Peaks and Valleys (warning: chilling images)

February 22, 2011, 10:00 a.m.

   While every month has its peaks and valleys, our February was one huge valley punctuated at the end by a great snowy peak and its attending flurry of activity, which is why our February post has been delayed until mid-March. Alas.
The Valley Floor
   February’s plan entailed getting L’Esprit home to Anacortes from Seattle's Lake Union by the 11th at the latest. After all, March’s first two weekends offered us heavy-duty obligations that required our undivided attention: a wedding in Richfield, North Carolina, and a yacht-club cruise for which we were on the planning committee. Because we had a new boat, we were part of the scheduled entertainment. The pressure was on! 
   We felt confident, however. The boat yard Pacific Coast Yacht Services had dispatched our work list by the end of January, as they’d promised. (The Ocean Alexander people had warned us: “If Paul Sittaur says he’ll get the job done by a certain time, he will.” They were right!) They’d given our girl a new bottom, rudders, windows, and electrical inverter, among other things (boats!). All that needed doing was for the engine guy to change hoses and fill fluids, and generally get things up to speed. It shouldn’t have taken more than a week; Davy planned to live aboard L'Esprit for the duration.
   Alas.
   Those of you who own boats know what probably happened, and you’re right. The engine guy, who shall at this time remain nameless, couldn’t come for a week, and then when he did come, could only come on Monday, and then maybe on Friday, and so on. Therefore what should have been a one-week job sprawled into three-week stint where Davy came home only on the weekends to break up the monotony of subsisting on sardines, saltines and beer for lunch; saloon food at Nickerson Street Saloon (with its bi-weekly rotating menu) and Hale’s Ales (which had really good pizza when they had pizza); and God-knows-what for breakfast. 
   Fortunately, L’Esprit came equipped with built-in heaters (very PNW) and a super-comfy bed. Instead of putting things in the fridge, which would require defrosting every week or so, Davy set his beer and creamer outside on the sundeck. Despite the freezing night temperatures, nothing exploded.
   What was I doing this whole time? Sitting at my desk, editing my new novel, Finding Geneva, or whatever I’m going to end up calling it. Four friends had volunteered to read it, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself too recklessly.
The Foothills 
   By Friday, February 18, the engine guy still hadn’t concluded his work, which, when completed, would require another sea trial to make sure things were done properly. Shoot, we could have just relaxed and said, “Well, lah dee dah, however long it takes. . .” Except: we had to leave in two weeks for the North Carolina wedding, we had to vacate the moorage el pronto because other boats required service, and ugly weather loomed on the horizon.
   I have no idea what Davy said to the engine guy, but he finally figured out that efficiency would be most appreciated! So he got L’Esprit done on Monday, and they took her out on her sea trial in the snow on Tuesday.

The snow of Tuesday, Feb. 22, came strong and fast. Six inches in three hours!

The Peak


Leaving the Ballard Locks. Worse weather ahead!

  Seattle was spared the snowy pile-on that showered Anacortes (the snow pictures were taken in Anacortes at ten on Tuesday morning). Thus our new, big obstacle to bringing L’Esprit home centered around my inability to drive the crew to Seattle without sliding off the road or getting stuck in snow traffic. Locals reminded me of the convenience owning a four-wheel drive provides, but even if we owned one, Davy would have had it down in Seattle.    Maybe, I thought, the snow will melt by Wednesday.
   Alas, it continued snowing on Wednesday, so there was no way I could drive Walt Barnard and Carl Bergan down to Seattle. Thursday through Saturday, however, showed a promising snow-free weather window. Fine, I thought. Thursday the wind will blow its crazy heart out, the snow will melt, and Friday I drive the guys to Seattle. L’Esprit will be home in Anchor Cove Marina on February 26th! Ta dum!

Bottom: Frozen dock line.

   Except the snow didn’t melt because the temperature stood firm at or below twenty-five degrees. In fact, it wouldn’t melt for another week!
   Left choiceless, I rose at 00:Dark:Early Friday morning; shoveled our long, steep driveway; backed Isadora out the garage; got her nose pointed straight down the driveway; pressed my foot on the brake; and slid down the driveway to the street, which had been plowed the previous afternoon. Isadora's tires crunched over fat ice chunks left by the plow. From there Isadora wiggled and wobbled to Carl’s, Walts, and the grocery store in Burlington, and headed south the Seattle, where not a trace of snow existed!
   There’s a reason why not much boating happens during the PNW’s winters: it blows like stink. And that’s exactly what the boys brought L’Esprit home in. Six-foot seas (which is a bigger adventure in a power boat than in a sailboat). Air temperature in the 20s. Wind-chill factor: ooooh, brrrr, cold.
   They made it through the Ballard Locks, past Everett, as far up as Oak Harbor, on Whidbey Island, which is a twenty-minute drive from our house. Thank you, Carl and Walt!!
   Penny Barnard picked Linda and me up late that afternoon and drove us all down to Oak Harbor where we met the guys for a deluxe kiss-the-ground and thank-the-crew feast at Fraser’s. It was one of those evenings where great memories and friendships are forged even tighter. 

