Nahja, on the ladder, is stretching the sail she has just sewn. Wayne is dreaming of going back to sea.

WELCOME TO WAYNE’S WORLD
Out of bed at 4 a.m.; 90 minutes later I arrive at SFO. I’m going to Seattle. SFO has just three domestic terminals. I’m off the Marin Airporter at terminal 3. Nope, Alaska Air is in the international terminal. Huh, Washington left the Union already? At international, I meet a fellow traveler. “Going to Seattle? Follow me. It’s A4, at the far end.”

“I think A4 is the gate. We need an aisle number.” I’m right; it’s aisle 17. U-turn, walk to the other end. My Fitbit is working overtime.
Seattle airport is a disaster. Nothing is close and easy. Where’s Alamo? One train, one bus and way over there and down three floors. Fitbit says 7,520 steps and it’s not even 11 a.m.

I drive my red Hyundai to the Seattle Ferry Terminal. Credit card payment and onto the ferry to Bainbridge Island.

PUGET SOUND

R. Buckminster Fuller would be proud, but where’s the loo?

Driving from Bainbridge to Port Townsend is a long, beautiful jaunt through tall forests and pouring rain. I need to be at the rec center basketball court at 3:45. A miracle, I arrive at 3:40.

Right on cue the basketball players leave and the sail-making team arrives: Wayne, Nicole, and daughter Nahja, plus six helpers. Wayne is marking out imaginary sails on the basketball court floor with thumbtacks, string and chalk. Dacron rolls are unwound, cut and stapled down. Bit by bit, long canvas strips form a sail.

I run around shooting, climbing ladders, lying on my back, as only a one-man crew can do. We must be out by 11 p.m. Suits me; I’m whacked. Fitbit says 9,675 steps.

Now to drive to Marrowstone Island, just two islands away, where Wayne and family live. Yep, even more bridges. We arrive in the rain after midnight.

MY DOME

Nicole, Wayne and Stefan—a dome love-in

My very own geodesic dome. Wayne built it himself. Am I dreaming or what? There’s a spiral staircase to a mezzanine floor and my bed.

No toilet. Pee outside. In the middle of the night, down the spiral, in the rain? No way. There’s a metal bucket at the end of the bed. I test it out. Fall into bed, fully dressed.
Zzzzzzzzz…
I spend the next three days in my dome. The Marrowstone locals come over. We have a party on Sunday. Wayne tells seafaring stories better and wetter than mine: how he was the mate on Mel Gibson’s 1984 movie Bounty, adventures on various tall ships he has piloted, why he only works in winter. (“Because summer is for sailing.”)

“Wayne, have you ever written a book?” “Yes, but not about ships and the sea. It’s about a 500-mile walk across Spain, Camino de Santiago. I’ll give you a copy.”

HOME AGAIN
And then it’s over. I arrive home refreshed as if from a good holiday. Tricia and I have dinner. “What news while I was away?” “Nothing much, but I was wondering, have you heard of Camino de Santiago? It’s a pilgrimage. I want to do it.” “Have I got the book for you.”

THE HARVEST

We start shooting the vineyard at dawn. Jamie, our star winemaker is helping the Mexican pickers and loading the truck with six tons of Pinot Noir grapes. He drives down the mountain ridge to the coast and then inland to the winery. I have a camera stuck to the windscreen shooting Jamie and the amazing views.

THE ECSTACY
I have a vision splendid…

Now I need a ‘copter sequence. Jamie has agreed to re-create the drive. The must have shot, is Jamie driving the truck with his precious fruit along the Pacific Coast Highway. I have the Google Earth photo taped to my wall. I look at it everyday. I will get this shot – no matter what!

OBSTACLES THERE TO OVERCOME

1) The truck is not Jamie’s but the winery’s. The owner says Jamie can borrow it again but not until the last harvest is in.

2) We need to load the truck up with six tons of grapes. Cost: approx. $30,000. Impossible. Tricia cuts plywood to fit the top bins and paints them dark grape color. All we need is a thin layer of grapes. It’s late in the season, all the grapes have been harvested. Tricia finds a vineyard with Merlot grapes that nobody wants. We buy them at a discount rate.

3) I need an affordable helicopter. A real ‘copter would cost $5K – plus lots of air to ground communication problems. I’ve seen Derek’s remote control helicopter shoots on the internet. I contact him and tell him my tiny budget.

WE CAN DO IT, YES WE CANDerek practices the shot

THE DAY BEFORE

Tricia collects the Merlot grapes and drives to the winery, where Jamie is loading up the truck with empty bins.
It’s a beautiful day at Jenner, CA. I’m with Derek and Martin, his camera operator, rehearsing the RC ‘copter shot. That night in the motel, we look at the tests. Perfect. I prepare my Oscar speech.

I VIEW THE MORNING WITH MUCH ALARM

6 am: I open the motel door. Fog. Thick fog. Where’s the car park gone? I lead the way in my car – headlights on. Where’s the road? The fog is so thick, I can hardly see the car in front of me. Eventually, we make Jenner where Tricia and Jamie are waiting with the winery truck “filled” with grapes. It’s fog, fog, everywhere. Derek can’t fly.

THE AGONY
No, we can’t! All is lost… cry me a river.

BUT THE AGE OF MIRACLES, IT HASN’T PAST

“Let’s take some shots up at the winery.” We drive up and up; suddenly it’s a perfect day. Derek takes aerial shots of the grape laden truck leaving the vineyard. The last shot is Jamie disappearing into thick fog. Then the ‘copter vanishes too. “It’s gone! If I can’t see it, I can’t control it.” But he does and magically it flies back out of the fog. A miracle.

Derek saves the ‘copter, I have some great aerials, and in foggy Jenner Town, the sun was shining everywhere