It is the most exclusive marina on the west coast. Immense in size, single slips on the edge of promontory’s span outward into a spacious harbor complete with breakwater a half a mile long.   Big boats berth on the end of the single slips that sell for more money than most people make in a month.  On land there is a huge club-hotel for the elite to water before they go out on a voyage.  Every day the elegant buffets serve hundreds who spend their time eating, playing and sleeping.  Huge fish islands and omelets made to order inundate the other half who dresses in elegant vestment in order to attend the sumptuous repast.  All this is tangential and distant for the real reason the other half spend their money in an endless hole of costs to float about in the ocean away from the prying eyes of the law.  Man is a Norwegian adventurer.

Parking is ample for the few and usually is.   Walking out to the platform on plastic trails anchored to concrete pylons, white with sea time blue trim is a journey in itself.  The boats and yachts and speeders span out into the horizon as someone, anyone makes their way to the end berths that house a single huge ship, a toy for big boys to play with.  These huge yachts are features unto themselves.   Constructed of plastic reinforced with fiber glass, the white shimmering majesty of ocean vessel astound and amaze and captivate anyone who would believe that these things are made for people who are looking for something to do. This is at least a forty two foot long luxury ship. The boat encompasses bedrooms and staterooms and large kitchen that cluster about a main control house with wheel, chair and electronics. Down below, accessible by stairs is the engine room.   Two meticulously handcrafted turbo diesels amass side by side spinning twin shafts aft.  The engines alone are beautiful, with shiny chrome housings and colored metal accoutrements that make these powerhouses state of the art.  Anyone who goes out on the open ocean on a ship knows diesel is the way to go because conventional gasoline engines don’t work when water gets into the gasoline tank or into the carburetor inlet.  Diesel engines run in the cold and wet and water in the fuel seems to make them run even better. 

This is Earl’s ship.  He is a property developer and needs a place to get away from it all.  This yacht can sail to Hawaii and back on a single load of diesel fuel and the trip can be done in style.   Storms and squalls and hells fury cannot daunt a ship made to thwart the best nature has to offer.  For what reason someone would have such a device is beyond the imagination in a city where no one walks and a new battery on a set of wheels is enough to get you anywhere you want to go, anytime of the day or night. 

This is where I hang out when we are at anchor says Earl.   This is my stateroom.   In a storage closet closed with metal straps I keep my weapon to defend against invaders.   Out on the open ocean where there is no one around, anything can happen and a captain needs to have protection from invaders and pirates who can show up at inopportune times and ruin your adventure.  In the plastic bag is a Thompson 45 sub machine gun.  I keep it in a bag so the salt and corrosion can’t get to it while it sits under wraps.  With three full magazines and a drawer full of ammunition, I can keep anyone at bay while we broadcast a mayday to the coast guard.  Isn’t it a beauty?  A Fully automatic rifle with a sixteen inch barrel and hardwood stock that is ready to rock and roll at a moment’s notice.

It is heavy says the Wracks

It has to be heavy for fully automatic fire because the recoil pushes the barrel around. 

I see, say the Wracks. 

I like to go out on weekend cruises and take friends with me says Earl.   Sometime you might be invited to come along.

Thank you says the Wracks.

Wracks and his family disembark down the Shipley stairs onto the plastic dock.  The Fonz is not around and usually isn’t for this sort of thing. 

Are you going out on a boat asks the Wracks.

I don’t think so says father Wracks.  Earl just likes to show his boat to anyone who is interested.

 Does he hang out at the club and eat in the fancy restaurants questions the Wracks.

I don’t think so.  He uses the facilities to entertain his clients for business ventures says father Wracks. It is time we get home.

The marina has its own freeway.  It has the number sixty.  The Fonz would use the entry ramp to drag race his 911 Porsche turbo Carrera.  The freeway eventually turns into highway one and before too long the Wrackers are back in Tranquil hills in their little hose with a brick entry and light post that goes on sometimes at night when guests arrive.   Grandma is in her bedroom with a speaker to her ear watching reruns of the Lawrence Welk show.  She waves hello.  It is winter now and darkness arrives earlier than normal for this neck of the woods.  The Wracks goes outside.  He can smell the sea air wafting strongly up through the canyon to the development.  The sky is grey and the sun sets orange against the horizon studded with fluffy purple clouds.  The stars and night will arrive soon.  The ocean wetness scrubs the air so the ozone does not obscure the nighttime sky. Interesting is how the other half lives, living in their own adventure bought with non-olfactory money and nothing else.  He has his life and career to live on and that is what he looks forward to.

Dinner is ready Wracks.  Come and get it says mother.

The Wracks goes in, shuts the door, and joins his family for dinner.