Warren

My family just got back from a delightful 70th birthday party for a good friend of ours who happens to live with Cerebral Palsy. I'd like to tell you a little about this man.

I could tell you that he walks with difficulty and must work to make himself understood. That his hands shake when he tries to handle small objects. I could tell you that he has faced frustration and prejudice during his 7 decades in his problematic body.

Or I could tell you that this amazing man has volunteered at our local library and in our church for many, many years. That he claps and dances to any music (especially his favorite, Elvis! On a recent visit to his apartment, my girls treated him like a rock star, dancing with him in turn and laughing uproariously.) That my heart melts when I see my daughters walking in pace with him, watching his lips carefully to hear about his week, or playing a fierce game of Sorry at our church's retreat. That my respect for him has only grown as I have taken the time to get to know him. That the day he put on "Love me Tender," held out his arms to my oldest, and painstakingly asked, "May I have this dance?" will forever be one of my favorite memories.

But I think most of all, I would like to tell you that the love he has for others, especially for kids, shines unmistakably through him, completely eclipsing his disabilities.

Happy Birthday, Warren!

Shallow Bay, Sucia

We've been out on LiLo twice already this spring, each trip a gorgeous day of sailing spiked with its own surprises ("What? I thought you packed the blankets!" "Well I thought you packed them!"and "Didn't the marina say the approach to our slip was dredged to 7 ft? Then why is our 4'6" keel stuck to the 7' deep river bottom?") but if you'll pardon the belated tale-telling, I'm going to make sure I have a record of last year's trip before we start making too many memories this year. 

Last I checked, we were stuck at Jones Island with a broken engine, not a bad place to be stuck if it's absolutely necessary. In the morning, Bryan sent the girls and me to shore to explore the island while he tried to figure out how to file the points on the distributor cap. One of the previous owners had ominously warned Bryan that he might need to learn this skill at some point and the other owner (his wife) had laughed at the funny-later memory of that fateful trip when she saw more of her husband's backside than his front, as he spent most of the trip upended in the engine compartment. We were so thankful for their experience and especially for the preparations they'd made for future problems--a full point kit, complete with tools and instructions was tucked away in a back locker. 

The girls clambered over the logs on the beach while I sat in the sand and read. We finally rowed back to the boat, worried not to have heard the engine, hopeful the problems had been resolved, but either way, hungry. As the companionway steps double as the engine cover, getting down into the cabin was trickier than usual, and there wasn't any place to sit once we did, so we scrounged up some lunch and let Bryan go back to work. Not too much later, he managed to get the engine running again. I was so glad he could finally relax and enjoy the island with the rest of us.

We had dinner in the cockpit and spent another peaceful night before making the dash around the west side of Orcas Island to the small island of Sucia. Several years ago, this crab-shaped island was purchased by a group of marine clubs and later donated to the Washington state for a marine state park. The island's unique shape, with its multiple inlets, and its criss-crossing trails make it a very popular destination for boaters. We were glad to find a spot to anchor in Shallow Bay, on the west side of the island, where we spent a warm and fabulously sunny Saturday. 

The girls made instant friends with a golden retriever and his owner invited all of us to go for a ride in his Zodiac. I'd forgotten that some boats are made for speed! We had hoped to get a closer look as some of the other bays, and this was such an unexpected and enjoyable way to do it. We left the girls on LiLo and took a row around the bay and, later in the evening, set them off to for a row themselves. They ended up in an informal race with an inflatable dinghy weighed down with passengers and dogs and, despite the inflatable's questionable use of their electric motor, the girls kicked a little dinghy booty. We laughed with pride from the cockpit to hear the other sailors shouting, "You girls rock!"

The next day, many of the boats left the bay in the morning, perhaps heading home or just looking for a more protected spot to wait out the incoming weather system. It wasn't a storm, really, but the wind from the east sweeping across the isthmus at the center of the island, conspired with swells from the west to keep our boat turned cross-ways to the chop and we sat inside, out of the drizzle and increasingly miserable until Bryan convinced us to bundle up and go for a hike. We were so grateful for his wise suggestion and for his hard work building us such a sea-worthy dinghy. Even in choppy conditions, Split Pea is such a pleasure to row!

Once we were under the trees, we barely noticed the rain and it cleared off enough for us to do a little more poking around on the sandstone cliffs, famous for sheltering smugglers throughout the years. We stumbled onto a geocache and, according to the instructions, left an object and took an object. Hannah took a beautiful feather and somehow Meira ended up with a black baseball cap labeling her (in sparkling rhinestones, of course) as "High Maintenance." She was convinced that this meant she should do all the repair work above her head and for the rest of the trip tried to help with anything she couldn't reach. We didn't have the heart to explain otherwise.

