Bye to September, hello to October

Driving up I-5 I was frustrated by the sequence of events.  My plan to catch the 8:25pm ferry the previous evening was thwarted by the attempted theft of Vera’s car parked in front of the house.  Vera and Leigh are still in Ireland and at some point, probably Wednesday night, some kids taking the “Kia Challenge” .  I had planned to leave after work and get up I-5, but instead was filing a police report, meeting a sheriff deputy, cleaning up glass in the street, and, well, I didn’t make the ferry.

Friday looked like I might have a window during a long lunch to boogie up to the ferry and then work from the car, but some long winded conversations pushed my departure to the brink of missing the ferry.  So I raced up I5, did a bit of urgent work from the ferry line and then discovered that lingering fog and the usual Washington State Ferry shenanigans had resulted in a two hour ferry delay. 

At this point, I had to choose.  Continue to be frustrated by the sequence of events or be thankful that I was going to the islands on a gorgeous fall weekend to a family property that my father and mother bought 60 years ago.  I chose the latter approach and relaxed.

Getting to the islands was never easy.  Over the years we’ve had hours long waits and delays and other times when you never stop in line – you arrive and seamlessly drive on to the ferry.  This trip slots about in the middle.  A first world problem.

Arriving at the island I walked into the little cabin, donned a dress shirt and about a minute later was driving mom over to Roche Harbor for dinner.  Despite no reservations on a Friday night we scored a window table in the bar, Manhattans were served and we caught up on recent events and reminisced about older events. 

Roche Harbor Hotel at night

My father first visited Roche in the late 50’s and was met at the dock by Rube Tarte, the gentleman who, along with his wife Clara, bought the property, then a played-out Limestone Quarry, in 1956.  As my father described it, he was approaching the dock in the inside towards the end when an older fellow was walking quickly down the dock to take the lines.  He visibly slowed and by the time he got out to the end of the dock, dad was tied up.  Mr. Tarte offered he was going to help, but when he saw one of my father’s crew taking soundings with a lead line, he figured the skipper knew what he was doing.

Dad came to the islands in the mid 40’s.   He was in the Navy, was in the early stages of training to be a fighter pilot in WWII (he said he and his friends were somewhat fatalistic about the war.  They figured they were going to die and where would they want that event to happen.  In the air or in a trench?  They decided the air would be better).  Based at NAS Alameda, he had gone through basic training in Stearman biplanes, but the war was coming to an end and the thousands of pilots in various stages of training were no longer needed.  He and 2 other young fellows decided, apparently without much thought, to visit the northwest and ended up at the parents' house of one of the guys in Medina, Washington.  The house was owned by Frank and Ellen Helsell.  After a long weekend, the 3 young guys were pulled aside by the elder Mrs. Helsell and informed that she was aware of a camp on Orcas Island, Four Winds, and they were in need of counselors.  She encouraged them to ‘go’. 

Dad had grown up in Pennsylvania, was ‘engaged to be engaged’, and after a brief stint in the Navy found himself in the San Juan Islands asking himself ‘why would I want to go anywhere else’?

That summer he vowed to do 3 things.  Become a doctor, get a small cabin in the islands, and buy a boat.  He did all three.  60 years later I maintain the boat he and I co-owned for 30 years and I’m writing this from the small cabin he built by hand. 

Bringing events back to the current day, this weekend would follow a very familiar pattern repeated in various forms over the past 60 years.  A not always smooth trip up to the islands, a weekend mixture of chores, food, conversation, and advancement of projects followed by the inevitable trip back to the city.

One of the nice things about this time of year is that it’s pitch black at 6am, so the sunrise is at a time when you can sip coffee, write, and simply enjoy earth’s spin as the new day dawns.

About 6:30am or so

The day has begun!

So while in Iceland last week, we saw a simple early Iceland house reconstructed for a museum display.  Notice any similarities?

