Fort Worden: A Bomb and a Blast!

We worked a couple of snow days in early February, days when we had so much snow we told the Assistant Managers to stay home and we would fill in. It’s a great deal for us because, hey there’s about 10” of snow out there, and we aren’t going anywhere anyway! When this happens, we then earn a few extra days off.

We added one of those days to a normal 3 day weekend and booked an RV site at Fort Worden State Park, the Beach Campground. There are 2 campgrounds at Fort Worden, a beach affair which is open and expansive, with a beach that wraps around 2 sides of the long skinny property. The other is the Upper (Forest) Campground, which has sites sprinkled among the pines and firs on the hill above the old fort. Each campground has its own charm, depending on whether you prefer a forest view or sunshine and the smell of the ocean.

We left noonish on Friday morning (our bonus day off) and drove the rig onto the Kingston Ferry, then across the Hood Canal Bridge (where we just missed a boomer missile sub transiting out to a tour in the Pacific), further on to Port Townsend and then on through to Fort Worden. With all the recent snow, the view of the Olympics from the Hood Canal Bridge was very nice.

The snow-capped Olympic Range looking south from the Hood Canal Bridge

The old fort was built as a defensive gunnery emplacement to protect Puget Sound in World War I, just in case some of the extremely distant navies of our enemies decided to invade our homeland through the Pacific Northwest. It doubled down as an improved gunnery site for World War II, with the same predictable results: not a shot was fired at the enemy (for obvious reasons). But the gunnery batteries, which still exist sans guns, are impressive. Solid concrete doesn’t even start to describe it with many of the walls seemingly feet thick, and tunnels running everywhere so the soldiers manning the guns and fetching munitions wouldn’t be subjected to enemy fire. The fort is pretty sizeable, and most of the facilities have been renovated and restored to use as a resort of sorts under the management of the Washington State Parks system.

The main fort is the long “Commons”, a grassy parade ground that is surrounded by base housing and administrative offices. The housing has been upgraded and refurbished as rental “cottages”, a few of which are 6 bedrooms, or “Condos” which are converted barracks housing. It seems like a perfect place for a large family reunion, and I’m sure it really jumps in the summer. At the ocean end of the Commons is the Beach Campground, and at the other is the Upper Campground. We walked the entire perimeter, and it’s about 2.5 miles with lots to see.

Above the fort Commons, on the bluffs to the West, are the gun batteries. Part of the fun of coming here is all the walking and hiking you can do to see all of the installations.

The Samuel Walker Bunker, underneath a 2-Gun Battery (gun images left intentionally blank)

There is a lot of signage telling you the history of it all, and the views are spectacular. There are some interesting buildings as well, that don’t have any signs, so we can only guess what they were used for. This one sits atop the hill, so it may have been an observation post. If I was Base Commander, I would have been tempted to hang a giant target on the ocean facing side of the tower.

Maybe an Observation Post? And yes, it was occupied by a renter

It rained on and off during our stay, but we caught a nice break on Sunday and opted to walk the perimeter of the park. Up a steep trail to the top of the bluff, and then west and back down to sea level where we found the old Chinese Gardens. What is now a pond used to be a drained shallow valley that was taken over by Chinese immigrants in the early 1900s. They grew produce which was then trucked into town as far away as Seattle for sale. Anti-Chinese political sentiment eventually ran all of them out of the area, and the well-tended farms fell into retirement, and eventually flooded back into a pond.

While we walked we also collected rocks and driftwood to paint, a Zen experience that is incredibly relaxing. Wendy has quite a collection from all our camping, and this time she focused on painting a landscape scene from our beach onto a piece of driftwood found on the beach.

Grandma Wendy will someday be famous, I’m sure, for her Landscapes

Fort Worden sits adjacent to Port Townsend, the wooden ship capital of the Northwest. It’s an old seaport town with a decidedly Victorian flavor, and also home to two of our favorite restaurants. Breakfast was served at the Blue Moose, a smallish breakfast-and-lunch-only spot run by 2 sisters. Along with a great (big) breakfast, you get some cool antique furnishings and collectibles hung all over the walls.

A HUGE plate of corned beef hash and eggs at the Blue Moose Cafe

Lunch was served at Sirens, right on the waterfront and up a very steep flight of stairs. The atmosphere is inviting, the views are great, and the food is wonderful. The beer mug says it all.

In between the two restaurants, we strolled through the boatyard adjacent to the Blue Moose.

The soon-to-be-mentioned Mystery Pic

They fit out some pretty big vessels here, with a monstrous “Travel Lift” that can pluck boats longer than 100’ right out of the dockside. That mystery picture above came off the front of the Red Bluff, a heavy tug. Old tires make great bumpers for big ships, I guess. We got a few pictures to give some scale to it.

Winter camping is nice without all the summer crowds. The solitude and quiet offsets the less-than-spectacular weather. Returning from our perimeter walk, we were remarking that, unlike most, there was no real highlight to this trip to anchor this blog. But we spoke too soon. On our return we noticed a growing crowd of law enforcement vehicles, lights flashing, at the entrance to the park. I initially thought a donut truck had overturned, but soon a Camp Host came banging on our door to announce that someone had found “a piece of ordnance” on the beach, and that the bomb squad had been called to clear it out. It turned out to be a WWII artillery shell, apparently still live. A few hours later Mr. Bomb Disposal showed up, and the decision was made to detonate it in place rather than move it. We had nearly a front row seat for this, and I couldn’t have been happier. In my book, any day you get to see somebody blow something up is a very good day, indeed!