That evening, back on the rolly boat, we debated putting out a stern anchor to hold us stern to the swells. We knew it would make for a more comfortable night, but no one else in the anchorage had one out. Finally, Bryan decided he'd give it a shot. He rowed out and set our stern anchor and immediately we could tell the difference. It was good to have the reminder that we're not the newest or least knowledgeable sailors out there anymore. Though it was a little thing, we both felt a boost to our confidence and a reminder to think for ourselves. We turned in satisfied and eager for the new day. Next stop, Canada!

 

Found Objects

The keys I lost a month ago: found in the couch.

The energy to make chocolate chip cookies with my husband at 11:30 at night: found in the smile on his face when I said, "why not?"

My first and much grieved fountain pen: also in the couch (why didn't I check there sooner?)

The perfect weekend for the first sail of the season: found on the Columbia River with my intrepid family.

The motivation to write something new on this online journal: found at the junction of my grateful heart and my untrustworthy memory.

We'll see if all these things stay found.

The saga continues...

We spent night 3 in Port Townsend Bay after squeezing through Port Townsend Canal for the first time. It cut several miles off the end of our long day and we enjoyed snagging a mooring off the beach at Old Fort Townsend.

In the morning, we motored over to Port Townsend to run some errands--breakfast, groceries, fuel, pump-out, crabbing license, and new snorkels--all the necessities for a week in the islands. We had planned to cross the strait with the morning tide, but as always when on a boat, plans changed. The state licensing system was down, so after waiting as long as we could to buy a crab license, we gave up and started researching locations to pick one up in the SanJuans. That night we anchored at the foot of the cliffs in Watmough Bay (which, in our family at least, must be pronounced "Wah-mough" If you say it with the full glottal stop, you'll sound like a bad rap artist. Try it. You'll never go back!)

On our first trip to the San Juans, Bryan and I had anchored in this steep-sided bay and we were glad for a chance to come back with the girls. That first time, we were enchanted by the beauty of the place and the stranger whose hauntingly lovely singing echoed off the cliffs as she rowed a skiff around the circumference of the bay. This time, it was we who broke the stillness of the evening and our giggles and yells were anything but hauntingly lovely.

The next morning, we rowed ashore to explore the scrap of a beach at the intersection of the cliffs and the paths through the cracked boulders at its edge.

It didn't take much convincing to get the girls to strip to their swimsuits and snorkels, but neither one braved a full plunge into the water.

Finally we gave up and took them out in the dinghy where they tested its stability by leaning over the stern, faces in the water, hollering through snorkel-clenched teeth about ocean floor discoveries.

After lunch, we sailed around the south side of Lopez Island and up through Cattle Pass to Friday Harbor. And that's when we discovered that the crabbing season in the San Juans had been delayed until we would already have crossed into Canada. Bryan and the girls had enjoyed crabbing so much the year before, we were all a bit disappointed, especially considering the extent of our quest. But we placated ourselves with ice cream cones and a frolic with Popeye, the one-eyed seal who serves as Friday Harbor's unofficial mascot and welcoming committee from her usual haunt by the dockside seafood market.

We decided to forgo the marina fees and busy Friday Harbor anchorage in favor of Jones Island, a favorite San Juan destination of ours, only an hour or so north.

We were all pretty hungry so I went below to start making clam chowder, hoping for a relaxing dinner after our arrival.  As we neared the south end of the island, the engine coughed and died. We got it started again, but it wasn't purring the usual puttputtputt. The north side of the island has better protection and shore access, so we decided to continue and hope for the best. We eased up the west side of Jones, fiddling with the throttle and willing the engine to keep running for just...ten...more...minutes.

It didn't work.

As we rounded the northwest corner of the island and turned to head on into the bay, the motor gave up for good. You may be thinking, "Isn't that why you have a sail boat? So you don't need an engine?" But if that's what you're thinking, you've never sailed in the San Juans. The winds are notoriously flaky and that night, we had nothing but an occasional whisper. We raised the sails and I did my best to use every breath of wind to steer us away from the rocks yet toward the bay. Bryan rummaged in the engine compartment muttering imprecations and attempting manly magic.

We were grateful for the long summer evening as what was supposed to be an one-hour, easy evening sail turned into 3 hours of frustration. Looking back, I know we were never in any danger; all we needed to do was drift close enough to shore to drop our anchor and admit defeat. But my travel-weary body conspired with thwarted expectations and low blood sugar to produce an internal perfect storm. Finally, Bryan abandoned the engine and rigged a tow harness to the dinghy. In deep twilight, he pulled us in the last few feet to a safe anchorage. We heaved our worries over the side for the night, knowing they would still be there in the light of a new day. When we woke, to this...

...the problems remained, but had shrunk overnight somehow. What did it matter if we had to stay here an extra day or two? With an anchorage full of fellow boaters and a marine mechanic just a short ride away, surely we would be able to conquer this latest hurdle.

...to be continued.

Last Sunday, Bryan and I gave a presentation about our sailing dreams to some from our church community. Many of our friends showed some interest in this long-neglected blog and, as I'd been intending (for several months now) to write up some stories from our latest trip, I figured I shouldn't ignore this motivation.