Top: The sun came out!
Bottom: Our driveway. 

    It was then expected that the boys would cruise into Anchor Cove Marina by Saturday noon, before Sunday’s snow storm hit.
   Unlike our engine guy, Sunday’s snow came through early. While it snowed on Saturday, at least it was not a deluge. Cozy in my house, I awaited Davy’s call.
   Except when he called, he didn’t say, “We’re home!” Nope, he said, “You gotta drive down. We need a car.”
   I looked outside at the lightly falling snow, and realized I had no choice but to drive the fifteen miles to Oak Harbor.
   It turned out a bolt in the alternator had sheered off, and the guys needed to go to NAPA Auto Parts to get a machinist to tool another bolt, which would take a while to accomplish. Good thing I brought my Kindle, because there’s only so long I can tolerate auto-part-store scents and the dearth of really cool products (I love all the inventions found in hardware stores, however!). By the time we finished our Dairy Queen lunch, the machinist had worked his magic, and the snow was coming down harder. After successfully whining and howling about my not wanting to drive home alone through the snowy forest, we all drove back to Anacortes. Hopefully Sunday would be a better day.

Left: Leaving for Seattle to pick up our van. Middle: Anchor Cove Marina.
Right: L'Esprit snug in Skyline Marina.

   Indeed, Sunday was good, even though it started out snowy. Because none of the guys could persuade their wives to drive the crew to Oak Harbor and back home in the snow (smart girls!!), David and I checked the Internet and discovered that I-5 road conditions were just fine for us to drive down to Seattle to pick up our van. By the time we got back to Anacortes, the sun was out, and the island roads seemed clearer. Penny drove the boys to the boat, and by three, they’d brought her into Anchor Cove Marina in strong winds and currents, but didn’t crash into anything. Thank you, Walt Barnard!

L to R: Davy, Carl Bergan, Linda Page,
Penny Barnard, Joanne,
Walt Barnard.

   When I got to the boat, Davy expressed his qualms about Anchor Cove, which, lovely as its covered moorage was, would cause us extreme problems until we learned to maneuver L’Esprit in PNW’s wind and currents (more on these later). Besides, I couldn’t even get on the boat from the dock, since the finger was too short.
   Which is why, two days later on Tuesday, March 1, we acquired a year-long lease at Skyline Marina, which is closer to the islands, but is not covered. We worked like crazy to fill L'Esprit with pots and pans and bedding, because on Friday we’d be gone to North Carolina, and by the following Thursday we’d be off on Fidalgo Yacht Club’s March cruise. Eek!
PNW Waters
   While we really haven’t ventured out into local waters yet, our ears and imaginations have been filled with sea stories, real and current. First, we’ve been told to watch out for nuclear submarine wakes because they create cliffs in the water. Evidently a crew bringing an Ocean Alexander up from Portland discovered this the hard way. Their little forty-foot freefall destroyed the boat they were delivering.

   Then we were strongly warned why we’re supposed to wait for slack tides instead of just plowing through the rapids and whirlpools between the islands. Apparently some whirlpools are so clearly defined that people have been known to see the rocks on the seabed thirty feet below because centrifugal force has driven the water aside. One guy watched the dinghy he trailed behind his boat sink into the hole and then pop out, landing squarely in front of his boat.

   Suspicious as I am, I’m choosing to believe these stories rather than check snopes.com.

Top: Davy, Dana and
Michael. Bottom: Jamie
and Treece Barrington.

The Richfield Jog

   We made it to North Carolina as part of the West Coast Wilshin contingent for cousin Jamie Harris’s wedding to Treece Barrington in Richfield. Davy’s daughter Dana and her husband Michael Springs also came; the wedding served as the first leg of their weeklong Southern tour.

   We had to leave our house on Fidalgo Island at three a.m. to get to the airport in time. By the time we arrived at our motel in Albemarle, it was nine p.m. We ate at the local Applebee’s and got in a short visit with Dana and Michael before she headed off to Jamie’s bachelorette party. 
   The wedding was a delight, including the country singers who were part of the ceremony. The reception was in an old mining town, Gold Hill. As usual, we had a tom-terrific time with the cousins!!

