I thought this entry, this long overdue catch up entry, would be all about my fabulous experiences on the boat release last Friday. Instead all I can think about is the possibility that pesky parasites might be breeding in my hair. For once I am grateful for my mother's pathetic stringy locks. It is infinitely easier to work a tiny comb through my puny ponytail than it is for my nieces to police their luxurious manes. And though I know they didn't mean to expose me to this menace, I can't help but feel I've been wronged. The child-free should never have to buy a Nix kit or a Rid comb. Seriously, the directions on the comb suggest you should distract your child with a book or a video game. Even the manufacturers cannot imagine that a bona fide adult might be in need of their product.
The sad thing? I know if I share my possible parasites with Erik, it will be the end of his long hair. He's been threatening to get a haircut for months now. In fact, he even got a trim recently. Funny enough, it was from a barber who also had (and hated) his own long hair. They commiserated about the power of girlfriends during Erik's brief visit...
Although I am obsessed with my suspected scalp squatters, I must say my visit to the Farallon Islands remains the most significant aspect of my recent travels. I was delighted in so many ways. For one, I didn't puke. I didn't even lose it when someone else hurled over the side of the boat only to have the boat pitch, forcing his vomit to land on deck, very near my feet.
I was also thrilled to learn that I did know a few of the animals on the boat. I had been bummed when all my babies were released on earlier trips and then I saw that Woodco, my most recent fur seal, was on her way back to freedom. (Monahan, by the way, is also feeling much better. Hard to believe after the condition she'd been in. Sadly, the two fur seals that came from our area the day after Woodco and Monahan came in did not make it. Just goes to show how crucial early care is in the battle against domoic acid toxicity...) In addition to Woodco, Spanokopita, the only sea lion on the trip, had also earned his wings.
And, perhaps best of all, I got to witness the re-release of Astro, the oh-so-rare steller sea lion. Astro had been released in Santa Cruz just a couple days before, after spending 10 of his 11 months of life at the Center. His habituation to humans proved troublesome, however, as he shied from the ocean and chased researchers around. We hoped that dragging him out 34 miles to sea would remind him he was a marine mammal, not a puppy. Still, leaving him there to face the world alone seemed cruel... especially when he refused to leave his carrier.
Sadly, my photos of the event are sorely lacking. I knew my digital camera was woefully slow but even when my subjects were still, the ocean was not. I have plenty of pictures of anonymous waves, but very few of seals. Luckily, there were actual professionals on the boat and you can see their pictures here and there. I especially dig the photo from the Chronicle of Astro's eye peeking out of his carrier. He did that a bunch (in between naps), though I never caught the moment myself. Here's a shot of the North Island, and Astro's new friends. There's no beach on this island (or any of the Farallones, really), just this rocky approach. What I found most amazing (beside the simple fact the seals can get up on the islands at all) is how high they'll go. I got an almost great shot of a half a sea lion who had made it to the island's peak.Unfortunately, I found that I, too, could nap on the boat. I have long bragged that I can sleep through anything. On the way out I was avoiding nausea. On the way back, I escaped boredom (we were 3 hours out to sea and once the seals were gone there was little else to do...). I'm sure my rest was mostly chemically induced (I had three forms of antiemitics working for me and drowsiness was a side effect of two...), so I can't take all the credit. Still, I am proud. And I am permanently contorted as the left side of my neck will not stop cursing me for using a fish sink as a pillow.
Even so, a pain in the neck and a possible parasite load are small prices to pay for a once in a lifetime experience. Notice I say once in a lifetime. Not because I couldn't go again, just because I probly won't.
Besides, it seems I may never again go anywhere for any length of time for my absence once again upset my orange cat's fragile fecal balance. Although my hubby saw him at least once a day while I was gone (he lured him with Fancy Feast, aka Kitty Crack...), apparently it was not enough to keep him hydrated on the inside. When I finally laid eyes on my poor OC, he was looking haggard and uncomfortable. Again I was fortunate to get a late afternoon vet appointment and even more fortunate that my vet was willing to sedate him for a proper roto-rooting. It meant he had to spend the night (in fact, I barely got him back before close of business the next day) but it was what he needed. I'm bummed I didn't get him back all fresh from sedation as I really did enjoy the affectionate side effects of his pain meds the last time. Really, though, I'm happy he's here at all. As suspected, my sister (his medical benefactor) has begun hinting that I should get a job to pay for his treatments. And Erik (my very supportive husband) has begun suggesting we look for a suitable alternative home for him. When I was unresponsive, fighting off tears, he assumed my cell phone dropped his call... Some conversations are best left unfinished. Honestly, if I did think there was an ideal home for a medically needy small animal killing machine, I might consider it. He's clearly second in command, literally the red headed step child. Still, he's my cat.
As if he knew I'd need a distraction (and a pseudo apology), I came home to discover that on his own way home Erik had picked up roses at the farmer's market (lots of them, actually). He later got us take out from the Mexican place down the street and he didn't complain as I monopolized the remote control to get caught up on my soap opera. A few margaritas later, I actually forgot to itch my head (though the mountain of lice laundry reminded me of my possible predicament...). Maybe there is hope for me yet.
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