O beautiful for spacious skies, or The Oregon Treaty of 1846 was drunk

On our way back to the Motherland last Wednesday, we hit our first fog of the summer.  Fog sucks.  This was extra odd fog that mostly sat on the water up to about forty feet.  Pleasure boats were invisible, but fortunately we could make out the top of the bulk carrier Dijima as she angled toward our certain death.*

The good news is that after God created fog He invented AIS and radar, although all the mariners who died in fog-related incidents through the ages might argue He waited too long to do so.  The fog momentarily lifted so that we could see a picturesque shed where there should’ve been a lighthouse, and nobody crashed into us.

Very odd weather indeed.

Another oddity is the international border in these parts.  Because the same buffoons who created the ambiguity that sparked The Pig War a few posts ago also left a zigzag border in the path between Sidney and Point Roberts.

Now about Point Roberts.   Point Roberts geopolitically is the weirdest patch of land in these United States.  The Treaty of 1818 established the 49th parallel as the primary border with what now is Canada, which worked just fine between places that don’t really matter, like, say, North Dakota and Saskatchewan.  But British sniveling about Victoria being south of the line prompted another round of negotiations.  Hence the Oregon Treaty of 1846, which gave us the aforementioned goofy zigzag.  In addition to the other screw-ups, the treaty drafters failed to recognize that since 1818 a tiny dangly bit had been hanging down below the border like a 4.8 square mile sized udder.  Point Roberts.  If only they’d consulted Google Maps.

Because the treaty could’ve fixed the problem but didn’t, Americans stuck living on that udder now can’t leave unless they have a boat or a plane or cross an international border.  Kids go to school in Blaine, which means at least two border crossings a day.  The poor slobs in Point Roberts rely on Canadians in Delta or Tsawwassen for water, and fire suppression, and those giant barrels of cheese balls from Costco that nobody ever finishes.  Absurd.**

According to a long-time resident we met, back in the day Point Roberts was quite the den of iniquity.  Canadians streamed across the border every weekend to engage in all manner of mortal sin like drinking, gambling, fornicating with prostitutes, and cheering for the University of Alabama.  Now it seems the biggest excitement is Green Waste Solutions Day at the Community Center.

The marina is pleasant enough though, full of Canadian boats, and—according to the first sign totem pole we’ve ever seen that points only to places we’ve actually been—conveniently located.

Perhaps not surprisingly, restaurants aren’t exactly plentiful on Point Roberts.  One Google reviewer, however, praised the Saltwater Cafe’s grilled cheese sandwiches.  We do love a good grilled cheese sandwich—and the fellow who answered the phone said we could eat on the dog-friendly patio—so all three of us trudged a mile and a half to get to the place.  Only for them to tell us that they’d “run out of food.”  WTF?  No bread left?  No cheese left?  Come on Nancy, make us a grilled cheese.***  But a nice man heard one of us grumbling that the fellow who answered the phone could’ve mentioned the whole “we’re out of food” thing when we asked about eating on the patio, and gave us a ride back to the boat.  Incidentally, here’s “town.”

Decent enough stop, but we probably won’t go back.  We did go back to Blaine though.  We’re killing time until we pick up Shannon and Ray in Seattle, and last time in Blaine we were so cold and focused on moving the boat that we didn’t see much.  Also, nothing had opened for spring yet.

Blaine is famous for several things, the first being where our Cholla pickleball friend Bill and Bill’s wife Melanie live when it’s too hot to live in Scottsdale.  They’re world travelers who rent boats on the canals of Europe, which is next on our to-do list after Alaska.  Great to spend some time with them aboard Tumbleweed and at dinner.

Bill and Melanie used to live on Point Roberts, so also had first-hand knowledge of the travails facing residents.  They mentioned that many folks in Witness Protection move to Point Roberts, which we sort of confirmed through research that consisted of exactly one humorous article in Vancouver Magazine:  What’s the Point of Point Roberts?

Blaine also is famous as the Peace Arch City, although not too famous because we’d never heard of the Peace Arch until this summer.