   The next morning, we headed to Charlotte to see if we could book an earlier flight. We failed, but in our failure we were gifted with first-class seats.

Other Things (a final peak)
   I'm going to wait with the yacht club cruise for the real March blog entry, for that was interesting in itself.

   Instead, I want to include some little tidbits that I've absorbed along the way.

   First, I forgot to include the cake you see the bottom of this blog entry and its meaning in the January blog. The cake was made by fellow yachtie Ellen Kaiser, who loves to make desserts, but hates to make meals. (The cake is filled with fruit and nuts!) The event for which she made this cake was rather extemporaneous. She'd been cleaning out her garage and discovered a cache of brown paper lunch bags. Instead of throwing them out, she glued an invitation on the bag and mailed it to a group of her friends who included other yachties, quilters, readers, and rowers. (Hopefully I remembered all her tribes.) The invitation said something like: "Bring your own lunch. I'll provide dessert and drinks." When the invitation arrived, I was immediately jealous I hadn't thought of this first. But I got over it and had one heck of a good time!

   I also make a weekly trip to Coupeville on Whidbey Island. It's amazing how many times I spot a unique, hilarious bumper sticker on those trips. Enjoy. 

   The third picture on the left I took in a grocery store. The bagger had the most beautiful headband, which, she explained, her mother had made by applying peacock feathers to felt, which she then attached to the headband. I figured someone I know will make good use of this idea!

   The last picture was taken sometime during the period when the snow wouldn't melt. On my hike down to the mail box, I noticed half a dozen robins pecking at the gravel on the road, much like a parakeet eating gravel he hopefully finds at the bottom of his cage. I'd never seen this before, but I'm used to it now! 

Katie Harris minding her rose petals.
Ellen Kaiser's bring-your-own-lunch cake.

January Happens

"Time's fun when you're eating flies!" (Kermit)

At the Commodore's Ball.
Davy twistin' the night away.

   Oh, we’d heard about the travails a Pacific Northwest winter blows into the lives of its folk. The darkness that sucks the spirit right out of you. The cold that, once it reaches your bones, won’t thaw ‘til the coming spring.

   Instead of donning more fleece and adding happy lamps to our decor, we decided to savor whatever fun passed our way. Fun, after all, sheds its own warmth and light.
   Our first bit of glee came on January 3rd, when, unlike most marine sales, we bought a boat and sold a boat on the same day, providing us the two best days in a boater’s life on a single day. This happens with great regularity in real estate because the purchase of one house is often contingent on the sale of another, which is probably contingent on yet the sale of another house, which is . . . . .. (It’s amazing houses ever get bought and sold!) 

The Seattle Boat Show
featured sea planes (!!) and
boat tables.

   Naturally, on January 4th, we hopped in Isadora (she with her automatic transmission), and drove to Lake Union to board our new chariot, L’Esprit. Also, naturally, David wanted to start her up and take her somewhere, like the fuel dock and the pump-out station. I on the other hand wanted to know how we’re supposed to dock the behemoth, since I was going to get to handle the dock lines.
   You have to understand that I’m scared to death of the water, so jumping off a boat onto a dock thrills me not. It’s one of the reasons I prefer to drive a boat, besides not wanting to mess up my manicure. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to drive a twin-engine power boat (I hear it’s rather like operating a wheel chair), so I played the deck ape.
   Fate had it that Lake Union's non-floating docks are built high enough to be level with our deck, which made getting on and off the boat a dream. The fact that there was no wind also helped. All in all, we had a hoot cruising back and forth on the lake, avoiding sea planes, and forgetting to pull in our fenders (the Ocean Alexander folks must have cringed if they spotted us out there).
   Then the fun stopped, as we knew it would, for she needed yard work: propellers, bottom paint, wiring, window stuff, plus all the items our nitpicky surveyor told the insurance company we needed. All is good. It’s a boat. We should have her by mid-February.
Darwin 101

   Surviving winter’s hardest part required us to remember three things.

More lovely sunset
views from our deck.

   First, we had to check the propane tank on a more regular basis, because we discovered two days before Christmas Eve company was due to arrive that we had an ounce of fuel remaining (I exaggerate). Cripes, we’d been here since the beginning of March and never required a refill, then suddenly, cold weather hits, and we’re using a tank a month. Now we watch the tank like a hawk!
   Second, we learned that cold air equals dry air. I couldn’t figure out why my house plants kept wilting, when I’d just watered them like five days before. In SoCal, watering houseplants once a week was plenty in the summer, and every ten days in the winter. I've had to change my ways.  
   Third, we learned to stash the umbrellas somewhere they couldn’t be found, because, honestly, no one up here uses them. Really. I've added umbrellas to my list of things I haven't seen in almost a year, right next to graffiti. 
Brrrrr

   How cold has it been? Nothing like it was around Thanksgiving, when our pond froze over for almost a week, and our fish got their noses a bruised a bit. Fifteen degrees it was then!
   Still, it’s been cold enough for it to snow right after Christmas and on my birthday, which we celebrated with a birthday lunch at Prima Bistro in Langley, on Whidbey Island, instead of dinner, so we could get home before the snow arrived. 

