FALLING STARS
YOUTH SLEUTHS
DON’T CALL ’EM STARFISH; THEY’RE SEA STARS, LADEN WITH LESIONS AND DYING AT AN ALARMING RATE, WARN UCSB SCIENTISTS, P. 22
WATCH OUT FOR THE MAYFIELD BROTHERS, AKA THE PET DETECTIVES, PROWLING FOR CUTE CANINES; THIS TIME SPANKY JOINS OUR GANG, P. 25
SANTA BARBARA
VO L U M E 3 | I S S U E 6 | M A R C H 2 2 – A P R I L 5 | 2 0 1 4
every other week from pier to peak
W W W. S A N TA B A R B A R A S E N T I N E L .CO M
SAAAILING… TAKES ME AWAAAY...
CHRISTOPHER CROSS WAS A VISIONARY
I
’m not exactly what you’d call an experienced boater. I grew up in middle-class Santa Rosa, the son of a telecom/information technology man and a mother who found a week of camping and lakes far inferior to a few nights at the Hotel del Coronado or wherever. That’s not to say I was a deprived child. I wasn’t. In fact, I spent hours and hours as a high schooler getting my fill of the great outdoors, traipsing around the wilderness
15 DAYS A WEEK PAGE 10
of Northern California with friends and backpacks of Keystone Light cans and country music and automotive funnels and all sorts of other gizmos. Fun times. ‘Twas a terrific upbringing. But it’s safe to say that yachting wasn’t exactly on the summer activity schedule. Ever. My fascination with boats – sailboats in particular –
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by Matt Mazza began, perhaps unpredictably, with my wife. In stark contrast to my family, hers spent weeks each year boating and waterskiing and generally frolicking deep in Norcal on Clear Lake, where they kept a modest summer home. She invited me up to meet the family one summer after we’d started dating, it must’ve been 1994 or ‘95, and I anxiously agreed.
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...continued p.5
TIME & TIDE PAGE 22