September 2009 - Charlene and Jackson’s San Juan Island Romp
It is September 9th and Jackson and I are attending the usual Wednesday night barbeque on L dock at Shilshole Bay Marina. The usual suspects are here, with the exception of Denny. Denny, the scoundrel, is in San Diego, California. He is down helping Tom prepare for the Baja Haha sailing race. I am feeling stuck, grounded, as Dave and Sam talk about their impending trip to the San Juan Islands. The green eyed monster is making me green with envy and jealousy. I want to be traveling to. Walking Jackson home from the barbeque, I look down at my furry friend and say, “What do you think, Jackson, want to go to the San Juan’s for a week?” “Somewhere new to sniff,” I add, as if needing to convince my 130 pound Bernese Mountain dog. Arriving back to A. J. Wanderlust, I take a quick inventory of what is on board and determine that a few supplies should be added and so make a hurried trip to Safeway for groceries.
Awaking the morning of September 10th, I find that my nemesis yacht broker, has rafted sailboat 360 and in doing so significantly reduced A. J. Wanderlust’s maneuverability in exiting her slip. I have talked to the marina office about this and they told the yacht broker no rafting, then they waffled and in the end, no concrete decision has been made. Each time I balk, the boats get moved for a month or so, and then reappear. I am annoyed that it is 9:30 am before 360 can be moved and I am late to make the tides out of Admiralty Inlet
Tidal patterns and careful planning respective to such are critical to a good passage in and around Puget Sound. The water restrictions and resultant currents around Marrowstone Point, Bush Point and off Port Townsend can be very significant, running at 4 to 5 knots. Fighting an adverse current can add hours to a passage and signify arriving after dark, a hazardous venture in the rock infested waters of the San Juan Islands. The San Juan archipelago is made up of more than 150 islets, only about ten of which are inhabited and numerous of which are submerged on a high tide. Careful and attentive navigation is always required; this is not a place where a sailor can afford to become lost.
I exit Shilshole into light north winds of only 5 to 8 knots and calm seas. A. J. Wanderlust proceeds forward at only 4.8 knots, struggling against tide. The RPM gauge is not working and so I adjust the throttle to what feels like 2000 RPMs. The wind freshens to northwest 13 knots as I enter Apple Cove in Kingston for fuel. With fuel prices in excess of 3 US dollars per gallon, efficiency in catching the right tide takes on added significance. By noon, A. J. Wanderlust is off Tree Point and I again check the tide tables, expecting the current to turn favorable soon. A north-northwest wind blows at 10 knots, adverse to my direction of travel, and seas are rippled.
As usual, Puget Sound is a hub of activity. Watching the Victoria Clipper approach on a collision course, I change course from northwest 335 degrees to northeast 30 degrees and gun the main engine to 7.5 knots to escape commercial traffic lanes. Soon a submarine appears together with its two Coastguard escort vessels. I can feel a tremendous wake roll A. J. Wanderlust. Container ship, San Amerigo, glides by on a southbound course. It is late afternoon, almost 4 pm when A. J. Wanderlust is off Admiralty Head and near Pt. Wilson; the Strait of Juan de Fuca appears hazy. A light northwest breeze of 5 knots barely ripples the water as I motor past Smith Island. Mount Baker’s distinct shape can be seen to starboard, even this late in the year, the mountain peak is snowcapped. The wind further diminishes to north 2 knots and A. J. Wanderlust is making good time across the straits traveling at 6.5 to 7.2 knots. I grow nervous as the sun is about to set to port at 7:15 pm. I pray for an available buoy on James Island. The San Juan Islands are rock infested and visual reference is critical. Failing the ability to locate a buoy on James Islands, I will be forced to motor A. J. Wanderlust further in the dark. By 7:35 pm, I am tied to a buoy in east James Island cove. A. J. Wanderlust is all alone this evening in east cove. Jackson immediately knows the familiar sounds, the engine being stopped, the dinghy and outboard readied. He stands with his big head looking over the back boarding gates. His expression clearly says, “Hurry up, Mom, time to walk!”