Man watching us
descend Langley's steps
to the bay.

  It was a lovely lunch, done my favorite way. Order some wine and a bowl of parsnip-pear soup to share, followed by oysters on the half shell and then roast-beet salad with fourme d’ambert, etc., etc. Afterward, we took a much needed walk down several flights of stairs to the shore below to size up a possible sea landing for this summer and decided it’s a go. Langley’s a lovely little town facing the mainland. Quaint. Hospitable (Langley Inn). Picturesque. Another locale to add to our total love for and fascination with our new home. We came home and took a nap. 

Top: Looking SW toward
Lopez Island's tip; Snowy leaf
suspended by a spider-web
wisp.

   The next morning was especially lovely since it snowed all night. The picture through the window shows a snow-laded leaf dangling on a spider web.

   A little aside here: Prima Bistro is owned by very good friends of David’s office manager in Newport Beach, Maureen Vadman, and her husband David,which sweetened the trip even more!
Yachties
   We’re so glad we joined the Fidalgo Yacht Club located in Skyline, at the Fidalgo Island’s northwest corner. We’ve met wonderful, friendly people whom we’ve discovered to be extremely knowledgeable about everything we’ve found ourselves lacking: understanding of the tides and currents which make SoCal seem like a lake; the best places to find food and fuel in the archipelago; anchoring in six-hundred feet of water; plowing through a prone forest floating as a mass through the channels between islands; going through the rapids that form between islands (Don’t: Wait for slack tide!); docking; catching shrimp, lobster, salmon, and crab; cooking shrimp, lobster, salmon, and crab; expeditiously getting through Canadian customs; and where the not-to-miss scenic spots are between and including Olympia and Alaska. 

Redundancy at work!
Grill-dinner-in-the-rain.

    Unlike SoCal, most people up here only boat from April to October/November, which seems oddm but understandable, to us. Our favorite times to stay home and varnish were the summer months, so we’d have plenty of free time in the fall, winter and spring to hit the islands. Now our usual week-long stay at Two Harbors at Catalina's isthmus between Christmas and New Years is but a memory.
   But since people aren’t off boating in the winter, they’re having tons of fun at the club. Grill-your-own-steak nights. (That’s David in the picture grilling our steaks in the, you guessed it: RAIN.) Bar nights. Preparing for the club’s first cruise in March to Anacortes. I know! We’re already in Anacortes. History has taught the club that March cruises to further destinations stand a pretty good chance of turning into weather disastera. In April we’re going all the way to La Conner, and in July we’re taking our SoCal sailing buddies Hank and Gail Salerno with us to Vancouver Island for Victoria Splash. There’s more, but I can’t remember.
   I unfortunately will not be going to La Conner because . . .
Watch Out for What You Volunteer For
   I volunteered to lick envelopes and apply stamps for the Whidbey Island Writers Conference in April, and ended up being named the Chat House Coordinator.
   Let me step back and describe the Whidbey Island Writers Conference, because it is very different from most, which take place at a resort, institute, or hotel. Since Whidbey boasts no big hotels, they have their writer-led sessions in people’s homes, big beautiful homes with views to nirvana and back. Fireside chats, they call them. So I’ve been spending a significant bit of my time driving down to Coupeville to check out homes, etc. The residents are extremely generous!
   The big draws at this year’s conference are Garth Stein (The Art of Racing in the Rain) and Priscilla Long (The Portable Writer’s Mentor), two books I strongly recommend.
   I’d have to say one of the greatest side effects to my volunteering for the conference has been the drive. Driving southward, the Olympics tower in my view. Driving north to home, the Cascades rise before me (actually to the right a little!). Wowzer!
Time to Read
   One little habit winter has abetted is reading.
   It used to be for Davy, that by the end of a day spent reading the news, legalese, unbrief briefs, and convoluted contracts, he lacked any appetite for fiction . There is, after all, a limit to how many words one should have to deal with in any given day.
   Our move has changed all that.
   Now it’s a common sight to find Davy curled up with his Kindle, pressing the Next Page button, and smiling at some piece of wit he’s just read. He recently finished The Art of Racing in the Rain and is now pretty well through Shipping News. (I only know that because he told me. One never knows where another is on his Kindle unless one illicitly sneaks a peek. Do unto others. . . . )
   My December/January reads:
   Stones into Schools- a fascinating read that offers details about Afghanistan’s and Pakistan's history, sociology, and geography rarely mentioned in the news.  
   Parrot and Olivier in America – Peter Carey was short-listed for the Man Booker Prize with this view of America from a French Perspective. Thought I’d run into de Tocqueville at any page turn! (I also loved his True History of the Kelly Gang.)
   Visit from the Goon Squad – Wild and wonderful characters in wild and wonderful short stories that glue together like a novel. I’m sending a copy to Lisa, she of San Francisco and NYC.
   Breakfast with Buddha – Pretty good plot with pretty good characters who leave you with pretty good thoughts about improving the quality of your life. It was also fun to read a road trip book that followed our recent route so closely.
   Saving CeeCee Honeycutt - Oh, dear, what to say? Quirky characters, interesting writing style, but, eek! The plot! I like my characters to grow and transcend the trouble they’ve seen. I was disappointed.
   Portable Writer’s Mentor – Yum. If you like to write and want to take your writing semi- or fully seriously, add this book to your shelf.
The Great Visit

