Now the summer exploration starts for real

First things first.  With a little help from the good people of Olympia, the early birthday gift exchange went flawlessly.  Dana’s dryer came in the bigger box, of course, but since Doug is the bigger person it all evened out.

Second things second.  After Alderbrook, the short trip up to our slip at Pleasant Harbor took us past the drone-eating tree on the shore.  During Doug’s chat with Dwight and Jana—co-Commodores of the yacht club who were relaxing on the deck of their boat Grace—he learned that Gordon—another club member—had a dock over there.  Gordon invited Doug to search.  Since we’ve read The Boys in the Boat and thus consider ourselves experts, Doug took Grace’s rowboat across the harbor to where the trees were tall, and unclimbable, and unreachable, and fairly menacing.*  No drone rescue was possible, and the wind and current made the return to Grace decidedly ungraceful.  But at least we tried.

Not much excitement in Pleasant Harbor, mostly because for three days the brief moments of sunlight quickly retreated behind gray clouds full of drizzle.  The Hama Hama Oyster Saloon, however, did welcome us in for grilled-cheese sandwiches and spicy tomato soup.  Delicious.  No oysters for us.  Very cool little spot.**

Brinnon’s Fjord Fest also lured us out of Tumbleweed’s dry warmth, mostly because Hood Canal Spot Prawns only are available for a few days per year and we didn’t want to miss them.  Plus it seemed like a fitting continental bookend to go along with the Jekyll Island Shrimp and Grits Festival we enjoyed less than seven months ago.  Would’ve been much better without the rain and cold, of course, but we ended up with a pound of fresh prawns—which is what we intended—and a candle, salsa spice, cupcakes, and a t-shirt—none of which we intended.

The resident Pleasant Harbor harbor seal has been elusive but Dana finally snagged him.  Or her.

Monday morning, off to Port Townsend.   We don’t plan to be back to our slip in Brinnon until September or October.

Mostly the scenery was just okay, but when compared to scenery out of an office window it was fantastic.

Hey, is that a dragon on the beach?  Yup.  But not just any old dragon.  It’s the famous Hood Head driftwood dragon, which in some form or another has been around for at least thirty years.  If anybody knows who created it, they haven’t shared the info on the internet.

Remember the North Carolina munitions depot on the Cape Fear River at Sunny Point?  Naval Magazine Indian Island is the west coast equivalent.  Apparently this joint saw significant action reloading the Pacific Fleet during WWII, what with Japan—as we previously noted—being less than a month away at Tumbleweed speed.  “Big Blue” is the largest container crane used by the Department of Defense.  Here Big Blue is loading some secret whatnots onto USNS Richard E. Byrd, a Lewis and Clark-class Replenishment Vessel.

Then on in to Port Townsend.

Port Townsend originally was “Port Townshend” when George Vancouver named it in 1792.  At some point after becoming a bustling seaport, however, the townsfolk dropped the “h,” possibly because it served no purpose and possibly because they tired of having to return mis-delivered packages intended for legendary British guitarist Pete Townshend, who is almost as old as the town.

Port Townsend is full of aging red brick buildings with faded signs, serving as reminders of the halcyon days of yore when Bull Durham tobacco was the best for at least three generations.***

And here we pause the blog post for a short story, which could’ve been penned by Melville or Hemingway but wasn’t.

Okay, that admittedly was stupid.  Maybe rain-induced cabin fever made us a bit loopy.  But a California sea lion did clamber up on the dock Tuesday morning and roared at a seagull, and the marina dudes did chase it away because they didn’t want a colony moving in.

Wednesday brought a few hours of glorious sunshine, which we enjoyed while walking to “historic uptown.”  Along the way, up popped stately Victorian homes that somehow survived the ravages of time.  Starrett House, for example, has been around since 1889, which coincidentally was the same year Washington joined the Union as the 42nd state and just six years after Tim McGraw and Faith Hill buried Elsa at what would become the Yellowstone Ranch.

Starrett House reminds us of that time we almost bought the bed & breakfast & marina in Reedsville, Virginia, but Brent and Karen weren’t willing to help us run it, so we didn’t.

Overseeing “historic downtown” since 1890, “the last remaining wooden fire bell tower in the United States” sits high atop the bluff.  Telegraph wires connected the 1,500 lb. brass bell to alarm boxes sprinkled around town.  The view certainly would’ve allowed a watchful watchman to see smoke and flames from the town below.

Port Townsend occupies what once were the ancestral homelands of the Chimakum, Hoh, and other assorted native tribes.  Artifacts from the original homes and gardens surfaced when the town dug out the sports field just down the way.  One of those tribes gave the town a totem pole, however, so apparently all is forgiven.

Here’s another cool thing about Port Townsend: it’s either the start or finish of at least two awesome races.  Starting at 7:00 pm tomorrow, the Seventy48 gets underway in Tacoma.  Ends in Port Townsend exactly 48 hours later, with boats racing the seventy miles.  The only rule is that all boats must be human powered.  No motors or sails.  We’ve not only read the book but also seen The Boys in the Boat on a big screen—and just a few paragraphs ago Doug got in some excellent practice—so obviously we’d have a sizable advantage were we to enter.  Luckily for the other teams we can’t leave Sammy alone for two days.

The Race to Alaska starting horn will blow at 5 am on June 9.  750 miles from Port Townsend to Ketchikan.  No support, and no resupplying other than what can be scrounged along the way.  Winner gets $10,000.  Second place gets steak knives.  That’s it.  There’s a documentary on Amazon about R2AK—as those in the know call it—which shows what happens after the racers leave the same marina where we’re safely tied up.  Terrifying.

The most important thing about Port Townsend, however, is that Dana was able to dry her hair and Doug was able to master the latest DJI advances.

Today was chore day.  Yuck.  Port Townsend is a cool enough town with some awesome eateries we enjoyed, but tomorrow we’re heading to Everett.  J.R.’s little brother Bobby—who ended up as president of Ewing Oil and as co-owner of Southfork after Miss Ellie died—was from Everett.  So was Mike Price, Alabama’s head football coach until canoodling with strippers he paid with a university credit card got him fired.  Who knew that place had standards?

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* The Highwaymen song about Michael rowing the boat ashore to find green pastures and milk and honey on the other side rattled around Doug’s head for the next 48 hours.  Hallelujah?  Not so much.

** The Hama Hama Oyster Saloon is located in the Hamma Hamma area of the Olympic Peninsula.  Double “m.”  We of course asked the nice lady working the cash register why the company dropped one of them.  In a transparent attempt to make us look foolish, she said that the original owners didn’t want to pay for the cost of extra letters on the staff shirts.  The place opened in 1922, however, well before logowear became a thing.  She must’ve thought we were Florida fans.

*** “Your shower shoes have fungus on ’em.  You’ll never make it to the Bigs with fungus on your shower shoes.  Think classy, you’ll be classy.  If you win 20 in the Show, you can let the fungus grow back on your shower shoes and the press will think you’re colorful.  Until you win 20 in the Show, it means you’re a slob.”  — Crash Davis