Of all the ways I've experienced Morro Bay, I like this one the best. And I didn't even sample the mimosas.
The experience in question was a two-hour Sunday brunch cruise on the Chablis, a distinctive-looking vessel that's very recognizable as it plies the harbor. At 50 feet long and two stories tall, it's a modern rendition of a 19th-century river boat, complete with twin smokestacks.
To celebrate the rare weekend when all her grandkids were in town to visit, my mom booked us on the Chablis. Walking down the dock to board, it was clear we were in for a treat.
The fog that often smothers the bay was nowhere to be found. Instead, the sun shone bright, the water was calm and the crew soon slipped the boat away from the dock.
As we motored south at a lulling pace, the bar and brunch both beckoned passengers to get their fill. It was an impressive spread of food, one that would require multiple trips to sample everything: egg casserole, au gratin potatoes, shrimp cocktail, ham, sausage, Caesar salad, clam chowder, fresh fruit and cookies - plus waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. And, of course, those mimosas.
As delicious as the food was, it couldn't compete with the view. We migrated topside to take advantage of the boat's expansive second-story deck. There was the expected mix of Sunday maritime traffic on the water - electric rental boats, kayaks and commercial whale-watching and fishing boats.
I've experienced Morro Bay on two out of three in that list. The electric rental boats are fun; you're practically eye-to-eye with the curious harbor seals that pop up to check you out. But I don't recommend sailing an electric boat with a rambunctious toddler. I spent a nerve-wracking hour with one hand on the wheel and the other gripped on her thick life jacket collar. Her curiosity rivaled the seals' and overrode any fear of falling in.
The fishing boats can be fun too, if the weather cooperates. Some days, that's a big if. The entrance to Morro Bay is notoriously tricky to navigate. On those days when the swells are so tall it seems like you're looking up at the water, you're better off staying on land. But it's already too late when you're bobbing at the harbor mouth and suddenly you feel the boat accelerating toward open ocean. The captain found a pause in the waves just long enough to exit the harbor safely. There's no going back, no matter how much you might want to.
Just the opposite is true of the Chablis; you don't want the cruise to end, especially on a day like this.
The sights on the shore and on the water glided by. Black cormorants called loudly from stands of eucalyptus near the golf course. Boats bobbed at docks and at anchorage in the harbor. Some were polished in proud affirmation of ownership, while others languished in obvious neglect.
Soon, we passed the famous smoke stacks and drew abreast of Morro Rock. Its massive bulk defies amateur photographers' best attempts to capture its grandeur in cell phone photos. But we tried anyway.
A recently returned fishing boat paused just inside the jetty, surrounded by swarms of birds waiting to swoop on whatever the crew threw in the water as they cleaned their clients' catch.
The Chablis turned at the harbor mouth, signaling the last stretch of the cruise. The captain slowed so we could savor one last treat. We moved to the port rail with cameras ready to capture shots of the dozen or more otters lounging on their backs, floating amid the kelp.
They looked even more relaxed than us. But they didn't have mimosas.
Eric Harnish lives in Castaic, which has many boats, but no brunch cruises. Or otters.

LET'S GO
Chablis Cruises
chabliscruises.com