   Besides boatie stuff, I would have to say the highlight of my month was my visit with Kirsten Roth, whom I’ve known practically all my life, but hadn’t seen for the forty years. We knew each other as tots, and all through grade school and high school. Our parents (Ragnhild and Thormod Cook and Johanna and Burton Roth)were best of friends in a circle of Norwegian expats living in San Pedro and Palos Verdes, who'd sometimes gather at the Seaman's Church on Beacon Street (where I was baptized) . My parents were from Mandal and Oslo; hers were from Stavanger.
   In high school we’d make our parents open-face sandwiches while they were in the living room playing bridge.
   The last time I saw Kirsten, we’d both graduated from college, I’d just bought a house on Mira Mar in Long Beach, and she was off to Russia to learn the language as part of her career with PanAm (or was it SAS?? I can’t remember.).
   Sadly, I didn’t even know her mother died a month before my father died in 1979. How do things like that slip by?
   There was so much to catch up on, and I'm glad we live so close (eighty miles) because we'll have things to talk about for the next twenty years. Our parents must be smiling down from heaven!
   It was a truly wonderful lunch at the Boat Street Cafe, even though it was cut short by my getting lost. (Someday I’m going to do one long rant about Seattle streets and how if you get off on Mercer Street, there is absolutely no guarantee there will be a Mercer Street upon which you can drive.)
Looking Forward
   Midwinter's a couple of weeks away. Already the sun's descending later, and little garden weeds of peeking out of the ground (ugh!). We can see why people get excited at spring's foreshadow. And we can see why people love it in the PNW, despite its dark season. We wouldn't give up this experience for the world!

An Homage to Always



"Let us be grateful to those who make us happy;
they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."
Marcel Proust.

   Monday, January 2, 2011, was the two happiest days in our current boating life. Always, our fourteen-ton Mason 43 cutter-rigged sloop was sold in Long Beach, California, to a man who, after first bringing her up to Anacortes where we are, plans to take her to the South Seas. What a lucky lass is she. 
   On that same day, we purchased another fourteen tonner, this time a PNW-friendly 44 Ocean Alexander sun-deck, cockpit motor yacht we're naming L’Esprit. More about her in our next entry.
    For now, we’d like to pay homage to our girl who, over the last ten years, transported our guest crews and us to and back home safely from each of California’s sometimes-feral Channel Islands (Santas Barbara, Miguel, Clemente, Catalina, Rosa, Nicolas, Cruz, and Anacapa); Malibu's Paradise Cove; King, Ventura, and Cabrillo Harbors; Santa Barbara city; Long Beach's Island White; Laguna and Newport Beaches; Tanner and Cortes Bank and Dana Point. 

   Below, we've included some pictures encapsulating our Always adventure, including many pictures of friends who have served as crew. We regret, that in our move up here some pictures we thought we had have not at this time been found. If you have any, please forward them to us, and we'll post them here. 

   Indeed, we thank all of you who have braved the California waters to crew aboard Always. In so many ways, YOU added significantly to our adventure, and our memories with you will be lasting. 

Left: Thomas Gieskes and Dave Hackett helming on a guy-trip to San Miguel Island. Mid: Dave and Thomas. Right: Nicolas Rodasta back in Avalon near end of Tanner Bank voyage.