We watched and waited, and soon saw Mr. BD trailing a spool of wire back from the beach, to which he attached a hand switch. And shortly after, a siren sounded and a loudspeaker barked “Fire in the hole” 3 times. A rather loud boom and plume of smoke erupted, which really was only the beginning. The loud boom was likely the explosives used by Mr. BD, which then lit the old shell propellant on fire, which created a huge cloud of smoke that engulfed the whole entrance to the park for about a half hour. It was all very exciting, and definitely worthy of being a blog anchor!

A very satisfying end (BOOM) to a great weekend!

And last but never least, here’s Tippy, inspired by a handwritten sign we saw on our journey!

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Nothing Says Boonies like a Rusted Propane Tank Farm

The big feature of our trip this time was a first visit to Forks, WA. We’ll get to the actuals a bit later in the blog, but our title comes from our first impression, cruising through town on the main drag (Hwy 101), just before we blinked and missed the rest of it. It’s a common feature, we have found, that most towns way out of the way of big cities, have this: a large Propane or Natural Gas dealership with an inventory of pressurized gas tanks in varying states of serviceability, a polite way of stating “freshly painted or not”.

But first, let’s properly introduce our trip. After a hyper-strange 2020, we decided to start 2021 with a camping trip, hoping desperately to set the tone for a better year with some fresh air, exploration, and quiet relaxation. In late 2020, we had successfully negotiated a reduced work week, in a preplanned “slow slide back into retirement”, and welcomed 2021 with 3-day weekends, starting appropriately on the very first Saturday of the New Year, January 1. So, we packed up the rig and set off that morning to our base camp in the Olympic Peninsula, the Elwha Dam RV Resort located just outside of Port Angeles, WA.

The day dawned rainy, not our favorite weather, but we welcomed the opportunity for some exceptionally clean air and forged on. We had a wee bit of a hiccup when I mistakenly headed for the wrong ferry landing, intending to arrive at Edmonds for the crossing to Kingston, but instead seeing the Mukilteo landing in our windshield about the same time my brain went “Ooops”. We had given ourselves plenty of time, however, and made the 10 mile backtrack to the Edmonds landing in record time, arriving just in time to buy our ticket and drive onto the 10:20 boat right on schedule.

I always like crossing the Hood Canal Bridge, just in the off chance that one of our Navy’s giant missile subs will be making a transit. It’s quite a sight, with the escort ships spread out on all 4 corners of the giant hull of the sub, all trying to squeeze through the bridge opening. The bridge isn’t a draw bridge, rather the center section splits in the middle, with each side dropping down and retracting under the roadway to expose the opening. I’ve read that it frequently misbehaves and jams, which can take way more than an hour to get corrected, leading to sizeable traffic backups on both sides of this primary roadway. Not today, however; we sailed through smoothly (pun intended). The rest of the 1 ½ hour drive was without rain, but we had plenty of wind, gusting to about 50 mph at times. We took it slow, and arrived exactly as we wanted, just in time for the rain to start back up. I’m not a huge fan of setting up the rig in the rain, especially when it’s cold and windy, but the prospect of 3 days of camping away from all the craziness took the sting out of it.

Setup went quickly, the sites at Elwah Dam are nice and level, and pull-through for easy positioning. After we got situated, we took a drive into Port Angeles to scout out some ways to help support the locals. Takeout food seemed appropriate, and in the process of hunting that down we found the local donut shop, Sasquatch, which is only open a couple of days a week. Happily, Saturday was one of them. We scored enough tasty treats for the next 3 mornings.

Also in our short recon trip, we went down to the Port, where the Blackball Ferry provides service to Victoria BC. This very cool sculpture caught our eye.

Another sign that you are out in the boonies, a real reduction in the number of broadcast TV channels your rig’s antenna can pick up. Most RV campgrounds don’t provide a good enough wireless internet to make streaming TV content practical; in fact, most of them strictly forbid it. So, we settled for some late afternoon viewing of our childhood friend, Bugs Bunny! This is what passes for TV broadcast in Booniesville USA.

What’s up Doc?

While I don’t care much for rain while I’m camping, we absolutely love sleeping in the rig with the rain playing out on the roof at night. We call it Lullaby Rain because of the calming effect it induces, and the great night’s sleep we always get when it happens. Saturday night was such a night, resulting in a solid 10 hours of rejuvenation.

We woke up Sunday fully charged and ready for our primary mission: exploration of Forks, WA, the filming home for the Twilight series that chronicled a town populated with vampires. We never watched any of the shows many seasons, but nobody we know avoided the publicity that accompanied the fad it produced. We even had to visit the hamburger diner inspired by the show at Three Rivers Resort. A sign on the road declares “No Vampires Beyond This Point”. Did we feel safer passing that sign? Yawn.

The drive to Forks is predictably not very exciting. You are, however, driving through some very pretty forest, and past Lake Crescent, a charming resort destination tucked among the Olympic Range. About an hour after departure, Forks appeared in the windshield right after we crossed the Sol Duc River.

The main drag, Hwy 101, with the aforementioned Propane dealership, stretches from John’s Beachcombing Museum on the north, to the Forks Timber Museum (closed until further notice) on the south.

Of course, Closed Until Further Notice

The town teeters around Tillicum Park, which has a really nice Gold Star Families Memorial, another not-too-uncommon small town hallmark.

Tillicum Park also borders the town playing fields, which also border the town schools. A very efficient use of facilities and land that most big cities really can’t pull off.

Many small towns feature central play fields near schools

The nearby local bowling alley is punctuated by twin pyramids of presumably expended bowling balls. How those balls become expended is beyond me.

Just because we always do, we took a drive through some of the neighborhoods to see how the locals live. Probably because we were driving slowly and checking things out, we picked up a Sheriff shadow that followed us from a distance. Such are small towns, and we salute their diligence! Again, something the big city can’t reproduce.

