The RV brought us safely to Jackson Hole for our long anticipated Yellowstone adventure with Kyle! Throughout these past seven months, every time we talked to Kyle, he would say goodbye only after telling us to treat the RV well, so it would last until Yellowstone. I think there were a lot of people back home that probably thought we wouldn't make it this far, or this long. Two women in a machine and all. . .
And so, it's a great time for a shout-out to the Sanefski's, from whom we bought the RV. They treated this baby really well, throughout their time in it, and handed us over a solid, reliable machine. Mary Lou was always trying to avoid driving over the mountainy roads, but Nicole always headed straight into them, and this pink Jayco Eagle soared right over the passes.
The Sanefski's also handed over their compiled user's notes and procedure checklists, along with the user's manual for each and every component of the RV. Without those, we probably would ripped off our door by leaving the stairs down, or blown up the propane tanks by leaving the gas on. So. . .
Dear Sanefski's,
Thank you!
Love,
The Sottung Girls
6.25.2011
EBR-1
EBR-1
On to Jackson Hole to meet Kyle.
But, first, as we were driving through the hours and hours of flat potato fields of Idaho, staring at the big fluffy clouds in the big blue sky, we passed a sign that read: 'EBR-1 Atomic Museum'. We both looked at each other, like, was that a mirage? It was so random. As we were still debating whether we had read it correctly, we passed another sign that read: 'Idaho National Laboratory, Expiremental Breeder Reactor Entrance'. What the. . .
Nicole pulled out her Droid and asked it about EBR-1 Atomic Museum. The first google result was an article from ABC news, published exactly 41 minutes previous. The article said that it was a cool thing to do, to visit EBR-1, the nation's first power plant to generate electricity from nuclear power. Now part of a larger nuclear power research campus set in the middle of barren fields, far away from cities in case of any 'accidents', the EBR-1 was open for us to visit. Hell yeah; we hung a right at the only intersection we had seen for miles, and went in.
Some of you know that our family has a bit of experience with nuclear power. Mary Lou's ex-husband, Nicole's father, has had a long career working at the James A. Fitzpatrick nuclear power plant in Oswego, NY. He has been the Electrical Maintenance Chief for quite some time now. When Nicole and Kyle were very small, he used to be able to bring them every once and a while, for "Take Your Kid to Work" day. They don't do that anymore. Also, both Nicole and Kyle have been able to work at the power plant, during their bi-annual refueling shutdowns. Working as Utility Technicians, they received Nuclear Regulatory Clearance for plant access, to be able to go in the reactor building to work. Hanging lead sheets in work areas, wearing contamination suits to clean up stray contamination, or putting on respirator suits to go in and clean the drywall: they both worked 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week during the outage.
So, the museum was of special interest to us, and it was a trip back in time to see the control room as it was in the 1950's. The turbines and the generator were ridiculously small, compared to ones we had worked around. And the electricity from the generator was channeled to light up 5 lightbulbs hanging from a wire. But there were some familiar sights, notably a sign reading: 'Practice Good Housekeeping: A Place for Everything and Everything in Place.'
The most fun, though, were the radiation enclosure boxes. You know, that glass box with the rubber gloves sticking in the sides, where you can reach in and open test tubes. And, using the same joystick/mechanical arm like mechanism that they used to handle radioactive material with, Mary Lou pretended to pick up (her lost) marbles and drop them into a container, and Nicole tried to screw nuts onto bolts.
We took lots of pictures, for all our 'nucular' friends.
Click here for the photos!
On to Jackson Hole to meet Kyle.
But, first, as we were driving through the hours and hours of flat potato fields of Idaho, staring at the big fluffy clouds in the big blue sky, we passed a sign that read: 'EBR-1 Atomic Museum'. We both looked at each other, like, was that a mirage? It was so random. As we were still debating whether we had read it correctly, we passed another sign that read: 'Idaho National Laboratory, Expiremental Breeder Reactor Entrance'. What the. . .
Nicole pulled out her Droid and asked it about EBR-1 Atomic Museum. The first google result was an article from ABC news, published exactly 41 minutes previous. The article said that it was a cool thing to do, to visit EBR-1, the nation's first power plant to generate electricity from nuclear power. Now part of a larger nuclear power research campus set in the middle of barren fields, far away from cities in case of any 'accidents', the EBR-1 was open for us to visit. Hell yeah; we hung a right at the only intersection we had seen for miles, and went in.
Some of you know that our family has a bit of experience with nuclear power. Mary Lou's ex-husband, Nicole's father, has had a long career working at the James A. Fitzpatrick nuclear power plant in Oswego, NY. He has been the Electrical Maintenance Chief for quite some time now. When Nicole and Kyle were very small, he used to be able to bring them every once and a while, for "Take Your Kid to Work" day. They don't do that anymore. Also, both Nicole and Kyle have been able to work at the power plant, during their bi-annual refueling shutdowns. Working as Utility Technicians, they received Nuclear Regulatory Clearance for plant access, to be able to go in the reactor building to work. Hanging lead sheets in work areas, wearing contamination suits to clean up stray contamination, or putting on respirator suits to go in and clean the drywall: they both worked 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week during the outage.
So, the museum was of special interest to us, and it was a trip back in time to see the control room as it was in the 1950's. The turbines and the generator were ridiculously small, compared to ones we had worked around. And the electricity from the generator was channeled to light up 5 lightbulbs hanging from a wire. But there were some familiar sights, notably a sign reading: 'Practice Good Housekeeping: A Place for Everything and Everything in Place.'
The most fun, though, were the radiation enclosure boxes. You know, that glass box with the rubber gloves sticking in the sides, where you can reach in and open test tubes. And, using the same joystick/mechanical arm like mechanism that they used to handle radioactive material with, Mary Lou pretended to pick up (her lost) marbles and drop them into a container, and Nicole tried to screw nuts onto bolts.
We took lots of pictures, for all our 'nucular' friends.
Click here for the photos!
6.23.2011
CRATERS of the MOOOOOoooooooN!!
We were going to meet Kyle in Salt Lake City, but, it was about 6 hours, one way, out of our way, and, we weren't in a city mood. As we were looking at the map, debating what to do, we saw a big green patch, marking a State Park, that read, Craters of the Moon. Oooooh, that sounded up our alley. We told Kyle we would meet him in Jackson Hole instead, and headed to the park.
"Although there are many lava flows on Earth's actual moon, astronauts confirmed that most lunar craters resulted from meteorite impacts, not volcanism. The craters of Craters of the Moon, however, are definitely of volcanic origin. These vast volumes of lava issued not from one volcano, but from long fissures across the Snake River Plain that are known collectively as the "Great Rift." Beginning about 15,000 years ago, lava welled up from the Great Rift to produce this vast ocean of rock."
It really was like being on the moon. Black, lava rock as far as the eye could see. We used our guide map to spot Spatter Cones (miniature volcanos), pahoehoe lava (rope like), 'a'ā lava (crusty, rubble-like), iridescent cinders, and lava bombs (big globs of lava blown out of cinder cones that harden in flight). Flashlights in hand, we crawled inside Indian Tunnel, a lava tube formed as the lava hardened on the outside, while hot lava still flowed within.