Left: Thomas Gieskes, Frank Conner and Dave Hackett on Cuyler Beach, San Miguel. Mid: Michael Springs and Nicolas Rodasta in Avalon after the rough Tanner Bank passage. Rt: Michael Springs, Nicolas Rodasta, and Dave heading toward Avalon in the early morning after Tanner Bank Passage in which seas and 30 kt. winds broke the steering.

Left: Frank Conner, Nicolas Rodasta, Dave, and Michael Springs heading toward Avalon. Mid: Charlotte Backman helming back to Long Beach from Newport Beach. Rt: Volare captain Hank Salerno passes appetizers to Chandra Fechtelkotter at Santa Barbara Island.  

Left: Fauso Silva (sorry, can't find pictures of Norma, Katie Martinka, and Ross Mueller) pointing out boats when we found ourselves on the wrong side of the TransPac (LA to Hawaii) starting line. Mid: Here's Pendragon passing us on the starboard right after the TransPac starting gun fired. Rt: Heading home from somewhere.

Left: David's favorite perch. Mid. and Rt.: Dolphins swimming with us, our favorite good-luck sign. 

Left: Kati and Dave Hackett. Mid: View from the companionway ladder. Rt: Kati and Dave Hackett, Linda Watkins, and Ken Thompson coming over for brunch in Newport harbor.  

Left: Phyllis Ann Marshall helming after brunch at Long Beach Yacht Club. Mid: A new high. Thirteen in the cockpit for cocktails at Santa Barbara Island That's Hank Salerno in the yellow fleece and Gail Salerno with her back to the camera, second from left. Rt: Several Inside Edgers won the auction for a sail on Always. Kathy Blank is on the left, Susan in the middle, and Jim Morris is on the right.

Left: Sailing and lunch with Louella Nelson, Stacee Nelson, and Thilo Wisniewski. Mid: Frank Conner and Michael Springs, Rt. Thomas Gieskes.

Left: Frank Conner. Mid: Hiking Santa Barbara Island. Gail and Hank Salerno, on left. David in the back. The people with the Grand Banks on the right. Rt. View from atop Snata Barbara Island's landing spot.

Left: Elephant Seal at San Miguel Island. Mid: Seagul chicks on Santa Barbara Island. Rt: Thomas Gieskes, Dave Hackett, Frank Conner, the ranger, and Hank Salerno atop San Miguel Island.

Left: Again Dave Hackett, Frank Salerno, Frank Conner, and Thomas Gieskes halfway up San Miguel Island by Juan Cabrillo's commemorative plaue. Mid: Thomas and Dopminique Gieskes and David in the back, Gail and Hank Salerno (Beneteau 42, Volare)in the front, atop Santa Barbara Island. Rt. An accidental crew member at Santa Barbara Island.

Left and middle: Usually in March, migrating warblers will stop on Always during a crossing between Long Beach and Catalina's Isthmus. They are very sociable and feel completely comfortable taking over the boat, even going below to investigate. They're quite smitten by our chiny winches in which they can see themselves. They also like swing on coiled ropes. Rt: Always's rails awash.

Left: Always with her winter house up in Cherry Cove, Catalina Island. We'd spend a week in this cove between Christmas and New Years, and Always would become a convection oven keeping us toasty and warm. Ken Thompson and Linda Watkins. Davy facing the sunrise at Yellowbanks, Santa Cruz Island.  

Left: Davy helming us home from the Channel Islands. Mid: Sunset on the Pacific Ocean. Rt. Chandra Fechtelkotter home from a trip to Paradise Cove, Malibu, California.

Left: Dave checking the strings (actually this is on Priscilla, our Newport 41, Priscilla). Mid: Always's cockpit looking pretty. Rt. Always's interior, looking forward.

Farewell, Always!
We loved your spirit, your zest for life, and your generosity.
Fair winds and following seas!







 

Our First PNW December – All it’s cracked up to be

   The warnings had come often and consistently since moving to Fidalgo Island in late February: “Wait ‘til winter arrives. Then we’ll see how you like it in the northern 48s.”
   In a way, the warnings were correct, though not in the way intended. 
Fowl Weather

Click to enlarge

   First, in early December, we suddenly found it important to drop everything we were doing and hop into Wes in search of migrating Tundra Swans (a.k.a. trumpeter swans) who, the locals claimed, could be spotted in the nature preserve ponds just outside of La Conner, the tulip capital of the world United States.
   After searching and searching in every cove we could find (I exaggerate), we gave up, and drove toward town for a beer and noshes at the Trumpeter Public House, which we considered fitting.
    On the way, however, we came across a little turkey farm, where we learned that turkeys can be extremely friendly. In fact, when I got out of Wes and said hi to them so they’d at least turn around and smile for the camera, they all thronged toward me like I was a vision of the Virgin Mary here to grant them clemency and peace. Really! Enlarge the picture. It was hilarious. They wouldn’t stop talking to me. Blah, blah, blah. Something about getting gobbled up, or whatever. I snapped my pictures and quit the scene in a flash. Turkeys. As you probably know, can fly.
   Now we really needed a beer.