We were advised by one of our tenants to visit Rialto Beach for some “great driftwood” scenic viewing. A side road to La Push took us there, where we also passed the Three Rivers Resort hamburger joint that apparently no longer offers refuge from vampires. Arrival at Rialto Beach is into a small well maintained parking area separated from the beach by a 10’ high berm absolutely covered with large driftwood piles.

The parking area is well maintained, but a little storm-beaten this day

The previous day’s storm had stirred up the Pacific Ocean considerably, and the surf roared. We climbed the berm on a narrow path and found a beach even deeper in huge driftwood that was under vicious assault by multiple sets of waves between 10 and 15 feet high that started out hundreds of yards offshore. Even the shore break was impressive. Not a surfer in sight, though; it might have simply been too much.

It was nature’s power at is finest. As a sailor and boater, I’m always awed by the pure energy of the ocean, and I couldn’t help but recall the many news stories of “Sneaker Waves” that catch onlookers off guard and sweep them away into the thrashing surf. In fact, since waves were literally pounding away at the shoreline not too far in front of us, we decided we had seen plenty and made our way back over the berm and into the parking lot. Less than a minute after that we heard shrieks and yelling, and saw ocean-soaked people running back over the top of the berm and climbing onto high piles of driftwood, and water washed over the top of berm, headed to the parking lot. We aren’t sure if anyone was caught in it, but on our drive out we were passed by 3 emergency vehicles headed toward the beach. We never saw anything on the news, so hopefully it was only a minor event.

The drive back to Elwha was just as pretty and uneventful as the drive out. On the way, we were rewarded with hints that the storm was breaking and might just give us a little sunshine.

And, indeed, once we returned to the rig, a short while later, the sun came out and gave us an opportunity to take a walk.

Our walk didn’t pan out. The ground around the resort was so saturated that small shallow rivers literally flowed through the campground and made the 10-minute hike to the old Elwha Dam site impassable. We had hiked up to the Elwha Dam several years ago not long after it and its companion dam, Glines Canyon, had been fully removed in 2014, and really wanted to see how the river had recovered. From my research, it is a remarkable transformation; where just a few years ago there was a dead river, now there is a beautiful cascading flow that is miraculously filled with growing salmon and steelhead trout runs reminiscent of those that existed over a hundred years earlier before either dam’s construction. Nature is a powerful force that will not be denied.

Our trip accomplished what we wished for. We left that beautiful spot well rested and recharged. We finished our donuts with gusto. We explored things we had never seen before. And we enjoyed not one, but 2 nights of Lullaby Rain. Here’s Tippy!

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A Very Together Thanksgiving

2020 is the Year of The Killer to me. Not so much in a sense of Jack the Ripper, but more along the lines of The Killjoy.


For many decades, Wendy and I haven’t had a Thanksgiving just to ourselves. It’s always been family and friends galore, traveling to and from, and food. Lots of food. We never even had a thought of a Thanksgiving without it. But, then the Year of the Killer came. It killed nearly all of our traditional gatherings with family and friends; it killed some poor souls; it killed jobs; it killed small businesses; it killed going to a movie; it killed smiling at strangers. And many of our Governors killed even leaving the house. Bah humbug.

So, for Thanksgiving this Year of the Killer, we found ourselves totally footloose and fancy free. What to do? Since we live in an industrial building, we just said “No” to a Stay-cation. We had 5 days off work, and that sounded like: Road Trip! But to where? Almost everything near our home was closed or heavily restricted. North to Canada? Not so fast, we’re closed hoser! South to Oregon? Nyet! East to Idaho? Hmmmm. We’ve always had Idaho in the back of our mind for retirement, we should go have a look-see! So off we went to the Land of Spuds!

There are some who would have us believe Idaho isn’t safe, that it’s the Motherland of White Supremacy, full of vitriol, guns, and anti-Semites. Bosh. One bosh isn’t even enough, so I’ll say it again. Bosh. These people should carefully assess the credibility of their news sources, or perhaps try reading past the headlines. This, in all likelihood, traces back to a single news story from 2016 about the failure of Richard Butler’s attempt to establish his Aryan Nations compound in Hayden Lake on the outskirts of Coeur D’Alene. While it’s true that at one point several hundred skinheads and swastika wearing wackos did camp there, the good people of Coeur D’Alene would have nothing of it, and with the help of lawyers from the Southern Poverty Law Center finally managed to scrub them from Idaho through lawsuits and bankruptcy. Today CDA, as it is known, is a beautiful, family-friendly, diverse small city with a fabulous lakefront in the middle of an expansive agricultural landscape. And what we saw of Idaho beyond CDA appeared the same. It’s a 5-hour drive, and off we went.

The weather cooperated nicely, which made the run through Snoqualmie Pass a breeze. We had a few “fat” raindrops, and a rogue snowflake or two at the summit, but the rest of the drive was clear, dry, and fast.

Just a few minutes of this, and done!

The vast lava-flow prairies of Eastern Washington fall gently away from the Cascades all the way to and past the Columbia River east of Ellensburg.

Even though you know it’s coming, it is still pretty majestic

The huge variety of scenery makes this first half of the drive like a travelogue. But once you cross the Columbia, and get through the gorge, it may as well be Kansas; what you see is mostly hay and grain farming, and the endless giant stacks of hay bales and silos at railway stops dot the land. Since we planned to make the drive on Thanksgiving Day, we did our traditional turkey dinner a few nights early. This gave us the best part of a Thanksgiving Dinner, the leftovers, and we made good use of them for our on-the-road Thanksgiving Lunch.

It’s hard to beat Turkey and Cranberry Sauce on a Hawaiian roll

Near the terminus of our drive we pass through Spokane, which anchors the other end of US 90 in Washington. Spokane and Coeur D’Alene are only about 15 miles apart on the highway, but they couldn’t be more different. Spokane is big and sprawling, with a large industrial streak across it; it takes a good 10-15 minutes just to drive through. CDA is more of a destination town, anchored by its lakefront instead of an Interstate. If you didn’t pay too much attention, you might well be past it and on your way to Montana without taking much notice.