Here’s the Peace Arch, which bisects the border and seemingly invites people to risk arrest and deportation by walking under it.  Also, who’s this mother we share with Canadians?  Mother Earth?  Mother Ocean?  Mother England?  Old Mother Hubbard?  And whose father shacked up with baby mama first?  So many questions.

No wall on this border.  Not even a river.  Just a small ditch that the nice Canadians from Surrey can step across anytime they want a glass of fresh brewed unsweetened iced tea, which we deduce is illegal in their country.

Despite appearances, this isn’t a photo of downtown Blaine at almost exactly 11:00.  It’s a photo of Sammy at almost exactly 11:00.

Next stop, Anacortes.  Again.  Which is fine, because we like the place.  And we really like the scenery along the way.

Although we’ve pretty much covered Anacortes in prior posts, the blog serves as our travel diary so we have to mention at least a couple of things.  This guy at the bar by Cap Sante, for example, was awesome.

And we managed to leave the Anacortes Art Festival with only four purchases.  Crazy.

Next up, the Swinomish Channel on the way to La Conner.  Even southbound it still looks a lot like stretches of the ICW.

We’ve visited La Conner before, but never by boat.  Turns out the town is just about the same as when you go by car.  Very cute.

This is “The Old Fir Log.”  Seriously.  That’s its official name.  Discovered as a remnant of logging in 1958, someone saved it, cleaned it, and counted growth rings.  Over 800 years.  This bad boy was growing before the Magna Carta set forth the apparently-outdated notion that Kings aren’t above the law.  Before Marco Polo invented that dumb swimming pool game.  Before Chinese fireworkers harnessed the creative power of gunpowder.  Before Nick Saban started cheating.  It’s that’s old.

Speaking of trees, these fools seem to think autumn is here.  Our Phoenix friends currently are fleeing 115°.  Football is still four weeks away.  What the heck is going on?

Dirty Biter was a beloved La Conner town dog, who hung around the tavern eating table scraps but also migrated nightly from house to house.  He tragically died while engaged in one of his favorite pastimes.  The name of the dog that won that street fight is lost to history, but Dirty Biter has a park and a statute.

Then a long but uneventful cruise down to Kingston.  Yup, our third Kingston, but the first one that isn’t in either New York or Ontario.

After a close call related to some poor info from the dock attendant, we tied up next to Lucky Dog, another NPY49.  Gorgeous boat.  Like looking in a mirror.

We’ll be back in a few weeks with more time to explore Kingston, so basically we’ll leave it with just one town photo in this post.  Seems like it might be a fun little stop.

Today we jumped across the Sound to Elliott Bay.****  The soaring Magnolia Bluffs along the way once were home to Fort Lawton, a military base that ended up playing an insignificant role in history, although troops passed through on their way elsewhere and some German POWs were imprisoned there for a short stretch.  The Magnolia Bluffs are cool enough, but don’t eat at Maggie Bluffs restaurant at the marina unless you crave horrible food.  Maggie Bluffs sucks as much as fog.

Yup, tonight we’ll be sleeping in Seattle, where we’re staging for tomorrow when our baby and her boyfriend arrive for a few days.  Wooo!

Here’s the cruise for this post.

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* Maybe it wasn’t fog at all.  Maybe it was smoggy smoke.  Know where there ain’t no smoggy smoke?  That’s right, baby, Good ol’ Rocky Top, that’s where!  Rocky Top, Tennessee.  Everybody sing along!

** Before some smartass from Manitoba or Minnesota chimes in, we know that there’s a similar bit of goofiness at the Northwest Angle and Elm Point.  However, we haven’t been to either place and pretty much nobody lives there, so those don’t matter.  What does matter is that Elm Point and the Northwest Angle are on Lake of the Woods, and Trevor thoughtfully brought us a suitcase full of delicious craft beer and shirts and other stuff from Lake of the Woods when he and Brenda visited.

*** Special meaningless congratulations to anyone who recognized this as our first Step Brothers reference.

**** “Elliott?  You’re gonna name the kid Elliott?  You can’t name the kid Elliott.  Nooo.  Elliott is a fat kid with glasses who eats paste.”  – Walter “Gib” Gibson