I Rode A JetSki To Catalina. And Back.

I would watch a reality show that’s nothing but goth kids trying not to smile while riding JetSkis. 

Needing to get out of the house during this extra-inning quarantine, I thought about my happiest time back before the apocalypse. It was two years ago, in Tampa for my best friend Chad’s wedding. I spent the morning on a JetSki in Tampa Bay. Then I showered, gave a kickass wedding toast, danced, and had a post-wedding date. It was the best day of my life. (Sorry, but I’m claiming your best day as my own, Chad.) 

With no weddings in sight, I wanted to get back on a JetSki, but I’m not one to do things the easy way, so I found an ocean adventure in which I could go with a group from Long Beach all the way to Catalina. 29 miles each way, all in one day. I couldn’t wait. 

Friday, it happened. It started in the harbor, passing by the Queen Mary, and then we gunned it into the ocean.

Snuggling on a buoy were sea lions. There are often dolphins leaping out of the water on the way to Catalina, but Friday, the sea was angry. This is not billed as a “tour.” It’s a major challenge. In the summer especially, eight-foot waves lift you out of the water and slam you down the entire ride. There’s a lot of groin trauma. Half the group had bad sea sickness. 

And I loved it. It packed so much into a day, it felt like a good, long adventure out of town. It had the right level of danger. Whenever we stopped to give our aching forearms a break, the team leader would do donuts with his JetSki to ward off any sharks. As a water baby, I felt right at home. 

I’d never been to Catalina, and it was odd and quaint and surreal. I’ll get into it tomorrow. My severely sunburned hands can only type so much.