It doesn’t look it from downtown, but this is a good sized lake. What a great downtown, eh?

We chose a smallish B&B near downtown because we like to walk a town versus drive it. Walking gives you a much more intimate perspective of what’s what, and who’s who. The Greenbriar Inn was built in 1908 as a boarding house, and revived in the late 1980’s as the Inn it is today.

The Greenbriar Inn: from a boarding house in 1908, to this in 2020

The whole place is furnished in period pieces and replicas to give it the same feel as when it was young. The owners, Bob and Kris, have done a fabulous job capturing the era, creaky stairs and all. There are only 7 suites, each with a private bath. Our room, on the third floor, had a “detached” private bath across the hall, but it compensated for that with a very generous “kitchenette”, just perfect for our 3 night stay.

Our room was spacious and very comfy, although a feather mattress would have really made it special
Our little “kitchenette” was perfect for our 3 day stay. Why so much storage?

They innkeepers are much more well known for their restaurant, 315, and catering business. And we got the benefit of that with our included breakfast.

Much of the first floor is a restaurant
A simple but made from scratch breakfast. The bacon was my 5 Star favorite

The downtown lakefront is dominated by the large Coeur D’Alene Resort, with a hotel, several restaurants, a marina, and a shopping mall. Making it even more impressive was the extensive holiday decorating they had done. We were told the process to put up all the lights and finery takes 2 months. It had a magical effect though, putting us in a very festive spirit that we were desperately craving.

This is a small sample of the holiday lighting, which was everywhere! 2 months to install, oy vay!

We had our hearts set on something other than turkey for Thanksgiving Dinner, and we hit pay dirt at The Dockside restaurant in the resort. Wendy had a gorgeous filet of halibut, and I had not one but 2 steaks, each with a different preparation. I was in heaven. I saw more than a few of the other diners, who had ordered the traditional turkey dinner, staring as I dug in. It even seemed that the little Elf at the next table was watching. I like turkey and all the fixings just fine, but this might alter my traditional meal expectations.

CDA downtown is very walk-able. You can get from one end to the other (not counting the long beachfront park on the western edge) in less than 10 minutes. And wherever we walked, the view was great. Dining is wide open there, we didn’t see much in the way of restrictions beyond polite requests to wear masks inside. Pleasantly enough, right in the middle is Gelato by the Lake, and we couldn’t pass it up. It’s all made right there, and they mix in the usual flavors with some of their own making. I chowed down on Stracciatella (vanilla and chocolate flakes) and Gingerbread; Wendy had the greek yogurt based Yoguretta, which was exactly like you would imagine, delicious.

It wouldn’t be a Muddscape blog without gelato in it

The restaurants were really doing well, having adapted to the Year of the Killer with outside dining bubbles.

This is the type of Covid bubble we can get our heads around!

Wherever we went, the shops and cafes had masked-up employees and servers, and some of the public were masked outside while others weren’t. Everyone played very nice, respecting distance and personal space just fine. We noticed how happy everyone seemed without an ever-present authoritarian edict governing their personal behavior. I guess if you leave it up to rational people, they can figure out how to adapt and enjoy life. Another thing we noticed: there were exactly zero signs of any social injustice protests. No BLM signs, no boarded up shops, no clenched fist t-shirts, no megaphone carrying shriekers or Defunders in sight. It was as if nobody had any interest in any Marxist slogans or protestations about systemic racism, minorities included. It was stunningly refreshing, a huge contrast from Seattle. It felt like the America we grew up with. I guess the locals don’t think racism or social injustice is all that systemic where they come from. Oh, and we also met a couple of the stiffly formal locals.

We went to Idaho to look around, and that gave resulted in a couple more “mini road trips”. The first day we took a 2 hour drive south to Lewiston, which sits just across the Snake River from Clarkston in Washington. I can only imagine that our intrepid explorers, Lewis and Clark, flipped a coin to see which one got which side of the river for their namesake town. We didn’t care for Lewiston, which has all the feel and smell of an industrial seaport. Not much was open, even the Starbucks was drive-through only. So we turned around and headed back, intending to take a look at Moscow on the way. I know Bernie Sanders visited Moscow for his honeymoon many years back, but I don’t think it was this Moscow. This one is decidedly more American. The drive is very pleasant, through beautiful agricultural countryside, and we saw more of the ubiquitous farmscapes and silos.

The next day we met our friends Mike and Lisa for breakfast. I’ve known Lisa through past employment for almost 20 years, but have only been in touch through social media. They are taking advantage of “the opportunity of our lives” to live remotely in Coeur D’Alene for a year, and had given us an invitation to visit if we ever got out that way (another good reason to go). They used to live and work in the San Francisco Bay Area, and when Lisa got the OK to work remotely, they flew the coop on a trial run to Living in America. Good for them! We wish them all the best, and will definitely be back to visit. After breakfast, we saddled back up and took a drive one hour north to Sandpoint, which sits on the shores of Pend Orielle Lake. It’s absolutely gorgeous, but felt too far away from civilization for us. We did, however, like the Panhandle Cone & Coffee Company, with some totally delish homemade ice cream. Eggnog and Chocolate Chip Cookie for me, Buttermilk Huckleberry for Wendy. Beside the ice cream, they had a sign in their shop that really summed up our trip.

Good advice for everyone always. Especially the part about savoring ice cream.

CDA is bordered on the west by a large lakefront park, which provided us some extra walking, something I could really use after all the great food and gelato! A very poignant sign is posted on the public building there, which merits a mention here.

