MISFITS
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s the shoreboat whizzed by only six feet from the transom of our Islander* 36, Misfit, we could hear the boisterous laughing and alcohol-assisted revelry of Halloween night at Catalina. Many of the party-goers were obviously unaware of the drama that was transpiring during their absence. The harbor at Avalon had been at its
300-boat capacity that day, with every mooring occupied for the festive weekend. During the afternoon it had rained off and on; the type of day that either forced people below-decks or ashore to some dry haven. The periodic precipitation at what’s normally
a summer-fun-in-the-sun resort town made for an awkward combination. People were a little on edge. And very wet. With the onset of dusk the rain abated, I moods lightened, and the harbor became a | beehive of activity. The liquor flowed as the
