We were well abreast the heartland the neat morning before daylight overtook us and after a few hours [of] leisurely rowing we were overhauled by a breeze from the northwest, which called for a bit of sailing. The signal was given to hoist sail and the order must have been anticipated from the alacrity in which the masts were made fast and sails ran up. In a few minutes we were scudding before a fine breeze and the thrill that I experienced while laying comfortable on my back drinking in all the sensations of a young and vigorous manhood it would be hard to describe.
Our trip had harden[ed] and made iron men of us all. We were expert oarsmen as well as surfman, enjoying perfect health, traveling homeward without an effort on our part at the rate of 5 to 6 miles an hour, it was almost unbelievable, so beautiful was life to us – no cares did we allow to darken an instant of our peace. We rounded Point Phieffer, [Pfeiffer] which was a bit choppy, just enough to add spice to our sailing about 10 A.M. At 2 we were well around and into smooth sailing again. A large school of whale-killer[s] passed us traveling up the coast. Our Captain would allow no sport with them at this time as he scented trouble if we should by a chance cross their path, although we would have liked to chanced a shot at them. They made a splendid target each time they breached as they showed a large white spot on each side as they rose each time half out of water.
About 4 P.M. We sighted the entrance to Arroyo Grande, our beloved garden spot, never did boys welcome a lonely isolated spot as we did the old camp ground of two months before, but our stay was short for the next morning with the stars we were on our way. This day proved more like ordinary living as we had a dead calm all day and were compelled to row every foot into Pacific Valley under a red hot sun and a silvery white glare on the water, not even a ripple was seen and an almost swell less [sic] sea I have never seen, just such an other glassy monotonous waste of water, it was simply cruel it was so still and smooth.
One night at the Valley and then out again. On passing our sea rocks where we had so cruelly shot to death many sea lions on our trip up, there were none to be seen, evidently they migrate at certain times during the year for months or more at a time. On leaving the Valley we had with us a young fellow who we met there who wanted to reach home having been stranded during the summer at the Valley and we obligingly gave him a ride down with us as he lived several miles this side of our home landing. He asked if we could drop him at the mouth of the San Carpojo which we did. He afterwards joined the crew and became an excellent boatman. Three hours later we landed at our starting point. Safe and glad to get home, being stocked with 2 otter furs valued at $800.00 and twice that amount of experience and besides worlds of good times, happily spent.
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