Last you heard, we'd launched the new dinghy (see below for pics if you're just arriving). We'd struggled to figure out how to best orchestrate our trip, (from Olympia up to Canada and down the coast of Washington to the Columbia) so that we didn't end up with our boat in St. Helens and our car still in Olympia. We love riding the train, so one-way tickets to Olympia were an easy choice, but we had more gear to load than we could take on the train (including the new dinghy!) Bryan took Split Pea and all our gear to LiLo, remembered (barely!) that he needed to bring back the old dinghy and spent the next few hours problem solving. Li'l Lo, our old dinghy, was so heavy that the 4 of us could barely carry it a few yards down the beach and somehow he needed to get it, by himself, up the ramp at low tide. He rowed around to the public dock in Olympia, which sports a more gently sloped ramp than our marina, heaved it up onto the ramp rails and pushedlikecrazy to get it up to the top, where some onlookers finally took pity on him and helped balance Li'l Lo in a dock cart all the way to the truck in the neighboring parking lot.

He returned to join the rest of us at my parents' for the Canby General Days July 4 celebration (back by popular demand...and yes, I mean demand. We were on the boat one year for the Fourth and I don't think they girls will ever let us forget it.) It's all about the parade-candy collecting!

 The next morning, Mom and Dad took us up to the Oregon City train "station" (what a cute little whistle stop!) and saw us off.






We enjoyed breakfast in the bistro car and general relaxing and goofiness

until our arrival in Lacey.

We gathered up all of our stuff, caught the bus to Olympia, walked the 8 or so blocks to the boat where we realized the fatal flaw in our heretofore perfectly executed plan.

Now every time we go to the boat, we make one last run for gas and groceries before we leave town. We can't get gas until we're there, obviously, because the fuel tanks are on the boat. And it's usually easier to pick up our cold foods there then pack them all the way up I-5 in a cooler. Except this time, we'd gone to great lengths to get to Olympia without a car, forgetting that when we got there, we, well, wouldn't have a car.

Bryan bummed a ride to the gas station from friendly dock neighbors while I put away what we'd brought and calculated meals from pantry items...yes, plenty to make it to Port Townsend, where the grocery store is more conveniently located for forgetful boaters like us.

Finally on our way, we pushed out into Budd Inlet in unusually strong winds. We often have to motor in the South Puget Sound, but today was a pleasant surprise, sailing in 15-20 kts. The sea took the vacation's only casualty though, my favorite red hat from last year's Stuart Island stop. (Please don't mention it; I'm still in mourning and kicking myself.)

We spent the first two nights at old favorites, Joemma Beach State Park and Blake Island, trying to enjoy our time without thinking ahead to the trip too much. It's easy to turn the first and last few days of any trip into a push to get there, get there, get there and forget to enjoy every moment along the journey. I'm getting better at this, but I admit it was a bit hard to simultaneously look forward to the San Juans and Canada, fight off end-of-trip-ocean-going fears, and savor what may be our last trip for many years in these familiar waters.

A friend of mine often posts series pictures and it's fun to see things change--or stay the same--over the years. When I saw these pictures from this year's trip to Friday Harbor pop up in my camera, I couldn't help but see the possibilities. With childhood's perfect memory (perfect, that is, about "my turn" and "last time" and "but Mom, you said." Not so perfect when it comes to "what did you ask me to do again?"), the girls requested portraits on the opposite totem from last year's trip. Here's a fun comparison--Enjoy!

Meira-2008
Hannah-2009
Hannah-2008
Meira-2009

The Launch!

I'm beginning to go through photos from our latest trip (those of you who do this immediately upon your arrival at home--or better yet, while still on vacation--can feel quite superior to me at this point) and don't want to miss the chance to tell you about an exciting event that occurred the day before we left.


Bryan had decided to take our gear and the new dinghy to LiLo and then drive back to meet us at my parent's house. The plan was to celebrate July 4 with them and then take the train back to Olympia so we didn't end up with a stray car there at the end of the trip when we brought LiLo to the Columbia. But before we took the dinghy up, we had to launch and christen her!

The girls always wear their lifejackets on the docks so we had brought theirs home, but Bryan and I had left ours on the boat. As we were trying to figure out who might have some we could borrow, we had to laugh at ourselves. "Let's see...who would be the most likely people we know to have lifejackets?" "Um, that would be...us." But N&A came to our rescue and we picked up their pfds and drove out to Hagg Lake.


We put the dinghy together by the truck and then carried her about 50 yards down to the water. This would have been an impossible distance to carry our old dinghy; already we were in love with the new one! We posed for the obligatory pictures and slid her down the bank into the water.


Everybody got a turn to row around a bit...



...and then we made up our own christening ceremony. She is now officially Split Pea!



We got a few funny looks when Bryan took her apart in the water to see how well that worked (very, as it turned out.) Don't forget to tie off both halves before trying this trick!

More to come from the trip...at some point.