As we walked back down to one of the day's trailheads, we found two men, in full, perfectly fitted leather suits, atop two gorgeous BMW motorcycles. The motorcycles were packed tightly with leather cases, holding camera equipment, and with cameras mounted on handlebars and helmets. Nicole exclaimed, "Whoa. Nice getup." The men said, "Do you know which way to Boy Scout Cave?" We helped get them in the right direction, but not before we asked what they were up to. These two guys were on a mission: to ride through each and every state, visiting the highest and lowest altitude points in each state. Our type of guys!
We had a fantastic time at CRATERS of the MOOOooooooN! (as we affectionately called it), feeling like exploratory astronauts, boldly going where no one had gone before. We made absolutely sure to follow the park rules, and not take any twisted, iridescent, sculptural lava rocks home with us. (So don't even bother asking to see our collection).
Click here for Photos!
"Although there are many lava flows on Earth's actual moon, astronauts confirmed that most lunar craters resulted from meteorite impacts, not volcanism. The craters of Craters of the Moon, however, are definitely of volcanic origin. These vast volumes of lava issued not from one volcano, but from long fissures across the Snake River Plain that are known collectively as the "Great Rift." Beginning about 15,000 years ago, lava welled up from the Great Rift to produce this vast ocean of rock."
It really was like being on the moon. Black, lava rock as far as the eye could see. We used our guide map to spot Spatter Cones (miniature volcanos), pahoehoe lava (rope like), 'a'ā lava (crusty, rubble-like), iridescent cinders, and lava bombs (big globs of lava blown out of cinder cones that harden in flight). Flashlights in hand, we crawled inside Indian Tunnel, a lava tube formed as the lava hardened on the outside, while hot lava still flowed within.
As we walked back down to one of the day's trailheads, we found two men, in full, perfectly fitted leather suits, atop two gorgeous BMW motorcycles. The motorcycles were packed tightly with leather cases, holding camera equipment, and with cameras mounted on handlebars and helmets. Nicole exclaimed, "Whoa. Nice getup." The men said, "Do you know which way to Boy Scout Cave?" We helped get them in the right direction, but not before we asked what they were up to. These two guys were on a mission: to ride through each and every state, visiting the highest and lowest altitude points in each state. Our type of guys!
We had a fantastic time at CRATERS of the MOOOooooooN! (as we affectionately called it), feeling like exploratory astronauts, boldly going where no one had gone before. We made absolutely sure to follow the park rules, and not take any twisted, iridescent, sculptural lava rocks home with us. (So don't even bother asking to see our collection).
Click here for Photos!
Ever seen a Harpy Eagle? And, if a bear falls in the woods. . .
To get to Yellowstone, we chose the scenic route: Rte 2 to Leavenworth, Rte 97 through the Wenatachee Mountains to Ellensburg, and 821 to Yakima. We figured we would pick up a few more bottles of wine from the vineyards in Yakima, to add to our collection. But, when we reached on Sunday evening, we found the whole city deserted. The only thing open was an A&W and Kentucky Fried Chicken. We decided that was okay, since we hadn't showered in a few days, and didn't look our best. The other diners looked even worse than we did, and there was quite a crowd of shady looking people hanging around their beat up cars in the parking lot. We didn't get a good vibe from the city at all, and decided that we would press on East, instead of spending the night there.
We drove on 82 until our eyelids were heavy, and pulled off to sleep at a Walmart in Richland. But, the signs posted said there was no overnight sleeping allowed, and we had to get on the highway and drive 40 miles to the next Walmart. Luckily, we could stay at that one, and we crashed out to sleep before the RV engine had even cooled down.
The next morning we drove into Walla Walla. We wanted to go there just so we could say that we had gone to Walla Walla, Washington. It's a great name. We did some errands in the morning, made ourselves a big lunch and caught the end of happy hour at the Marcus Whitmen hotel. After a few glasses of L'Ecole No 41, we walked across the street to the Whitehouse-Crawford restaurant. Bon Apetite had listed the restaurant as one of the 'best country restaurants' in the nation. We stayed at the bar, people watching the older ladies in their fur shawls and worked on faces, and the younger ladies in their 6 inch pumps and diamond earrings, accompanying their older, distinguished, grey haired dates.
On our second glass of Rosso, blondy Hayden joined us at the bar. She had recently moved to Washington to be with her fiance, who had called it off two weeks before the wedding, due to the fact he had already been cheating on her. She wanted out of Washington, but wasn't sure whether she should go back home to California, or move to New York City to be closer with her boss, whom she was now having an affair with. We drank wine, talked trash about men, and ate trout salad and salted caramel ice cream. Salted caramel ice cream (who would have thought?) is delicious.
From Walla Walla (Walla Walla! Walla Walla, Washington!) we cut across the Northeast corner of Oregon. It was a mostly uneventful section of road, until we were passed by a truck with flashing lights, pulling a bear trap. We knew it was a bear trap, because we had seen them in Yosemite. We had stopped to walk along a waterfall, but when we caught up with the truck, parked at the side of the road, we were just in time to see a black bear shimmying up a tree and away from a ranger dog. Mary Lou pulled the RV over in a safe place, while Nicole jumped out with the camera to catch the action. Just as she joined the group of spectators, she saw the ranger coming out of the woods with his leashed dog, and heard the sickening, "ppffumpp," of the bear falling out of the tree. The ranger heard everyone at the side of the road gasp and asked the assisting traffic cop, "Did he come down?"
They waited a few minutes, to make sure the tranquilizer had kicked in, and carried some equipment into the woods. They came back a short time later, with a sling like stretcher carrying a fairly small size bear. All we could see were tufts of black fur sticking out of the canvas. They placed the bear in the trap, and answered the crowd that, no we couldn't come see the bear, since we really needed to get out of the road and stop blocking the highway traffic.
A few more miles and we were in Idaho. Where the potatoes grow. And there were lots of potatoes. Miles and miles and miles of them. We stopped in Boise, to spend the night in another Walmart. On the West Coast, most of the Walmarts had prohibited overnight sleeping, so it was nice to again be able to save some those overnight fees, and still be safe. Walmart was familiar ground.
Since hitting Washington State, we had really been slacking on our planning. Maybe just a skim through the guide books, a quick look in the local newspaper, or just looking for green patches of State/National Park on the map. It was on the map that we saw The Snake River Birds of Prey Conservation Area, and subsequently, The Peregrine Fund and World Center for Raptors, just south of Boise.
What a place! Started in 1970 by Tom Cade who was then the Professor of Ornithology at Cornell University:
"The Peregrine Fund works nationally and internationally to conserve birds of prey in nature. We conserve nature by achieving results--results restoring species in jeopardy, conserving habitat, educating students, training conservationists, providing factual information to the public, and by accomplishing good science. We succeed through cooperation and hard-work, using common sense, being hands-on and non-political, and by emphasizing solutions. We are also cost effective--94% of all donations go directly to programs."