Early Icelandic living

Present day in the little cabin

Today started out with Omar taking car of some of the outside chores and I helped inside getting her fall decorations out of storage.  Mom busied herself redecorating for Fall and completely out of the blue Dana called with her sister, father and aunt and uncle in tow.  Turns out her aunt and her husband live just up the road.  A quick tour of the place was followed by some story telling.  Too many to mention here, but Dana's husband, currently on Wake Island, had a grandmother who was close friends of Ruth Brown, likely in the 30's or early 40's.  That same Ruth Brown ran the camp that my father was encouraged to go to by Mrs Helsell as the Helsells were also friends of Ruth Brown.  Small world and here we were, just shy of a century later and a couple of generations removed chatting in the same islands.

And, true to island life, just as stories were being told in the living room of the house, transient Orca Whales went by, right in front.  Along with the predictable entourage of harassment boats.   At some point, whale watching as an industry needs to go away,  My views on that have hardened over the years, but whales rely on echo location to find their food and having a bunch of screws turning in the water can't help.  After living aboard for several years and from SCUBA diving, the sound a propellor makes in the water is loud.  I suspect it'd be like hiking with huge mosquitos.  The industry needs a bit regulatory swat.

After the visit I set to chores.  Car, hanging a picture, running to town to get some concrete for tomorrow's project.  With the concrete in hand and forms made, I relaxed a bit with music before making dinner.  Pork tenderloin, baked potatoes, and a medley of squash, onion and garlic.  Then we watched Reese Witherspoon's film 'Where the Crawdad's Sing'.  Really good movie.

Up again Sunday morning with glass like water.  Experiencing the sun coming up, trying to make a GIF of it.  The earth's seasonal movement is stunning from this vantage point.  Some year I'll take sunrise pictures on or around June 21st then again 6 months later on December 21st.  In June, the sunrise is way north and the sun goes over head.  6 months later it's far to the south and the sun hangs low all day.  Daylight goes from some 16 hours in June to 8 hours in December.  Daylight is cut in half.

There's been no boat traffic yet this morning.  Yesterday the 'Steadfast' went by, presumably on her way back from Alaska.  The big boats pass by twice a year.  Once on the way up, then again on the way back.  The Steadfast is some 150 feet long and used to be the Boeing Corporate boat.  Mom and Dad were treated to an annual dinner on that thing - the result a fund raiser that one of their friends bid on each year.  

Last night a couple kayaking went by.  From their stroke pattern I surmised they were experienced kayakers.  Beautiful night for kayaking, and I have a hunch they came in from Stuart Island as they had deck packs and appear to have been out camping.  

Morning brought another great sunrise.  Then a quick breakfast.  Then a hike.  Leigh and I had chatted about a way to lengthen our normal hike up Mt Young.  It's a good little hike, but is short with modest elevation gain of around 600 feet.  The way we used to do it was only a mile or so, starting about a half mile north of the drive down to English Camp.  Then we lengthened it to 1.5 miles by starting at the 'Y' where the West Valley road joins the Roche Harbor Road.  But with only 600 feet, we wanted a longer trail.  So today I started where Rouleau road meets the Limestone point road -- about a mile away from the house.  

The Roche Harbor Trail system is great.  I heard that it was conceived by a fellow named Brent but is maintained by several volunteers.  They do a great job and the trails, combined with GAIA GPS , make for an easy way to follow the myriad of trails.  

The trail I chose winds through the disc golf course, which probably wasn't great, but there was no one around.  After 1.8 miles rather pleasant miles the trail crosses the road and then onto the familiar trail up Mt Young.  Another 1.5 miles and then the top comes into view.  

Roche Harbor Disc Golf Course

Trails are well signed and mapped

With a great view from the top

Brought back some hitchhikers!!

All in all about a 6.5 mile hike.   I think I can improve the route a bit and we can lengthen it further (or keep the mileage but change the route) by dropping down on the other side of Mt Young and going around the lake.

Dinner followed by a couple of episodes of the 'Crown'.

The morning scene from the little cabin was peaceful, and the sunrise was especially nice.

 Back to work.  But what a nice weekend.