The media could re-learn a few lessons from this

The City Hall sits next to the park, with the usual Bail Bondsmen and Lawyers offices across the street. But something you don’t see all that often caught our eye, The Hitching Post. Cool.

A little bit of Las Vegas, no?

Our trip was a great success: great friends, great weather, great food, and a sense of a “return to normal” even if just for a couple of days. We will always have great memories of our introduction to Idaho, and especially Coeur D’Alene. Who knows, maybe there’s something there in our future?

And last, but not least, Tippy wants to wish everyone Merry Christmas! And, as he always does, he wants the last word…

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The Well-Traveled Crab Pot

On our recent (July 2020) annual vacation to Orcas Island, we fished for crab as we always do, setting our 3 pots just in front of the cabins at West Beach Resort. There were monster tides during the early week, and in the first day we lost 2 of the 3 pots. Gone, can’t find them. It’s not unusual to lose a pot from time to time. Sometimes it’s an evil thing; someone who needs a pot appropriates one. Most of the time it’s just Mother Nature absconding with your gear, mostly by just submerging the floating part of your tackle in a swift tide and then weighing it down with kelp or snagging it on an undersea rock, where you can’t see or reach the floats to retrieve the pot. This is what our pots look like.

A rectangular wire-mesh crab pots, with 100′ of weighted line and 3 floats

I like the rectangular wire-mesh pots because I’m old and lazy and don’t want to have to haul up an extra 20 lbs. of steel just to get at the goodies inside. The crab I catch tastes just as good. In any event, after loading the little cage inside with chicken parts (get the expired stuff from the supermarket if you can), the fisherman holds the floating part of the tackle and throws the rest overboard in a suitable spot. We like to fish about 70′ deep, ergo the 100′ long line. A few hours, or the next day, return and retrieve the pot. Crab fishermen use various configurations of the floats and colors to mark their pots so they can find them in the midst of all the others (we presume you have chosen a good spot to fish).

We choose to fish offshore of our cabin because it’s close, and we have done well there in the past.

The West Beach Bay: there is great crabbing, and treachery hidden just out there

But the particular undersea geography of the bay is both what makes it great for crab fishing, and not so great for crab-pot-keeping. The inner part of the bay is a nice large, shallow “dish” that has lots of fish and crabs, mostly small. The really delicious large male “keeper” crabs hang out on the perimeter, and that part is at the outer edge of the bay, where the large granite shelf that is the dish rapidly slopes out to the channel, reaching many hundreds of feet in depth over a small distance of less than 100 yards. So, place your pots with care, folks, or Davy Jones gets an early Christmas gift! A little bit of tidal flow, coupled with an overly-ambitious placement and you get what we got. Nada.

With only one pot left, we resorted to setting it a little farther east, in the next bay over closer to Camp Orkila, the world-renown YMCA camp. The water there has the same dish topography, but you don’t have to set close to an abyss to fish. We did well, very well in fact, feeding everyone that wanted crab, and a few neighbors to boot. We may, in fact, continue to fish there in the future.

We brought our lone pot home after vacation, and I set about buying the parts to replace at least one of them. You might notice, on close inspection, that one of the floats in my “terminal tackle” has my name, address, and phone number on it. This is a requirement in Washington, and it pays off. Out of the blue yesterday I got a phone call from an unknown number, which I ignored as I usually do (spam, aaargh!). But, just before I blocked the number, a text came in from the same phone.

Out of the blue – a welcome message!

25 years of fishing for crab, more than a couple of pots “lost”, and this is the first time someone else found one! (Caveat: Wendy and I actually found one of our lost pots 3 weeks after losing it, a case of a line dragged under and kelp-buried, that resurfaced). It turns out there must have been enough flotation on it that when it got pulled into the deep off of West Beach, the tide just took it away.

The journey this pot took was pretty amazing. From where it was set, it ended up 15 miles away. But, taking 3 weeks to get there, and drifting with the big tides of July and August, it could have easily traveled 2 to 3 times that far in it’s journey.

Starting between Waldron and Orcas Islands, and ending between San Juan and Lopez Islands

It’s kind of amazing to me that it never got hung up on anything traveling through all the channels it had to traverse.

We’re happy to have a great story, and we’re happy for the wayward pot to find a new owner! And we’re going to add some additional “terminal tackle” just as additional insurance for our future fishing! We bought a couple of bright fluorescent orange flotation balls that will get clipped to the smaller floats. We’ll keep you posted.

Tippy has his own ideas.

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The Volcano – and My Inner Hippie Update

Patience is a virtue, so they say. And I now know who are the all-time Patience Supremes. Hippies. I mean, here we are almost 60 years after the Age of Aquarius, and what do we have? When pot is legal and haircuts aren’t, the Hippies have won. I have nothing against hippies, just like I never had anything against J. Edgar Hoover. But I don’t cross-dress, and I don’t like my hair long. So there.

Okay, now that I have that out of my system, on to better things. It looks like we were way ahead of the curve when we got our newest travel trailer. There is a huge rush on the market for RV’s and boats right now. Folks that might have once jumped on a plane to take their family somewhere nice for a vacation are now thinking better of it. They are buying up motorhomes, travel trailers, pop-up campers, and boats like there is no tomorrow. Many places are so low on inventory they simply can’t stay open until the factories catch up. They are now calling RV’s “Covid Campers”.

We lugged our Covid Camper up to Mt. St. Helens for the Memorial Day weekend. We have talked for years about going there, and I guess we finally got the talking part completely done. Of course, all the State Campgrounds were closed, as were all the State and National park offices and Visitor Centers, but we found a nice private RV park right on the shores of Silver Lake with the volcano in sight farther up the Toutle River Valley. Silver Lake RV Resort has a little marina, and a small hotel that hangs out over the lake. They advertise that you can fish “right off your balcony”, and we saw people doing just that.

