Magnus has been invested in the Steller sea lions that hang out near the docks since approximately February, which is not that long, but you wouldn't know it from the confidence.
It started, I think, with a video on his phone — he showed me while we were waiting for coffee, one earbud dangling, and he said "that one's Biscuit" very matter-of-factly, pointing at a large indistinct shape in the water. I said they all looked the same to me and he looked genuinely wounded.
By the time cruise season started — the first ship came in on the 27th, and now apparently we are doing daily passenger limits, which Magnus has a lot of opinions about — he had an entire working theory about Biscuit's social dynamics. There was also Clementine, who he claimed had a distinctive bark. There was one he called Gus, who he described as "a little bit of a pushover but likable," and two others whose names I can't remember because I was eating a sandwich at the time.
He wanted to go to the docks on Saturday. It was 43 degrees and raining — not dramatically, just relentlessly, the kind of drizzle that finds the gap between your collar and your hood — and he said, "it's actually better weather for them, I think they prefer it overcast."
I said I also prefer being overcast, indoors, under a blanket.
He brought binoculars. He does not own binoculars — I found out later he'd borrowed them from his roommate without mentioning it. He stood at the edge of the dock in a jacket that was doing its absolute best and said, "there — okay, that's definitely Biscuit or Clementine, I can't tell from this angle."
I asked how he could usually tell.
He said, "energy, mostly."
A cruise passenger in a bright yellow poncho stopped and asked if we were looking at something and Magnus said "sea lions, I track them, I know their names" and the guy got excited and pulled out his phone and Magnus spent four minutes explaining Biscuit's whole arc to a complete stranger while I stood there with mist on my eyelashes wondering how this became my Saturday.
The thing is, Magnus was right that it was better weather for the sea lions. There were at least six of them hauled out, making noise, doing their wet, enormous business. One of them barked and Magnus turned to me with an expression of complete vindication and said "Clementine," like a doctor confirming a diagnosis.
I said how do you know.
He said "I told you, it's the bark," and then he wrote something in his phone's notes app which I was not allowed to see.
On the way back we walked past the memorial, which still had some flowers from the ceremony the weekend before, petals going soft in the rain, and Magnus got quiet for a minute in the way he does sometimes, where something catches him and he just looks at it. He said "274 names this year" because of course he'd read the article. He said it like he was still sitting with it.
Then a sea lion barked from somewhere past the dock and he looked up and said "that's Gus, one hundred percent, that's Gus's cadence," and we walked home in the rain and I didn't even argue about it.
The binoculars are still on my kitchen counter. His roommate has not yet noticed.