The raptor courtyard held two injured bald eagles, a peregrine falcon, and a Bateleur Eagle, whose reptile like skin on face and feet turns different colors depending on his mood. He liked to shout at people if they looked at him too long.
We spent a long time admiring the California Condors, one of the most endangered birds. Their population steadily declined to fewer than 25 birds in the 70's, mainly due to shooting and poisoning. Through captive breeding, California Condors have been reintroduced to the coastal mountains of south-central California and the Grand Canyon area of northern Arizona. Large body covered in black feathers and scaly, bald heads accentuated by a plush feather boa - awesome.
The presentation arena was one of the most impressive exhibitions we have seen in a nature park. The walls were covered in beautiful murals highlighting the bird species or their environments. The display bins were full of every bird feather you could possibly imagine, and pelts of all the local fauna. In the movie room, there was a wall size glass window full of ascending Blue Morpho Didius flutterbies. It was beautiful and informative.
Inside the largest of the bird enclosures, there was a stunning, white Gyr Falcon and a great horned owl, who watched us calmly, blinking one eye at a time. But, in the last enclosure, with his back turned to us, was the most incredible bird we have ever seen. Large and slate grey, we waited for the bird to turn and look at us. When, in a precise, calculated movement, he turned his head 180 degrees to look at us, we both gasped. The beady eyes were surrounded by a perfectly round display of smaller, lighter feathers, and four or five larger feather rose from the back of it's neck to give it the appearance of horns.
It was a Harpy Eagle. Have you ever seen the nature clip on National Geographic, where the sloth is painstakingly, slowly climbing a thick vine, high in the jungle canopy, and this giant bird comes out of nowhere, sinks it's claws into the sloth and effortlessly carries it away? That's the Harpy Eagle. It's claws can be as big as a grizzly bear's. We sat and watched it for a long time, moving about with such. . . again, no other way to describe it but, precise, calculated movements. Ancient. Unworldly.
One the rangers brought out a Marsh Hawk, now called a Northern Harrier, and educated us about the bird, and falconry. We were sitting with another ranger, who had been walking with us through much of the park, telling us the individual stories of the rescued birds. He had been gripping his coffee cup in a metal claw, for much of the time, and, Mary Lou took the opportunity to ask him, "You didn't lose your hand in a falconry accident, did you?" He laughed and said, "No, no. On the last day of high school, we blew up the chemistry lab."
The Peregrine Fund for the Raptors is absolutely amazing, and doing great work in the world. If you are ever out in Boise. . . www.peregrinefund.org.
Click here for photos!
We drove on 82 until our eyelids were heavy, and pulled off to sleep at a Walmart in Richland. But, the signs posted said there was no overnight sleeping allowed, and we had to get on the highway and drive 40 miles to the next Walmart. Luckily, we could stay at that one, and we crashed out to sleep before the RV engine had even cooled down.
The next morning we drove into Walla Walla. We wanted to go there just so we could say that we had gone to Walla Walla, Washington. It's a great name. We did some errands in the morning, made ourselves a big lunch and caught the end of happy hour at the Marcus Whitmen hotel. After a few glasses of L'Ecole No 41, we walked across the street to the Whitehouse-Crawford restaurant. Bon Apetite had listed the restaurant as one of the 'best country restaurants' in the nation. We stayed at the bar, people watching the older ladies in their fur shawls and worked on faces, and the younger ladies in their 6 inch pumps and diamond earrings, accompanying their older, distinguished, grey haired dates.
On our second glass of Rosso, blondy Hayden joined us at the bar. She had recently moved to Washington to be with her fiance, who had called it off two weeks before the wedding, due to the fact he had already been cheating on her. She wanted out of Washington, but wasn't sure whether she should go back home to California, or move to New York City to be closer with her boss, whom she was now having an affair with. We drank wine, talked trash about men, and ate trout salad and salted caramel ice cream. Salted caramel ice cream (who would have thought?) is delicious.
From Walla Walla (Walla Walla! Walla Walla, Washington!) we cut across the Northeast corner of Oregon. It was a mostly uneventful section of road, until we were passed by a truck with flashing lights, pulling a bear trap. We knew it was a bear trap, because we had seen them in Yosemite. We had stopped to walk along a waterfall, but when we caught up with the truck, parked at the side of the road, we were just in time to see a black bear shimmying up a tree and away from a ranger dog. Mary Lou pulled the RV over in a safe place, while Nicole jumped out with the camera to catch the action. Just as she joined the group of spectators, she saw the ranger coming out of the woods with his leashed dog, and heard the sickening, "ppffumpp," of the bear falling out of the tree. The ranger heard everyone at the side of the road gasp and asked the assisting traffic cop, "Did he come down?"
They waited a few minutes, to make sure the tranquilizer had kicked in, and carried some equipment into the woods. They came back a short time later, with a sling like stretcher carrying a fairly small size bear. All we could see were tufts of black fur sticking out of the canvas. They placed the bear in the trap, and answered the crowd that, no we couldn't come see the bear, since we really needed to get out of the road and stop blocking the highway traffic.
A few more miles and we were in Idaho. Where the potatoes grow. And there were lots of potatoes. Miles and miles and miles of them. We stopped in Boise, to spend the night in another Walmart. On the West Coast, most of the Walmarts had prohibited overnight sleeping, so it was nice to again be able to save some those overnight fees, and still be safe. Walmart was familiar ground.
Since hitting Washington State, we had really been slacking on our planning. Maybe just a skim through the guide books, a quick look in the local newspaper, or just looking for green patches of State/National Park on the map. It was on the map that we saw The Snake River Birds of Prey Conservation Area, and subsequently, The Peregrine Fund and World Center for Raptors, just south of Boise.
What a place! Started in 1970 by Tom Cade who was then the Professor of Ornithology at Cornell University:
"The Peregrine Fund works nationally and internationally to conserve birds of prey in nature. We conserve nature by achieving results--results restoring species in jeopardy, conserving habitat, educating students, training conservationists, providing factual information to the public, and by accomplishing good science. We succeed through cooperation and hard-work, using common sense, being hands-on and non-political, and by emphasizing solutions. We are also cost effective--94% of all donations go directly to programs."
The raptor courtyard held two injured bald eagles, a peregrine falcon, and a Bateleur Eagle, whose reptile like skin on face and feet turns different colors depending on his mood. He liked to shout at people if they looked at him too long.
We spent a long time admiring the California Condors, one of the most endangered birds. Their population steadily declined to fewer than 25 birds in the 70's, mainly due to shooting and poisoning. Through captive breeding, California Condors have been reintroduced to the coastal mountains of south-central California and the Grand Canyon area of northern Arizona. Large body covered in black feathers and scaly, bald heads accentuated by a plush feather boa - awesome.