The Panoramic view from the dock in the Silver Lake RV Resort marina on Sunday morning.

We arrived Saturday afternoon, and there was rain forecast for the weekend, but Sunday would have none of that. A bright and early breakfast, and we headed out toward the north side of the large blast zone, intent on making our way up to the Johnson Observatory. We were very keen to get a first-hand look at the destruction done on May 18, 1980, when the mountain finally blew after several small eruptions, and lots of shaking. Jean Sherrard, a photographer and journalist, photographed the mountain in 1979 from the far side of Spirit Lake, and had recently trekked back to almost the same spot to take an “after” picture of the mountain. I superimposed his “before” (the ghosted image) onto his latest picture to give you an idea of how much of this mountain went kablooey. It lost 1300 feet off the top, gone in the large explosion and blown into smaller sized debris. But much more material was lost in the 3 near simultaneous landslides that took most of the northern face. They call each slide a “Block”: Block 1 was the topsoil and surface “crust”, and it broke free when the explosion happened, then slid down the mountain at 180 mph, and twisting sideways on its path. Block 2 was the underlying rock shell of the mountain, and it broke loose 2 seconds later. Because it had much more density, it soon overtook Block 1, splitting it in half and shoving the two halves up the walls of the canyon through which the Toutle River was flowing. Block 3 was the old volcanic core of the mountain, and it broke loose seconds later and shoved Block 2 farther on, filling in the gaping hole the first 2 blocks left behind. The whole mess of debris stretched 14 miles down the Toutle River Valley when it was all over. Of course, there was a tremendous volume of ash and volcanic pumice that was also released.

The ghosted old dome of the volcano is superimposed over today’s image.

We drove as far as the road would take us, and when we got to the closed gates for Johnson Observatory, we discovered a hike through the debris field called The Hummocks Trail, a 2.5 mile hike into the debris field of the landslides. Scientists discovered something interesting while studying the changing landscape in the wake of the eruption; these “hummock” debris fields are pretty common around explosive volcanoes. They never knew before how common they are, because they never had such a good “before” and “after” picture of a massive volcanic explosion.

The trail leads to many overlook points where a spectacular view can be had of the gaping hole left in the mountain.

Everything you see, except the Mountain and old farts, is new in the last 40 years

We happily trekked onto the trail, through the trees, past the small ponds, until we got to a sign that informed us that, on May 17, 1980, we would have been standing 300 feet in the air at the spot of the sign. Everything around us was new landscape. Called the “hummocks” because it is literally piles of debris that has eroded down somewhat due to nature, and has been covered with the usual blanket: trees, bushes, moss, grass, flowers, all the stuff we usually took for granted on our hike. We saw it all now with a whole new appreciation.

Hummocks, and Wendy. This landscape still shifts and slides pretty regularly.

The trail winds over small hills and ravines, with lots of rocks and gravel everywhere. I can only imagine what it would have looked like 40 years ago, with all this stuff either roaring down the canyon at hundreds of miles per hour, or raining from the skies. But we did take it in with great appreciation for the power of nature, and the speed at which Mom Nature operates.

There are many small ponds along the trail, way too numerous to count. Signs informed us that these ponds, and the water that feeds them, are the real culprits for the changing landscape. As rain percolates from above, and the natural snow-melt-fed water table slithers from below, all of these ponds grow and collapse, creating new ravines, and new ponds, and new cliffs, and new micro slides that just keep the whole mess changing until it probably becomes a valley floor once again thousands of years from now. We saw ample evidence of pond breakouts and small slides.

Spirit Lake, at the foot of the mountain, was at first emptied of water, then filled with debris from the blast, mostly trees and rocks. The blast itself pushed the water of the lake into an 800 foot tall “tsunami” that washed up the face of the east cliff, scouring all of the trees and vegetation off of it, which then washed back into the lake. Then ash filled that up. But you can’t stop Mom Nature. Over a comparatively short time, the lake appeared again, and has returned today to become again the headwaters of the Toutle River. And water is a mighty force. The river has, like the Grand Canyon, carved out a channel in all the debris and ash, and flows down the old canyon toward the ocean once again. It’s crazy how fast this stuff happens.

We will go back to see much more, especially when all of the attractions are open again. But you can take this with you for the time being: when you next hike down a trail something like this, appreciate that it could have been here for eons, or just a few decades. You will definitely see your surroundings in a new light!

Somewhere between 39 and 1 year old, just like Jack Benny!

Tippy always gets the last word.

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My Inner Hippie

I have always (mostly) been a “high and tight” kind of haircut guy. I was once accused of channeling Oliver North, that Vietnam-era ultra conservative guy who never had a hair longer than 3/8” long anywhere on his head. My hair, however, has little to do with politics and much more to do with just personal preference, and ease of care.

Looking in the mirror this morning, I swore I could hear the lyrics to “Almost Cut My Hair”, thank you Crosby Stills Nash & Young. It was playing in my head as I closely examined the growth that was taking over my ears, real estate it rarely, if ever, gets to.

Maybe not to you, but to me – Serious Encroachment

Go ahead, laugh. I’ve been laughed at for way worse. But it’s been 32 days since my last haircut (yes, I keep track, there’s an app for that). I’m imaging what it will be like in another 4 weeks. I think I’m beginning to experience My Inner Hippie.

It’s ironic that Wendy, who used to suffer way more anxiety about her hair, is just riding out The Incarceration. She let her hair go natural years ago, and it really doesn’t matter to her what her hair length is. Except that when it’s long, she wants it short, and vice versa. Me: short all the time.