   But, then, as if guided by fate herself, we spotted white flashes yon across the freeway, in Farmer Sven’s freshly furrowed fields, which, because it had rained wildly the night before, were brim full of water. It was in those lake rows we spotted our loot. Millions or hundreds, take you pick, of pristinely white tundra swans were floating in the furrows, some with their necks tightly craned, their heads submerged, others flapping their wings to dry them out or to stake a claim.
   Now we really needed that beer, which we indeed had, before deciding to press our luck and search for bald eagles catching salmon along the Skagit River shoals up the highway near Concrete, maybe thirty miles.
   We found no sign of the eagles because the river was flooded due to Thanksgiving's snow being followed by a forty-two degree heat wave.
   The whole flooding phenomenon, however, did hold our interest. SoCal’s rivers, which we are used to, are lined with concrete, not because it goes with the rest of the décor so much better, but because in urban settings, flooding understandably needs to be controlled in a highly efficient and predictable manner. Since Skagit County is the antithesis of urban, the natural river banks are what contain and channel the water down to the Sound. If there’s too much water, then the river floods, and the county puts up signs reminding motorists that driving in flooded areas is the major cause of storm-related deaths, which seems obvious, except . . .
   So we’re driving along the road, and I’m watching the GPS, and David asks, “What’s the name of that lake out there?” And I have to say, “It’s not a lake. It’s a farm.” So we understand why the locals may need to be reminded to not drive on their driveways during inclement weather and thaws.
   In Sauk Park, where we looked for the bald eagles, we got another picture of Davy inside our favorite tree (left, middle).
   Also at the bottom of that trio of pictures on the left is a gorgeous sunset taken on a stormy afternoon off the Coupeville Pier, after a JustWrite session. Two fellow writers and I were hiking along the pier to our cars, talking about how, as expats from California, the constant visuals the Puget Sound area provides never gets old, boring, or normal. It’s still been ages since I’ve seen graffiti.
Beat Army

   I have no idea why the Army-Navy game is no longer played on the same first weekend of December as the USC-UCLA game so you can land a spot in a sports bar and squat there all day to hopefully watch USC and Army writhe in misery.
   It matters not, because we had a fabulous time with Hank and Sandi Siebert at NAS Whidbey’s Officers Club watching Navy totally trounce Army with such plays as an almost-ninety-nine yard touchdown at the game’s start. Yahoo!!!
   As far as officers club decor goes, and I’m no connoisseur, NAS Whidbey's has walls thickly lined with paraphernalia and mementos, such as part of the rudder (above left) of the EP-3 Surveillance aircraft that went down in China in 2001, an incident, interestingly enough, which was assuaged by David’s USNA classmate Joseph Prueher, then Ambassador to China.
   There were also plenty of squadron plaques from this century’s war sorties. All we could do was imagine how the pilots got names such as Baggy, Hose, and Gramps, for our last visit to NAS Whidbey taught us that the names are earned by misdeed, rather than physical mutation or endowment. 
   Unlike the usual sports-bar environments in which we usually watch The Game, Whidbey officers brought the whole family, so there were tons of little kids tearing around the place, playing catch with midget footballs and running for passes between the formally set tables ready for the evening festivities. Besides being hilarious, it was bittersweet, for we knew this squadron, who’d been flying practice runs over the Sound for the last couple of months, would be leaving their families for Iraq and/or Afghanistan around Christmas. As I write today, the skies are silent and waiting for the new crew to rev up the engines and get to their practicing.
The Plasses

   Jane and Norm Wolfe, who’d been to Seattle to watch Lindsey’s dance recital, were supposed to visit the second week of December; sadly, plans went awry. Another time.
   But after Christmas, Beverly Plass (who’s still in my Louella Nelson Critique Group that I miss SOOOO much) and her family (husband Howard, son Tyler, and friend Jason) came up for the day from Black Mountain, Enumclaw, where Howard was raised.
   We went to the Adrift, a local restaurant that serves locally-grown food from the county and the San Juan Islands. It was great catching up with Bev, and I have no idea what the guys were talking about, but they seemed to be having a great time. Then we drove them around and showed the highlights of the island, except we didn’t take them to the top of Mt. Erie, because it had snowed that day, and we weren’t sure we could make it to the top on the icy road, or make it down alive.
   p.s.: For reference’s sake, in the picture of just Bev and me, I put a red arrow pointing to the hill upon which we live.
Postcards from Whidbey Island

