So, on top of the lack of traps, the weather is forecast to be, well, maybe okay? For a while? Or not? On Saturday. Lots of ifs. The certainty is that inside Tomales Bay it will be like Squid Game or The Hunger Games or The Running Man or whatever is your favorite flavor of dystopian competition movie. I predict no less than 20 miles of floating rope between Sand Point and Hog Island. There will be bound up propellers. Sharpen your knives and gird your loins. For those that don't know, most rope floats. It is hard to see. Boaters will run over it, not because they want to but because they won't see it. It will seize their propellers and they will cut off the rope so that they can get to wherever they're going. You will lose your gear. And it is your fault for not weighting your line. Put a couple ounces of weight on your line every twenty feet and you will make everybody else very happy. I know you won't, but I just gotta say it. Saying it now makes me feel like I tried. The floating rope rule (and weighting it for everybody's benefit) applies to the ocean and Outer Bay as well, even though there's a chance that getting there from here on Saturday may be complicated. On paper it looks doable, but it is pretty close to not doable as well, which makes me think that there's a fair chance that the Fire Department may get an opportunity to run those shiny jet skis this weekend and (hopefully) save somebody. That means, also, that they may not get the opportunity and somebody may die in the breakers on the bar that may or may not happen. Crapshoot days are generally the most fatal, as they give you a false sense of security ("I can make it!"). If you aren't sure, don't go. Pro tip: If you need to drink to work up your courage to go, don't go. Stay in camp and drink. It'll kill you way slower.