The first of many

  Yesterday, on an impulse, Davy and I took what we thought would be a little walk in Sharpe Park, just down the street. It was a Tuesday, so we weren’t expecting a crowd. We crammed our binocs and camera in a backpack, bundled up against the wind and cold, and took off.

   Even though we noticed seven cars in the cramped parking lot, it wasn’t until after we visited the wetland pond (map), photographed the miniature Calypso orchids dotting the path, watched a wild goose chase (literally), spied a goldeneye duck and a red-winged blackbird (Davy and I have become impossibly nerdy bird watchers), that we actually saw a couple of women out for a girlfriend walk on the bluffs.

   The wetland was the easy part. 

   Instead of heading west to the bluffs, we hiked toward Sares Head Viewpoint. The forest’s interior breathed silently, like a huge, empty cathedral. The wind ceased, the chill thawed, and all that could be heard was an occasional bird singing or tree limbs rubbing against each other. Along the way we saw more orchids, holed trees, a mushroom that didn’t look like one, and two pairs of leashless retrievers who’d taken their owners out for a spin. It took like forty-five minutes to walk; climb; battle our way through slippery mud, moss, and tall supraterranian roots; and claw our way up rock-faces to finally come upon the most spectacular of views.

   From Sares Head, our southern vista held Whidbey Island and a great view of Oak Harbor Naval Air Station’s jets’ landing pattern. To the west, we could see San Juan, Lopez, and Vancouver Islands, and all the other little islets that speckle the Sound like punctuation marks.

   By the time we got home two hours later, we’d walked a mile and a half, sweated through our clothes, and realized this would fortunately not the last time we’d walk in this park a half mile from our home.