The presentation arena was one of the most impressive exhibitions we have seen in a nature park. The walls were covered in beautiful murals highlighting the bird species or their environments. The display bins were full of every bird feather you could possibly imagine, and pelts of all the local fauna. In the movie room, there was a wall size glass window full of ascending Blue Morpho Didius flutterbies. It was beautiful and informative.
Inside the largest of the bird enclosures, there was a stunning, white Gyr Falcon and a great horned owl, who watched us calmly, blinking one eye at a time. But, in the last enclosure, with his back turned to us, was the most incredible bird we have ever seen. Large and slate grey, we waited for the bird to turn and look at us. When, in a precise, calculated movement, he turned his head 180 degrees to look at us, we both gasped. The beady eyes were surrounded by a perfectly round display of smaller, lighter feathers, and four or five larger feather rose from the back of it's neck to give it the appearance of horns.
It was a Harpy Eagle. Have you ever seen the nature clip on National Geographic, where the sloth is painstakingly, slowly climbing a thick vine, high in the jungle canopy, and this giant bird comes out of nowhere, sinks it's claws into the sloth and effortlessly carries it away? That's the Harpy Eagle. It's claws can be as big as a grizzly bear's. We sat and watched it for a long time, moving about with such. . . again, no other way to describe it but, precise, calculated movements. Ancient. Unworldly.
One the rangers brought out a Marsh Hawk, now called a Northern Harrier, and educated us about the bird, and falconry. We were sitting with another ranger, who had been walking with us through much of the park, telling us the individual stories of the rescued birds. He had been gripping his coffee cup in a metal claw, for much of the time, and, Mary Lou took the opportunity to ask him, "You didn't lose your hand in a falconry accident, did you?" He laughed and said, "No, no. On the last day of high school, we blew up the chemistry lab."
The Peregrine Fund for the Raptors is absolutely amazing, and doing great work in the world. If you are ever out in Boise. . . www.peregrinefund.org.
Click here for photos!
6.22.2011
San Juan Islands
Mary Lou had her heart set on seeing the Orcas up in the San Juan Islands. We drove North from Seattle and across Deception Pass to Whidbey Island. It was an unusually clear day, for the Pacific Northwest, and at the pass, we could see Mt. Rainier rising up all mystic-like over Puget Sound. Before staying overnight in a State Park campground, we grabbed dinner at Adrift, in Anacortes. Edamame, sea scallops, crab cakes, kale and a bottle of Asti Spumante. It was an absolutely delicious meal and quenched our seafood cravings.
The next morning we were up early and back to Anacortes to catch the ferry to San Juan. It was a pleasant hour and a half ride around the islands, bothered only by an incessant car alarm echoing from the car bay. By the end of the trip, the alarm had drained to a whimper, and the unknowing owner must have surely been disappointed to find his battery dead.
We disembarked at Friday Harbor, picked up some maps, had coffee and pastries at a cafe near the docks, and hopped on a bus to the West side of the island. Lime Kiln National Park, our best chance of seeing the Orcas from land. We spoke to the rangers at the park and they informed us the Orcas had been spotted about a week before, but they had moved farther out to sea, in search of food. But, we enjoyed our walk up the rocky coast, spotting some sun soaking seals and looking through the kelp layered tidal pools to find starfish.
From the West Coast of the island, we could see Mt. Rainier again. It appears, ethereal, like a shimmering mirage floating just above the sea's horizon. But at the same time, it is so massive and seems so solid, a giant iceberg waiting to sink passing ships. A truly remarkable sight.
In the park we talked to some locals, and the Orca research rangers working from the Lime Kiln lighthouse, about the Killer Whale Watching Trips. The locals said that, maybe ten years ago, they would have paid to get up close and personal with the Orcas. But, nowadays, the populations had decreased, due to noise and water pollution from all the whale watching boats. In turn, the minimum distance required between the boats and the whales had increased, and so all you can really see is a fin here and there. The rangers said the Orcas weren't anywhere close by anyway, since the salmon hadn't yet started to run. Even though Mary Lou really wanted to see them, we decided it wasn't worth the money or the damage to the Killer Whales.
It was time to really start heading East. We had a date, with Kyle and Yellowstone National Park.
The next morning we were up early and back to Anacortes to catch the ferry to San Juan. It was a pleasant hour and a half ride around the islands, bothered only by an incessant car alarm echoing from the car bay. By the end of the trip, the alarm had drained to a whimper, and the unknowing owner must have surely been disappointed to find his battery dead.
We disembarked at Friday Harbor, picked up some maps, had coffee and pastries at a cafe near the docks, and hopped on a bus to the West side of the island. Lime Kiln National Park, our best chance of seeing the Orcas from land. We spoke to the rangers at the park and they informed us the Orcas had been spotted about a week before, but they had moved farther out to sea, in search of food. But, we enjoyed our walk up the rocky coast, spotting some sun soaking seals and looking through the kelp layered tidal pools to find starfish.
From the West Coast of the island, we could see Mt. Rainier again. It appears, ethereal, like a shimmering mirage floating just above the sea's horizon. But at the same time, it is so massive and seems so solid, a giant iceberg waiting to sink passing ships. A truly remarkable sight.
In the park we talked to some locals, and the Orca research rangers working from the Lime Kiln lighthouse, about the Killer Whale Watching Trips. The locals said that, maybe ten years ago, they would have paid to get up close and personal with the Orcas. But, nowadays, the populations had decreased, due to noise and water pollution from all the whale watching boats. In turn, the minimum distance required between the boats and the whales had increased, and so all you can really see is a fin here and there. The rangers said the Orcas weren't anywhere close by anyway, since the salmon hadn't yet started to run. Even though Mary Lou really wanted to see them, we decided it wasn't worth the money or the damage to the Killer Whales.
It was time to really start heading East. We had a date, with Kyle and Yellowstone National Park.
Our Television Debut!
On Wednesday, June 1st, we were on TV! We had been invited by KING5 News to be interviewed on their morning show, New Day Northwest. And we had accepted, albeit with flutterbies in our stomachs.
It came about thanks to a gentlemen that we had met at a happy hour a few days before. He enjoyed our story, said we should write a book about our trip, and offered to put us in touch with KING5. Margaret Larson, host of New Day Northwest, seemed genuinely excited to have us on her show. She said it was one of the more fantastic stories that she had heard in a while.
We had spent all week being excited and nervous. Mary Lou was afraid that she would mix up her people and places, call her camera a 'Nike' or say we had been in Yellowstone instead of Yosemite. Nicole was afraid she would sweat under the hot lights and go blank when asked a question. But, after we actually watched an episode of the show, we found Margaret to be very friendly and sweet, and decided it was going to be fun.
We woke up bright and early to make sure we didn't get stuck in traffic. When we reached the studio, they had us park the RV inside their prop bay. They gave us a rundown of some ideas they had for the segment, and told us to relax in the green room until the show. We chatted with the other guests, but kept checking the mirror to make sure we were all put together.