   As Harry Anderson wrote for the Whidbey Examiner, “What would it have looked like if Garrison Keillor and Ed Sullivan had moved to Whidbey Island and started producing live, monthly variety shows together?”
   Anderson's question sparked our curiostiy, so David and I set out to discover just what this was all about on Dec. 19, a chilly Sunday afternoon.
   We drove over Deception Pass Bridge that links Fidalgo Island to Whidbey, past Oak Harbor and Penn Cove (home of Penn Cove mussels) to southwestern Coupeville, where we found the (now-heated) Historic Crockett Barn, lying west of Crockett Prairie (Whidbey Island has three prairies!), and south of Fort Casey.
   Inside the packed house, we enjoyed the recorded matinee, where, fun of fun, people from the JustWrite (on Whidbey) group I attend each Wednesday took part. Mary Rose Anderson read a stirring memoir about her enormous cat Harry who helped mother her daughter until his death. Sandra Pollard-Snowberger lamented about the trevails of being married to a Norwegian, and therefore having a Norwegian mother-in-law. And William Bell and Elizabeth Herbert who run Local Grown at the end of the Coupeville Pier emceed the production, as well as overseeing it all as producer/director. Listen! And here's part 2.
   AND there were cookies and a raffle to help the local animal shelter. Bayview Sound 
provided the music, which was amazingly good. The guy sounds like Neil Young and the fiddler had heart. Who can ask for anything more? Listen!
The Bus Stop: An update

   As promised, we’ve uploaded a picture of the maringally famous  Rosario Road bus stop, with its revolving holiday displays. Wonder what next month will bring!
   The other two pictures were taken at the insistence of Davy’s car, Wes, who likes to have his picture taken with the local scenery, perhaps as a testament to the fact that he’s in fact been out of the garage and in the weather. We, of course, cow-tow to his wishes because, frankly, we want him to start every morning.
   The middle picture shows him patiently waiting while we make our futile attempt to find swans in the wild-life preserve.
    The bottom photograph is a particularle favorite shot of his from Washington Park looking toward Skyline and its marina (where we almost lived, except the owner died and his daughter wouldn’t go through with the transaction so we live somewhere on the hill we pointed out in the Bev and Joanne picture).
Cold Sand

   Another surprising delight winter provides us are the beach walks. After a storm, it’s an adventure to spot the new logs that have banged onto shore, adding to the bone pile already gilding the sand.
   We shot this picture because we loved the little kid’s shoe prints juxtapositioned against his or her dog’s. If only we were around to see more than the footprints they left behind.
Where the Tulips Meet the Ferries

   Anacortest literally sits between the ferry landings and the tulip fields, the San Juan Islands and the Cascade Mountains, and the shipping lanes and the railroad highways. 
   Thus, ferries are vitally important, especially since they're a whole lot easier to build and maintain than a bunch of bridges connecting a natural archipelago in a windswept environment. 
   So it has been interesting to venture down to the harbor, which is like ten little blocks from the grocery store, to watch what the local ship industry's up to.
   For the last month, since they shipped the Cade Candies platform off to the Gulf of Mexico, they've been fixing ferries, which means they've dismantled them and set the top parts, where the cars and passengers travel, up on the dock, and left the rest in the water. It’s actually rather disorienting to drive by and see some ship’s superstructure in a lot next to the sidewalk. 
   One of these days, David and I will stop one of the workers on his way to his car and ask what they're doing to the ferries. Almost always the guys are thrilled and proud to describe their current projects and the part they play, which we think is fabulous. Very neat energy!!!
   The last picture on the left shows the local marina wildlife. Down in Alamitos, where Always is moored, the sealife clinging to the docks is either bright orange like a well-marketed orange or slug brown. These up at Anchor Cove Marina I think look quite festive, especially with the snow-covered Mt. Baker in the background, which you cannot see because I cropped the photograph.
Glade Jul

   Last, we had a delightful little Christmas, our first up here. Since we knew none of our kids would be making the trek northwest, we celebrated Christmas Eve with friends and spent Christmas recuperating.
   We had prime rib for dinner, which was a bit tough for my taste, but I'll figure out the meat shopping up here by next year. That's for sure! The chocolate souffles were delish, and so was our company: Linda Page, Carl Bergan, Ellen Kaiser, Bob Lane, Kim Adams and Bill Monteforte--all fellow members of the Fidalgo Yacht Club.