Anchored in Slocum Inlet. Nasty weather today- rain, heavy wind. We are spinning in fairly rapid circles around the anchor. The gillnetters in their tiny boats are being thrown all about in the chop – makes me nervous for fall fishing in Puget Sound. Peaceful day – we left Gastineau at 3:30 a.m. and went up to Auk Bay to ice up the four Lynn Canal boats. Icing was harder today – had to do way more shoveling, with hardened ice and one boat after another. My arms were screaming. Made bacon, eggs and grits for everyone and then we came down to Slocum. I slept. Now the boat is silent. I’m watching the waves and fog out the window and looking through the chart maps. Earlier I was sitting at the galley table reading, Joe and Gwynne next to me and I looked up to find the brightest rainbow I’ve ever seen coming straight out of the water between our bow and the shoreline. I went outside and the wind was so strong I could barely stand upright; it was flinging drops of seawater and rain at my face. It was so beautiful and wild, and I thought again about risk, and how the most beautiful, precious and sacred things are often only shown to you if you take on the risk and danger of finding them. If you make that sacrifice to the gods. I would never have seen the rainbow if I hadn’t gone to work on this boat, unexperienced, with strangers. The rainbow was full, stretching across our bow into the water on either side, and at one end bobbed a small blue buoy… the crab pot at the end of the rainbow. I doubt it could have been seen by anyone not in the harbor and I stood on the bow and laughed aloud at the secret, delicious magic of it all, the rainbow and the uninhabited green mountain behind it, the wild wind and rain, and the company awaiting me inside the cabin. All afternoon the wind has been groaning through the rigging as we turn and turn through the waves. We had halibut fried in Bisquick for dinner and then sat talking for hours. Now another night of sleeping soundly on the rocking of the water.