Getting a haircut, which seems so far off into the future at this moment, is a true pleasure for me. Now, when I’m thinking about it, I start to silently chant tunes from the 60’s. Richie Havens mostly. Sweetwater, Arlo Guthrie, Grateful Dead, anything from Woodstock. Of course, anyone born in the 60’s is much too young to remember them, and anyone old enough to have lived them can’t remember them either. It was a Phantom Decade. Full of really good music.

Freedom, Baby!

If The Incarceration goes on for more than another month, I’m pledging to go back to my early 70’ college years and start sporting a little ponytail. That might be wishing for a lot, I don’t see the back of my head, so my hair is only long enough for that in my imagination. But, hey, I’m a hippie now, so it ain’t about how it looks, Man. It’s about how it feels.

And now, a word or two from Tippy the Hippie.

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InCARcerated Date Night

A nearly unforgiveable play on words, but it’s my blog, so it is what it is.

Two weeks into the Covid Incarceration, we innovated a Date Night by ordering out at the Olive Garden in Kirkland and making the round trip in the Midget. A little fresh air blowing through the hair, a little sunshine, some sports car noise, and food.

Breath in the air, life is truly a sports car

It’s not called a Midget for no reason. With the 2 of us in, there was just enough room behind the bucket seats to put the bag of food. We got some enthusiastic “that’s cool” nods from folks, including the delivery carhop, or whatever the converted staff is called. I thought it very clever of Olive Garden to quickly morph a whole strip of parking into the “ToGo Carside Pickup” zone.

I gotta believe it’s even nicer to be outside than in.
The booze adverts were everywhere! Seems a bit odd for a drive up…

They even smartly jumped on the upsell wagon by offering beer, wine, and White Claw at the curbside, with a cool window display to match. It looks a little like Amsterdam for booze.

I get the beer and wine, but White Claw?

We combined the idea with the Olive Garden gift card I received for my birthday from the boss, and the total amount allowed us to order a staggering amount of food and still leave a 50% tip for the carhop staff.

This will make 3 meals for us, and set us back $33, plus a $17 tip!

When I first started putting the Midget (his name is Eddie by the way) back together during the restoration, I opted to have a Harley muffler put on. I owe this to the theory that “if they can’t see you, they should at least HEAR you”. The strategy works well for motorcycles, and I figured we’re not much bigger, and not even as tall, so I went all in on noise. For the most part, it also helped to turn a lot of heads to get me those hard-earned nods and waves of “that’s so cool” that every sports car owner really craves. But, I’ve been noticing lately that it’s getting harder and harder to gratify my ego, what with everybody walking along a street nose-down into a smart phone. I don’t think they make a louder muffler; I may have to resort to a train horn.

I did figure out a way to get a little attention, however. Well, I didn’t so much figure it out as it happened to me. One of the little gadgets I installed recently was an electronic battery saver, to keep the battery from draining to nothing during months of winter inactivity. It has a function that automatically disconnects the battery when the voltage drops a little too low, the theory being that you can still salvage enough charge to start the motor when you finally do want to drive. I was bragging about this little gem of technology to Wendy, idling at a red light in the large intersection just a block from home, when the little switch-thingie in it decided to disconnect the battery, and old Eddie died. Oops. I immediately jumped out, just as the light turned green, and started pushing furiously through the intersection. I jumped out so fast that Wendy couldn’t get out to help, but luckily a few passers-by jumped to the ready and helped us get the old boy pushed into the Rite Aid parking lot. We definitely got a lot of stares, they just weren’t the kind I’m looking for. Oh well, it’s a Little British Car. I suspect the new battery saver gadget just heard me bragging, and wanted to show me who’s boss, just like the rest of the phukacta car. Yes, I intentionally misspelled that.

One minute in the parking lot, the hood went up, and I heard the little switchy-gadget re-engage, and bingo, Eddie fired up and 2 minutes later we pulled into the garage, with our Date Night Dinner in hand, and a great story to tell!

Tippy might have to eat the rest of that food.

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A Tail We Couldn’t Shake

We escaped from our socially-distant isolation yesterday the same way we have been doing most days, by taking a walk through parts of our neighborhood we haven’t seen on foot before. A road you have driven often looks quite different afoot.

During our walk we realized that little silver linings from the Covid Incarceration are all around us. Seeing this required us to put on our “Good News Goggles”, taking a much-needed break from the harsh and frenzied headlines blaring out from the incessant “Updates” and Breaking News spewing out from every media outlet. All except John Krasinski’s new YouTube show, Some Good News, which was a real treat to watch. Here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5pgG1M_h_U

John Krasinski’s Great New YouTube Channel: Some Good News

Thank you John K! He’s a hero, not so much the other talking heads.

Goggle-Up and take another look at the world around you!

News-silenced, and Good News Goggled, we struck off. Our first observation: how nice and quiet it is to take a walk without the crush of rush hour traffic! We heard the normal background noises of our neighborhood that get drowned out by the twice-daily commute surge. It’s surprising how much more you perceive of the landscape surrounding you when you can hear it instead of just seeing it.

We happened upon a neighbor lady bringing groceries and supplies to another neighbor. We had no idea what the circumstances were, a shut-in or elderly person, just some friendly “gang shopping”, or whatever. It was just nice to see people cheerfully helping their neighbors, if for no reason at all. Shades of long-lost Mayberry.

We saw families through their big plate glass front windows. It was unusual to see anyone through those windows before. But here were parents and siblings, sitting around the living room doing something they likely hadn’t done in a long time, just spending time together.

We took a side trip through a church parking lot, and although it was like a ghost town, we discovered an outpost with a cabinet attached that was labeled “Community Pantry” and had a sign “Take what you need, leave what you don’t”. It had spaghetti, olive oil, a bag of flour, some cookies, a few jars of spices, and a whole bunch of other stuff. It was packed. I wonder how full it is in normal times? Visible generosity, and caring for your neighbors, is soothing and stress-relieving.