They wanted us to be their teaser segment, to air during the Kathy Lee and Hoda show. They had us stand on the steps of the RV and wave and smile for the camera. Then we took a seat in the audience to watch the first segment, an interview with Riley Griffiths, young star of Super 8. Sitting the audience, watching all the cameras move around, hearing the audience laugh and clap, was getting us more and more excited. We were really going to be on TV!
The second segment was a local chef sharing his recipe for trout ceviche, and then, we were on! They had us step down from our RV in the garage and walk onto the set. Margaret asked us questions while photographs from our trip played on the screen behind us. It was smooth, and easy, we sat up straight, didn't stare at ourselves on the prompter, and Mary Lou didn't mess up any proper names!
It went by in a flash. Margaret thanked us for our time, and said she really did think our trip was a one of a kind adventure and asked if there was room for one more in the RV. We thanked her back, and while they removed our microphones, told all the crew that had helped us, that we had so much fun. They even let us keep the RV parked in their prop room while we wandered around the city for the rest of the day. It was quite an experience, and, who knows. . . if we ever do write that book, the publicity can't hurt.
Click here for the interview video!
For the rest of the day, we lunched at Tilikum Place Cafe, walked around the Space Needle, through the World's Fair Science Center, and took the monorail under the Gehry Music Experience Building back to Pike's Market. After we picked up the RV, since we were right in the neighborhood, we went back to Petite Toulouse for happy hour! A little celebration of our television debut, and a goodbye to Seattle.
Click here for the photographs!
It came about thanks to a gentlemen that we had met at a happy hour a few days before. He enjoyed our story, said we should write a book about our trip, and offered to put us in touch with KING5. Margaret Larson, host of New Day Northwest, seemed genuinely excited to have us on her show. She said it was one of the more fantastic stories that she had heard in a while.
We had spent all week being excited and nervous. Mary Lou was afraid that she would mix up her people and places, call her camera a 'Nike' or say we had been in Yellowstone instead of Yosemite. Nicole was afraid she would sweat under the hot lights and go blank when asked a question. But, after we actually watched an episode of the show, we found Margaret to be very friendly and sweet, and decided it was going to be fun.
We woke up bright and early to make sure we didn't get stuck in traffic. When we reached the studio, they had us park the RV inside their prop bay. They gave us a rundown of some ideas they had for the segment, and told us to relax in the green room until the show. We chatted with the other guests, but kept checking the mirror to make sure we were all put together.
They wanted us to be their teaser segment, to air during the Kathy Lee and Hoda show. They had us stand on the steps of the RV and wave and smile for the camera. Then we took a seat in the audience to watch the first segment, an interview with Riley Griffiths, young star of Super 8. Sitting the audience, watching all the cameras move around, hearing the audience laugh and clap, was getting us more and more excited. We were really going to be on TV!
The second segment was a local chef sharing his recipe for trout ceviche, and then, we were on! They had us step down from our RV in the garage and walk onto the set. Margaret asked us questions while photographs from our trip played on the screen behind us. It was smooth, and easy, we sat up straight, didn't stare at ourselves on the prompter, and Mary Lou didn't mess up any proper names!
It went by in a flash. Margaret thanked us for our time, and said she really did think our trip was a one of a kind adventure and asked if there was room for one more in the RV. We thanked her back, and while they removed our microphones, told all the crew that had helped us, that we had so much fun. They even let us keep the RV parked in their prop room while we wandered around the city for the rest of the day. It was quite an experience, and, who knows. . . if we ever do write that book, the publicity can't hurt.
Click here for the interview video!
For the rest of the day, we lunched at Tilikum Place Cafe, walked around the Space Needle, through the World's Fair Science Center, and took the monorail under the Gehry Music Experience Building back to Pike's Market. After we picked up the RV, since we were right in the neighborhood, we went back to Petite Toulouse for happy hour! A little celebration of our television debut, and a goodbye to Seattle.
Click here for the photographs!
6.09.2011
Fish, Folkies, Fun and Frustration in Seattle
We knew it would be difficult to get the RV in and around Seattle. We planned to park it and take the Bremerton ferry into the city for a day of sightseeing. When we reached Bremerton, though, we found a wine and craft festival set up in the main open parking lot. We drove around and around in circles, trying to find a parking lot that we could fit in, even if we took up two spaces and had to pay $22 parking fees plus the $22 ferry tickets. We finally found an adequate space, free, in a residential neighborhood about ten blocks from the ferry. We were already getting a late start. As we sat there, assessing whether we would want to walk the ten blocks, at night, after walking around the city all day, we saw a man chase his escaped pit bull across the street, yanking up his sagging, baggy jeans and carrying what looked to be a 40 in a brown paper bag.
"There's a Macy's in the next town," said Nicole.
"Let's go," said Mary Lou.
We spent the rest of the day sorting through the 75% off racks, enjoying happy hour at the Brew Pub, and reassessing our Seattle attack plan. We decided to drive closer to the city and risk staying in one of the few, poorly rated RV parks. After sleeping, we woke up early, drove to a Park and Ride Station close to SeaTac airport, with 600 parking spots. We took two spots, way in the back of the lot and hopped aboard the Sounder Light Rail. We rode past Safeco Field, with the roof retracted to get ready for the evening Yankee game, and got off a few blocks from Pike Market. Even from that distance we could see the people streaming in and out of the warehouse like space that runs along the harbor, hear the music from multiple street bands, and smell the fish.
We walked straight to the fish market to find, gloriously displayed, all the seafood that we had imagined we would be eating all up the Western Coast. There was every fish and shellfish imaginable, and plenty of it. Up and down the main market hall, we walked passed aromatic fresh flowers, dried fruit, candy, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, local honey, jewelry, pasta. . . anything you could possibly want. We passed by a quartet of young boys in suits and shaggy bobs, looking the like the Beatles, and singing Beatles songs. We passed a guy playing acoustic guitar and singing La Bamba. We did stop to listen to the Zydeco Band, complete with a the dorky guy in a wife beater and suspenders wailing on the washboard.
We found the fish market where they throw the fish. Attendants, down at the front of the crowd take orders, pick up the desired fish, and chuck it to the weighers and packers elevated behind the stall. Watching the Copper River Salmon and Golden Perch flying through the air made us hungry, so we bought a heaping crab cup and a few oyster shooters. We popped over to Mee Sum Pastry and had bbq pork homboys and pot stickers. We really could have stayed there all day, but, we moved on a few blocks to the Seattle Art Museum.
The current exhibition was Nick Cave, which we had seen at the Norton, in Palm Beach, but absolutely delighted in seeing again. His 'sound suits' are crazy imaginative, aesthetically beautiful, and, when he actually puts them on and moves with the inspiration of the suit (rolling, jumping, spinning, crawling. . . ), the visuals are rollicking. To place the exhibition side by side with the, now quiet, masks and tribal dance costumes of the Pacific Northwest Indians, was enlightening.
