiper of the car in front of me, saying that my car was not towed and was parked in the wrong location, resulting in a $65 fine.

This is really unfair! For safety reasons, there was a free parking lot nearby, but I chose to pay $22 for one day and a total of $110 for five days, expecting that paying the money would give me peace of mind and my car would be protected. I don't know if my car was protected, but I knew they were not lenient when it came to issuing fines.

It took me three and a half hours to return to the spot where I left my kayak in San Diego. It was already 10:30 PM, and I discovered that my kayak was missing!

The tide was very high at that time, which none of us anticipated. The kayak had drifted away, but fortunately, this area was a dead end, so it couldn't float away even if it wanted to.

After hearing the news, Brad and Nancy rushed over overnight to help me search. It was dark, and the visibility was low. We searched but couldn't find it. If it hadn't drifted away, it might have been taken by someone, and I would never see my kayak again, although the likelihood was small, it was still possible.

Nancy reported it to the police overnight and then invited me to stay at their home until the next day for further searching.

The next day, I treated them to breakfast to show my gratitude for their kindness and enthusiasm. Afterward, we went to the beach, looked at the route I took the previous night, and went to the police station to inquire about any updates. The police were slow to take action; they hadn't started the search yet, so we decided to search again ourselves. I was mentally prepared that it was unlikely for me to find my kayak again. If I couldn't find it this time, I was ready to give up and go home. I had many business matters to attend to and couldn't stay here indefinitely.

Finally, at a sailing boat dock, we found my kayak. It turned out that someone had seen my kayak drifting near a sailboat and tied it to the dock, waiting for the owner to come and find it.

The world truly has many kind-hearted people!

I got on the kayak and paddled back to the original beach, loaded it onto the car, and went home.

The experiences and events of the past few days felt like a dream. I couldn't comprehend how there were so many unexpected incidents. Entering the military base, meeting Brad and Nancy, staying overnight at their place, losing and recovering my kayak...

Brad and Nancy are truly good-hearted people. I still remember Brad defending me, saying, "How can they chase someone into the sea like that? A exhausted person seeks their help, shouldn't the military personnel provide assistance? Isn't that their duty? If something happens, we should sue them."

However, everything that happened is just a part of my journey as long as I'm still alive, there's nothing to worry about.

All past experiences are just prologues.


Picture 1:
After leaving the military base and finding this beach, when I stopped my kayak, I was already exhausted.

Picture 2:
Mr. X, this is the nickname given to me by NCKA, and I used it as the name for my kayak.

Picture 3:
Returning to Ventura Bay, only a few days have passed, but it feels like a thousand years have gone by. It seems like just yesterday when I vividly remember the excitement of setting off.

Time flies and never returns, which inevitably evokes a sense of sentiment and reflection.

Picture 4:
This is the old town where Brad and Nancy took me for breakfast. According to them, it used to be a tourist attraction, but it's going to disappear soon to make way for modern high-rises.

Thanks for sharing your adventure with us Mr. X.  I really enjoyed reading your trip reports.

Extra Tribulations (5/5)--Continue

Picture 1:
This is Brad and Nancy.

Picture 2:
We were at the entrance of the police station inquiring about the search for my kayak.

Picture 3:
The scenery of San Diego Harbor is truly beautiful, but it is filled with military bases everywhere. On the left is an air force base, and on the right, there is a row of various types of military bases. At the very front is the military base that chased me away, but even now, I still don't know what kind of military base it is.

Picture 4:
I hope this goddess can protect this place and ensure its eternal beauty.

Picture 5:
I found my kayak, the beautiful companion that accompanied me through wind and rain on this journey.

Picture 6:
My kayak, which was lost and then recovered, finally returned to the original beach. Nancy is by its side.


---------To be the end-----------Thank you for reading----------

...

Wow!! That was quite an adventure. Thank you so much for sharing it with us, I felt like I was there  experiencing it with you.

Amazing.  I love your philosophical perspectives.

Much respect and admiration, Mr. X.  Thank you!

Amazing story, thanks for sharing!

Mr. X

Glad you completed your journey safely.
Many of us enjoyed following your journey.

Paul

San Clemente island is off limits. Good thing you didn’t go there.

Amazing journey!!!  Thank you for sharing 🙏