We got to include ourselves in the good-deed-doers list. Along the walk we picked up a Tail We Couldn’t Shake. A neighborhood cat who began stalking us early on, sneaking along behind us, then quickly darting ahead of us, anticipating where we might be headed. But always pacing us.

The sticky tail we couldn’t shake

It kept this up for many many blocks, and we began to wonder if it was planning on coming home with us. When we got to a busy road, which we intended to cross, we were worried that it might follow us across, then decide after that to turn around and go back from whence it came. We didn’t want to gamble that it would make it back across the busy road alone, so we did an about-face and headed back the way we had come. Our shadow followed right along, as we had hoped, until we got back to the part of the neighborhood where we picked it up. There was a little girl there, and she cheerfully pointed to a house just down the street when we asked if she knew where the kitty belonged. We trolled our little charge down there, and a knock on the door later we met some very nice folks, all pajama-clad, who happily took the little bugger inside. Mission accomplished.

Americans are known the planet over as winners in adversity. I think it is basic human nature to want to win, and to help others along. There are plenty of exceptions, of course, but if you point yourself in the direction of looking for the good ones, they are there for the “goggling”. Think of it as cheap therapy, with fresh air and sunshine included at no extra charge.

Tippy, too, is wearing his Good News Goggles today.

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Have I got a Corona Virus for YOU!

Since getting my rosy “Not Detected” test results, I’ve put on hold calling these times the Hostage Crisis, and instead I’m going full stir-crazy, just like doing 10-to-life for a crime you never committed.

Can anyone guess my big accomplishment today? Not 1, but 2 complete one-piece Cutie peels! Jeez.

Can you guess where I’m going with this? For my next trick….

Also, you should know about me, I’m a news junkie. But not just straight consumption, no that’s too easy. I’m a corroborator, a fact-checker, a BS-detector, a genuine disbeliever in almost every story I’ve only seen once. I take in a variety of sources, starting with my Seattle Times first thing in the morning, then moving on to whatever form of Internet News finds itself under my fingers on the keyboard, to the evening news. I’ve been known to look for the same story in the paper, then on CBS, then on NBC, then pop over to MSNBC, thence to CNN, etc. You get the picture. It’s absolutely mind numbing how the same basic news event can get spun so differently based on the source.

In the act of all this news-hounding, I’ve noticed that each outlet has it’s own Corona Virus Mascot, if you will. There are so many different pictures out there of “THE Corona Virus”, some scary, some Shrek-like, some downright beautiful, that I’m becoming convinced that nobody really knows what it looks like, just that it needs to be blasted on the screen to get somebody’s attention. Here’s a small sampling:

Similar, sure, in that they all look like they could sink a ship

I have reasonably convinced myself that the general structure of the virus, regardless of how it looks, has been adopted by most authorities as “a spherical protein, encased in a lipid membrane, with protruding attachments, all housing a strand of DNA that, by itself, can do no harm until it finds, attaches to, and invades a cell that lines our respiratory system, and uses that cell’s inner machinery to replicate”. The trick, I understand, to defeating the virus before it defeats you, is that lipid membrane.

Lipids are fats, basically a grease. This thin shell on the virus acts as a food for the receptor cell that ingests the casing and thus the inner DNA strand, which starts the infection cycle. If you want to stop the virus in it’s tracks before it has a chance to get inside you, the key is to disrupt the lipid membrane. Really, anything that cuts grease will do the job. Soap, the foamy type, works great. It zaps the lipid membrane and dissolves it, and the inside goodies just deteriorate without their protection. Alcohol, in relatively high concentration (65%+) will do the same. (Sorry, but Vodka won’t). Heat melts the membrane, just like it does the grease on the engine block in my 1968 MG Midget. Any industrial grade de-greaser, like we use mixed with a little Lysol (mostly for the nice fruity fragrance) to disinfect our office and loading bays, will easily do the job. Dry air also works pretty good, as do the UV rays from the sun. That wimpy little lipid/DNA bundle hates UV.

So, fear not, you have many weapons around you to battle whichever of the above demons you wish. Me, I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the view. Just me ‘n Tippy.

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Corona Virus Hostage Tips #2 3/4

Well the results are in! The SCAN lab just released a batch of test results for those tested on the first day, and I’m negative! Technically speaking, “Not Detected”, since this is a research study, self-collected specimen, without any chain-of-custody for the sample, and no official CDC lab certifications. But, you know what? I’ll take good ‘ol Mr. Gates generosity without reservation.

I’m not sure if being told I’m negative is better than not knowing, actually. Except that my stepson (and by extension daughter-in-law and grandkids) also tested negative. So that means, technically, that we could get together for a visit without too much concern. Not that we’re planning that, but Grandma is gettin’ kinda itchy for a grandkid fix.

It’s been reported that of all the tests done (I’m assuming that means the certified tests), about 7% are returning positive. I don’t have anything to relate this too. The “parent” of this SCAN survey is another survey, funded by the Gates Foundation, done annually for penetration of the flu virus du jour into the community; the SCAN survey was re-purposed from that. I’ve never seen any of the results from that survey. If that result came back much higher than 7%, which I suspect might be the case, that means one thing. If it routinely comes back lower, that means something else. Never the less, I guess overall I’m a bit relieved, even if only because I know this will make the rest of my family and friends feel better.

We are ordering out tonight, and yes, we’ll take all the recommended precautions that so many folks have forwarded from Johns Hopkins, the Mayo Clinic, the Cleveland Clinic, Cedars Sinai, and a plethora of others. But you can’t dodge every single bullet in a hailstorm. We’ll do our best to lower the odds, and be fine with that.

Tippy, as always, is our inspiration.

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