We walked around the Sculpture Garden, passed all the lilacs in bloom (Mary had to stop and get allergy medicine), and found ourselves in the middle of the Seattle Folklife Festival. The park below the Space Needle was an ocean of young, spiky haired, pierced and bolted, skateboarding, guitar slinging folkies. They were all dressed in black, the only splash of color in the fire engine red dyed hair. They seemed sort of goth, in a grungy sort of way, but branded in North Face. We had fun sitting on the grass, by the fountain, watching the freak show go by. We made a few friends while we passed the time until Happy Hour.
4.00pm and we were sitting in the middle of the bar at Toulouse Petite. Fantastic place. Mary Lou had a Katie-Mae (pearl vodka, grapefruit, St. Germaine, Prosecco), Nicole started with a Sazerac. We had some Foie Gras with Pear Conserva and Fresh Crab over Fried Green Tomatoes. Switched to Moscow Mules (vodka, lime and ginger beer) and had Tuna Tartar and Fried Okra and Pork Bellies. We chatted with the people at the bar. The couple to Mary Lou's left looked pretty sober, he was a wine maker, she a teacher. But they laughed the hardest when Mary Lou asked the heavily tattooed waiter why he would tattoo his wife's lips on his forearm. "That seems like a totally logical place to put my wife's lips," he said, "Where would you put them?" He wandered off while Mary Lou made knowing, dirty smirks at the couple. The waiter came back a few minutes later, saying "Ooooh, yeah. Ha ha. Yeah. Good one!"
The bartenders were adorable, and Nicole chatted with them and their local friends, while Mary Lou chatted with a distinguished, older gentlemen. It was such a fun night, and we giggled the whole way home, until we reached the parking lot at the train station and found a man shining a flashlight into our RV windows.
"Can we help you?" we asked.
"We're going to tow this," he said. "You can't park here. You can't take up two spaces. Didn't you read the sign?"
"We're very sorry, sir, but we did not see any sign. With 600 spaces, we thought this would be the ideal place for us."
"You can't park here. Oversized vehicles are not allowed."
"Where are we supposed to park to be able to visit your fine city?"
"You have to park at Walmart or KOA."
"We are spending the night at Koa. But that doesn't get us into the city."
"Well, the people who drive cars around here have it just as bad."
He let us drive away without a tow, and without a ticket, but we were left frustrated at the notion of getting into in the city again. Mary Lou especially, was looking forward to spending some quality time in Seattle, assessing it as a possible retirement place, but the pain of transportation and the non-stop drizzle was really starting to put a damper on that idea.
"There's a Macy's in the next town," said Nicole.
"Let's go," said Mary Lou.
We spent the rest of the day sorting through the 75% off racks, enjoying happy hour at the Brew Pub, and reassessing our Seattle attack plan. We decided to drive closer to the city and risk staying in one of the few, poorly rated RV parks. After sleeping, we woke up early, drove to a Park and Ride Station close to SeaTac airport, with 600 parking spots. We took two spots, way in the back of the lot and hopped aboard the Sounder Light Rail. We rode past Safeco Field, with the roof retracted to get ready for the evening Yankee game, and got off a few blocks from Pike Market. Even from that distance we could see the people streaming in and out of the warehouse like space that runs along the harbor, hear the music from multiple street bands, and smell the fish.
We walked straight to the fish market to find, gloriously displayed, all the seafood that we had imagined we would be eating all up the Western Coast. There was every fish and shellfish imaginable, and plenty of it. Up and down the main market hall, we walked passed aromatic fresh flowers, dried fruit, candy, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, local honey, jewelry, pasta. . . anything you could possibly want. We passed by a quartet of young boys in suits and shaggy bobs, looking the like the Beatles, and singing Beatles songs. We passed a guy playing acoustic guitar and singing La Bamba. We did stop to listen to the Zydeco Band, complete with a the dorky guy in a wife beater and suspenders wailing on the washboard.
We found the fish market where they throw the fish. Attendants, down at the front of the crowd take orders, pick up the desired fish, and chuck it to the weighers and packers elevated behind the stall. Watching the Copper River Salmon and Golden Perch flying through the air made us hungry, so we bought a heaping crab cup and a few oyster shooters. We popped over to Mee Sum Pastry and had bbq pork homboys and pot stickers. We really could have stayed there all day, but, we moved on a few blocks to the Seattle Art Museum.
The current exhibition was Nick Cave, which we had seen at the Norton, in Palm Beach, but absolutely delighted in seeing again. His 'sound suits' are crazy imaginative, aesthetically beautiful, and, when he actually puts them on and moves with the inspiration of the suit (rolling, jumping, spinning, crawling. . . ), the visuals are rollicking. To place the exhibition side by side with the, now quiet, masks and tribal dance costumes of the Pacific Northwest Indians, was enlightening.
We walked around the Sculpture Garden, passed all the lilacs in bloom (Mary had to stop and get allergy medicine), and found ourselves in the middle of the Seattle Folklife Festival. The park below the Space Needle was an ocean of young, spiky haired, pierced and bolted, skateboarding, guitar slinging folkies. They were all dressed in black, the only splash of color in the fire engine red dyed hair. They seemed sort of goth, in a grungy sort of way, but branded in North Face. We had fun sitting on the grass, by the fountain, watching the freak show go by. We made a few friends while we passed the time until Happy Hour.
4.00pm and we were sitting in the middle of the bar at Toulouse Petite. Fantastic place. Mary Lou had a Katie-Mae (pearl vodka, grapefruit, St. Germaine, Prosecco), Nicole started with a Sazerac. We had some Foie Gras with Pear Conserva and Fresh Crab over Fried Green Tomatoes. Switched to Moscow Mules (vodka, lime and ginger beer) and had Tuna Tartar and Fried Okra and Pork Bellies. We chatted with the people at the bar. The couple to Mary Lou's left looked pretty sober, he was a wine maker, she a teacher. But they laughed the hardest when Mary Lou asked the heavily tattooed waiter why he would tattoo his wife's lips on his forearm. "That seems like a totally logical place to put my wife's lips," he said, "Where would you put them?" He wandered off while Mary Lou made knowing, dirty smirks at the couple. The waiter came back a few minutes later, saying "Ooooh, yeah. Ha ha. Yeah. Good one!"
The bartenders were adorable, and Nicole chatted with them and their local friends, while Mary Lou chatted with a distinguished, older gentlemen. It was such a fun night, and we giggled the whole way home, until we reached the parking lot at the train station and found a man shining a flashlight into our RV windows.
"Can we help you?" we asked.
"We're going to tow this," he said. "You can't park here. You can't take up two spaces. Didn't you read the sign?"
"We're very sorry, sir, but we did not see any sign. With 600 spaces, we thought this would be the ideal place for us."
"You can't park here. Oversized vehicles are not allowed."
"Where are we supposed to park to be able to visit your fine city?"
"You have to park at Walmart or KOA."
"We are spending the night at Koa. But that doesn't get us into the city."
"Well, the people who drive cars around here have it just as bad."
He let us drive away without a tow, and without a ticket, but we were left frustrated at the notion of getting into in the city again. Mary Lou especially, was looking forward to spending some quality time in Seattle, assessing it as a possible retirement place, but the pain of transportation and the non-stop drizzle was really starting to put a damper on that idea.
