The whole half day at Orcas Island

  Based on our daring weatherman's forecast for April 7, we arranged our week's schedule so we could spend the whole day at Orcas Island. A mug of coffee in Orcas Village or Deer Harbor; a foray to the top of Mt. Constitution to get a 360 of the entire world; down to Rosario Resort for a long, slow lunch; a couple more hours touring the island; then home by seven. 
  But the weatherman proved wrong.

  Before we even got to Orcas Village, the wind was whipping up the sound, making our landing a lurching, cantankerous event. Some coffee sounded great, but we found nothing was open. Intrepid as we are, we did not take this as a prophetic sign for the day. 

  Onward we drove, past Massacre Bay and Skull Island, toward Deer Harbor, where surely we'd find a little cafe to sit and reminisce about our previous journey to the spot with Hank and Gail Salerno in '06 (the trip that ignited our desire to live up here).  

  Alas, nothing was open.

  Reality was setting in. Just because it's springtime doesn't mean things are actually open.  We lingered to take a few gray-day pictures. The one above's of the dock where we had moored and kept our eye on the dapper IRA spy who'd just flown in by red (!!!) sea plane from some clandestine point between here and Russia. We also checked out the Deer Harbor Inn Restaurant where we had once made dinner reservations on the chalkboard they kept on their front stoop.

   We moved on, eager to try out the Westsound Cafe, which we'd spotted on Crow Valley Rd.

  You guessed it. It was closed.

  We're resilient. Having been to Eastsound before, we KNEW we could get a cuppajoe at Vern's along the shore. And we were right. We got our coffee and had breakfast too. After all, we reasoned, we could have a late lunch at Rosario. No harm done. 

  Naturally we did a little driving around town for old time's sake. We checked out Madrona Point. A little walk might do us good. But, eek! It too was closed by edict of the Lummi Nation. In our previous visit, I had loved this peninsula for its redolent and stately madronas and the sherbet orange and hyacinth purple starfish that hugged the shoreline rocks. Alas.

  We also spotted some very large and tame rabbits. Later, at Rosario, I spotted a blue jay that was larger than a crow. Orcas Island's Amazonian  animal population! 

  Off we went to Mt. Constitution, despite the day getting grayer and windier. Wes was glad to be on mountain roads, and his rubber paws came alive with anticipation. But signs along the way warned us: Carry chains. Watch for ice. 

  Undaunted, we wove our way up the mountain. Wes's thermostat showed the outside temperature dropping from 45 to 42, to 38, to . . . .  All along the way downed trees, either snapped in half or levered out of the soil root ball and all, made it increasingly apparent that being a tree on Mt. Constitution is no easy task. 

  By the time we got to Little Summit, we were in the clouds; driving the twisting, hair-pin turns lost its attraction. We got out, took a few dim pictures, and headed down the mountain for Rosario. Secretly, we each considered leaving on the 12:10 ferry and try Orcas Island another day. 

  Our mind's were made up promptly when we got to Rosario Resort, and, you guessed it, it was closed. It's usually a bad sign when only contractors' trucks fill a hotel parking lot.  

  So that did it. We had half an hour to drive thirty miles if we were to make it to the ferry on time. Wes was up to. He hummed and drooled. He hadn't been driven over 50 mph in a long time. (He travelled from SoCal to Washington with the living room furniture.)  Davy checked his watch. His competitive gene sprung to life. I looked at the clock and the map full of winding country roads, considered the impossibility of it all, and decided that we would, against all odds, make it to the Ferry dock by 11:50,  the world being a far more pliable place than apparent reality makes it out to be.

  We set out. Obstacles came at us from everywhere, as though we were in a video game. 1955 Chevy trucks. Stop signs. Little towns with 20 mph speed limits.

  But, just as Wes's clock was rotating from 11:50 to 11:51, we drove into ferry line 6 headed for Anacortes. To our left were several cars that had been on the early morning trip. To our right was a woman in a "Ride Horses with Us" sign painted on her truck, carefully putting on her make-up in preparation for re-entry into civilization.

  We got home, had a beer, took a two-and-a-half hour nap.

  When we woke up this morning, the first thing we noticed when looking out at the sound was the snow on Mt. Constitution. It's good to be home snug as bugs.