6.08.2011
Tacoma
It was a cloudy, grey day, but we drove the RV into Tacoma and to the Museum of Glass. Mary Lou's Chihuly radar led us right to it. Designed by Canadian architect Arthur Erickson, the 90 foot, stainless steel, tilted cone that houses the glass blowing studio, is a contemporary beacon rising out of the industrial waterfront. And that day, the clear, flame-like Chihuly glass emerging out of the water pond made a stunning foreground for the dark and stormy skies.
We stopped first at the Hot Shop, a functioning studio where real artists are creating masterpieces out of molten glass. When there are not internationally recognized or local emerging artists at work in the studio, the resident team of glassblowers is at work completing personal projects or museum commissions. The day we visited, they were working on a collection of 75 goblets, each resting atop a glass cheeseburger. Nicole had never seen a live glass blowing studio, so she made her mother sit and watch for hours. It was mesmerizing, watching them pull glowing globs of molten glass from the furnace, blow through tubes to 'make the bubble', work in unison to meld all the goblet pieces together and drizzle the condiment colors around the rims. To see glass so malleable, and yet, so fragile; the transformation is magic.
They were exhibiting a Master Artist's Collection, one recent piece by each of the Master Glass Blowers that had come to the museum on residencies over the past few years. Some of the pieces, like a golden, balloon like Airstream, seemed so solid and tangible. Others, like a thin, green snake hanging from an orchid plant were ethereal. Really beautiful pieces.
And then came the 'Kids Design Glass' exhibition. The museum invites children 12 and under to stretch their imaginations and create original designs that the Hot Shop Team then transforms into glass. The team, led by Ben Cobb, turned the crayon drawings into actual, colorful pieces of art. There were open-mouthed, toothy sharks, and pointy-eared aliens, lollipop eating dinosaurs and one that looked like Kyle's imaginary friend MiddleVottle. They were so amusing, and the letters from the children told about how proud they were to see their imaginations blown into real characters. We loved it! Click here to see!
We walked over the Bridge of Glass, connecting the museum with downtown Tacoma, a 40 foot display case with at at least a hundred Chihuly glass works. It was bizarre to see such fragile glass suspended over the industrial railroads passing below. I'm sure that, on a sunny day, the glowing glass can be seen from all over the city.
We spent the rest of the day walking around downtown, eating burritos, shopping at the Buffalo Trading Company and finding other Chihuly installations in the Court House, pub, and restaurants. On our drive out of the city, the sun shone through the clouds and created a full, double rainbow. We pulled over at the first place we could find, so Mary Lou could take a picture. It happened to be in a church parking lot, right under a giant sign that read, "Jesus Cares About You". It can't hurt. . .
We stopped first at the Hot Shop, a functioning studio where real artists are creating masterpieces out of molten glass. When there are not internationally recognized or local emerging artists at work in the studio, the resident team of glassblowers is at work completing personal projects or museum commissions. The day we visited, they were working on a collection of 75 goblets, each resting atop a glass cheeseburger. Nicole had never seen a live glass blowing studio, so she made her mother sit and watch for hours. It was mesmerizing, watching them pull glowing globs of molten glass from the furnace, blow through tubes to 'make the bubble', work in unison to meld all the goblet pieces together and drizzle the condiment colors around the rims. To see glass so malleable, and yet, so fragile; the transformation is magic.
They were exhibiting a Master Artist's Collection, one recent piece by each of the Master Glass Blowers that had come to the museum on residencies over the past few years. Some of the pieces, like a golden, balloon like Airstream, seemed so solid and tangible. Others, like a thin, green snake hanging from an orchid plant were ethereal. Really beautiful pieces.
And then came the 'Kids Design Glass' exhibition. The museum invites children 12 and under to stretch their imaginations and create original designs that the Hot Shop Team then transforms into glass. The team, led by Ben Cobb, turned the crayon drawings into actual, colorful pieces of art. There were open-mouthed, toothy sharks, and pointy-eared aliens, lollipop eating dinosaurs and one that looked like Kyle's imaginary friend MiddleVottle. They were so amusing, and the letters from the children told about how proud they were to see their imaginations blown into real characters. We loved it! Click here to see!
We walked over the Bridge of Glass, connecting the museum with downtown Tacoma, a 40 foot display case with at at least a hundred Chihuly glass works. It was bizarre to see such fragile glass suspended over the industrial railroads passing below. I'm sure that, on a sunny day, the glowing glass can be seen from all over the city.
We spent the rest of the day walking around downtown, eating burritos, shopping at the Buffalo Trading Company and finding other Chihuly installations in the Court House, pub, and restaurants. On our drive out of the city, the sun shone through the clouds and created a full, double rainbow. We pulled over at the first place we could find, so Mary Lou could take a picture. It happened to be in a church parking lot, right under a giant sign that read, "Jesus Cares About You". It can't hurt. . .
6.05.2011
Like Tourists on the Washington Coast
Another milestone was getting closer - the Northwesternmost point in the contiguous United States. We had been to the Southernmost point, Key West (gosh, it feels like years ago!), so it only made sense to visit Cape Flattery, and make this trip truly 'cross country'.
On the way up the Oregon Coast, we stopped to fill our money hungry gas tank and chatted with the lady at the till. She told us to have fun on our journey and that we would pass through her town just a little up the road - 'Hump Two Lips'. "Hump Two Lips?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "Hump Two Lips." Okay. . . In just a few miles and we saw the sign 'Entering Humptulips'. 220 people, a small grocery and a post office.
There were many small towns like this along the coast, which was not as impressive as the California Coast, so we went inland to the temperate rainforests and lakes. The forests lived up to their name and were very rainy. Moist and mossy. Weekend getawayers form the city (Seattle) park their Mercs and Beemers outside the Lake Quinault Lodge, where Roosevelt used to frequent. We sought out a few waterfalls, but didn't linger long in the drizzle.
We entered the Maka Nation to get to Cape Flattery. Drove through the fishing, boating, and Coast Guard community, parked at the trailhead and walked West as far as was humanly possible. The trail ended high up on the cliffs, looking out at Vancouver Island in the distance and looking back at ocean carved caves and whirlpools. We took lots of beautiful pictures, proof that we made it. Cross Country. But Mary Lou accidentally deleted all the photos the next morning while formatting her camera.
Walked back to the RV and, for the first time, plotted an Eastward journey. There is still a lot to see on the way back, but, we took a moment's pause to consider that we were kind of, sort of, starting to make our way home. Although 'home' has definitely become more of the "where your heart is" that the decorative wood plaques say, than the house of 28 years that is still so clear in the memory. It's funny to think that someone new is walking up the staircase to bed, opening the screen door to watch the sunset off the deck, or sitting on the front porch watching the neighbor kids ride their bikes up the hill.
So, Eastward bound. We stopped in Olympia National Park to drive up Hurricane Ridge. They still had 15 foot high snowbanks and the mountains were hiding behind the low, grey clouds pouring over the peaks and trickling through the pine trees. We stopped at Dungeness Spit and walked along the bleached, driftwood covered beach. We were going to walk the country's longest natural sandpit, out to the lighthouse, but it looked really far.
It felt like we had been driving for weeks, so we decided to find a nice campsite for little relaxation time. Port Townsend seemed like an adorable place to do a little shopping, have some seafood, and make a few minor RV repairs. The historic downtown ran right along the harbor and the original 1800's buildings housed little galleries, quiet cafes, and used bookstores. We looked for otters in the harbor while we had some espresso and checked our internet. Had a peaceful nights sleep right next to the water in Fort Warden Park.
In the middle of the night, our furnace stopped working, and by 5 am our toes were freezing. We bundled up in layers until the sun rose, and then asked around for help in the marina next door. We were directed to young man that used to work at an RV shop, who took a look inside and said it was most likely our ignition board. He gave us the directions to his father-in-law's RV repair shop. Lucky for us, it was only a sail switch that has broken, and we didn't have to pay $140 for a new ignition board. But, they did keep our RV in the back, working on it for two and a half hours (we also needed a new flush lever on our AquaMagic Toilet). At $90 and hour, we couldn't help but thinking the owner had kept us chatting a little longer than necessary.
But, we were all fixed up, road ready, and hungry. We asked around for the best seafood place, craving some fresh fish or mussels or clams. We were directed to Sea J's, a little dive right next to the fishing boat docks. The haggard waitress balked when I asked her what the fresh catch was. "We serve Alaskan filets, just like we always do," she said. Too hungry to find someplace else, we ordered their "world famous fish and chips" and spent the rest of lunch peeling off the way over-fried batter and eating whatever fish pieces were left. By the waitress' busy clanging and exasperated sighs, it was clear that she didn't have time to write a check, so we stood by the till, to show we were ready. As we were walking out the door, calculating in our heads, it was clear she overcharged us by $4. We were getting treated and cheated like tourists!
We hadn't met very friendly people in a while, too. No one to say, "My! You're a long way from home, aren't you?" or "What are you doing all the way out here?" People would give us an extensive list of all the nice things we should do in their town, to spend our money, but didn't seem to care about anything else. In response to numerous questions, people around town told us that you couldn't really find fresh fish or seafood anywhere in town, despite all those fishing boats docked in the harbor.
It had been grey and rainy since we left Portland, and showing no sign of clearing up. We went to see Pirate's of the Caribbean, to pass the time until we could sleep, wake up, and drive to Tacoma. We need some Art.
Click here for photos!
On the way up the Oregon Coast, we stopped to fill our money hungry gas tank and chatted with the lady at the till. She told us to have fun on our journey and that we would pass through her town just a little up the road - 'Hump Two Lips'. "Hump Two Lips?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "Hump Two Lips." Okay. . . In just a few miles and we saw the sign 'Entering Humptulips'. 220 people, a small grocery and a post office.
There were many small towns like this along the coast, which was not as impressive as the California Coast, so we went inland to the temperate rainforests and lakes. The forests lived up to their name and were very rainy. Moist and mossy. Weekend getawayers form the city (Seattle) park their Mercs and Beemers outside the Lake Quinault Lodge, where Roosevelt used to frequent. We sought out a few waterfalls, but didn't linger long in the drizzle.
We entered the Maka Nation to get to Cape Flattery. Drove through the fishing, boating, and Coast Guard community, parked at the trailhead and walked West as far as was humanly possible. The trail ended high up on the cliffs, looking out at Vancouver Island in the distance and looking back at ocean carved caves and whirlpools. We took lots of beautiful pictures, proof that we made it. Cross Country. But Mary Lou accidentally deleted all the photos the next morning while formatting her camera.
Walked back to the RV and, for the first time, plotted an Eastward journey. There is still a lot to see on the way back, but, we took a moment's pause to consider that we were kind of, sort of, starting to make our way home. Although 'home' has definitely become more of the "where your heart is" that the decorative wood plaques say, than the house of 28 years that is still so clear in the memory. It's funny to think that someone new is walking up the staircase to bed, opening the screen door to watch the sunset off the deck, or sitting on the front porch watching the neighbor kids ride their bikes up the hill.
So, Eastward bound. We stopped in Olympia National Park to drive up Hurricane Ridge. They still had 15 foot high snowbanks and the mountains were hiding behind the low, grey clouds pouring over the peaks and trickling through the pine trees. We stopped at Dungeness Spit and walked along the bleached, driftwood covered beach. We were going to walk the country's longest natural sandpit, out to the lighthouse, but it looked really far.
It felt like we had been driving for weeks, so we decided to find a nice campsite for little relaxation time. Port Townsend seemed like an adorable place to do a little shopping, have some seafood, and make a few minor RV repairs. The historic downtown ran right along the harbor and the original 1800's buildings housed little galleries, quiet cafes, and used bookstores. We looked for otters in the harbor while we had some espresso and checked our internet. Had a peaceful nights sleep right next to the water in Fort Warden Park.
In the middle of the night, our furnace stopped working, and by 5 am our toes were freezing. We bundled up in layers until the sun rose, and then asked around for help in the marina next door. We were directed to young man that used to work at an RV shop, who took a look inside and said it was most likely our ignition board. He gave us the directions to his father-in-law's RV repair shop. Lucky for us, it was only a sail switch that has broken, and we didn't have to pay $140 for a new ignition board. But, they did keep our RV in the back, working on it for two and a half hours (we also needed a new flush lever on our AquaMagic Toilet). At $90 and hour, we couldn't help but thinking the owner had kept us chatting a little longer than necessary.
But, we were all fixed up, road ready, and hungry. We asked around for the best seafood place, craving some fresh fish or mussels or clams. We were directed to Sea J's, a little dive right next to the fishing boat docks. The haggard waitress balked when I asked her what the fresh catch was. "We serve Alaskan filets, just like we always do," she said. Too hungry to find someplace else, we ordered their "world famous fish and chips" and spent the rest of lunch peeling off the way over-fried batter and eating whatever fish pieces were left. By the waitress' busy clanging and exasperated sighs, it was clear that she didn't have time to write a check, so we stood by the till, to show we were ready. As we were walking out the door, calculating in our heads, it was clear she overcharged us by $4. We were getting treated and cheated like tourists!
We hadn't met very friendly people in a while, too. No one to say, "My! You're a long way from home, aren't you?" or "What are you doing all the way out here?" People would give us an extensive list of all the nice things we should do in their town, to spend our money, but didn't seem to care about anything else. In response to numerous questions, people around town told us that you couldn't really find fresh fish or seafood anywhere in town, despite all those fishing boats docked in the harbor.
It had been grey and rainy since we left Portland, and showing no sign of clearing up. We went to see Pirate's of the Caribbean, to pass the time until we could sleep, wake up, and drive to Tacoma. We need some Art.
Click here for photos!
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