Although I have certainly piloted A. J. Wanderlust on longer and more arduous journeys, I awake tired the morning of September 11th and content to pass the day hiking on James Island. Accessible only by private boat or kayak, James Island is the embodiment of peace. Tall trees grace the island and thick, lush foliage covers the walking trail. Moss grows thick and a million shades of green and shapes of leaves abound on the trail. A mile long circle trail loops the island, but if hiking with a clever Bernese Mountain dog, there is always the chance of being veered off onto the deer path and making the hike a little more exciting. Bald eagles careen overhead. A few campsites around the island provide a place to sit and reflect on the splendid scenery. Jackson and I spend four hours exploring the island, taking our time. Thereafter, we pass a lazy day aboard A. J. Wanderlust. Our evening walk leads us toward a campfire, where we are asked to sit and enjoy. Jackson seems to have no fear of the fire, although I have a fear of his tail making contact with the fire. A group of about 12 boaters sit around, telling stories and glorifying their seafaring tales.
Another brief romp onshore the morning of September 12th, before departing at 11:15am to Clarke Island. Now that A. J. Wanderlust is across the Straits of Juan de Fuca, there is no need to hoist the dinghy aboard for each jaunt between the islands, so I tow it. I know I should be able to tow it with outboard attached, but do not want to risk losing another outboard engine. I use the crane at the back of A. J. Wanderlust to lift the 5 horsepower Nissan aboard each evening.
Despite numerous times in the San Juans, I have never been to Clarke Island. The pilot guide warns that due to its close proximity to the mainland, it may be crowded. “Let’s give it a go, Jackson, we can always leave after one night if we do not like it.” My co-captain readily agrees. Coming up the channel, the ferry Yakima blows its whistle. I am already turning A. J. Wanderlust, neither of us like our angle of approach. It is my responsibility to maneuver out of the way and not only because of the common sense rule of tonnage. According to the navigational rules of the road for waterways, ferries have the right of way through the San Juan Islands, as being on designated routes.
The wind is nonexistent wind and the water glassy. A. J. Wanderlust motors past Peapod Rocks and the Sisters. I spot the anchorage at Clarke and am anxious to snatch up one of the few remaining buoys. I lift my binoculars to see ashore and confirm that this is indeed a busy locale. I line up two mountain peaks to enter the harbor, suddenly A. J. Wanderlust shutters to a stop. The mast and rig bangs violently and a radar enhancer is thrown from the spreaders to the deck. A. J. Wanderlust has hit a rock, hard and at about 6 knots. I rush forward to survey what I can of the situation. Looking over the side, I see the rock just inches below the surface. I go back to the cockpit and motor in reverse to safer water depths. I again consult the chart and pilot book. My error is obvious. I lined up the wrong two peaks; I got careless, seeing the mooring buoy and heading straight for it. An amateur mistake, I know about the big tides in this area, I know to be aware of my exact position and what lurks beneath. Thank God A. J. Wanderlust is not hung up on the rock. I realign and motor into Clarke Island anchorage. I feel eyes on me. I believe other boats heard the collision, the sickening sound of fiberglass against rock. I pick up the mooring ball flawlessly. Safely secured, I race below to view A. J. Wanderlust’s bilges and check for any sign of flooding. Bilges dry, I jump in the dinghy to view any exterior hull damage. I see none. It sounded as if the hull collided with the rock, but maybe I got lucky and it was only the keel. But the position of the rock, just inches below the surface makes that unlikely.
Still shaky, but seeing no damage, Jackson and I head ashore to explore. Clarke Island boasts many campsites and fire pits. Although only accessible by private boat or kayak, its proximity to the mainland and lack of significant currents or tide rips make it an ideal spot for short excursions. Clarke Island does feature a long sandy beach on its west side, which is much quieter than the east side. Hiking opportunities are very limited, as only a few trails connect campsites on the long, narrow island. Jackson enjoys a roll on the sandy beach and wades a bit at the water’s edge. I am glad we came here, once, but this is not an island I will choose to return to.
Somewhere deep in my soul, although my heart and mind will not acknowledge, I believe I know this is Jackson and my last big boating excursion. The focus is on long walks and time spent together; I do not try and accomplish any work. And so the morning of September 13th begins the way of all mornings, with a leisurely walk on Clarke Island. Jackson heads straight for the beach to plop down, roll around and eat the breakfast I have taken for him. We stare out at the water as I mindlessly pet the big lug.
It is 11:18 am before I slip the mooring line and motor out into glassy smooth waters and light, fluky winds. The wind is east at 3 knots, then north at 8 knots, then west at 5 knots. A. J. Wanderlust passes Parker Reef and I can see Sucia Island in the distance. Wild currents play havoc with A. J. Wanderlust’s hull increasing and decreasing speeds and tossing the bow port and then starboard. Soon, we are in President Channel with Walden Island to starboard. I motor between Jones and Flattop Islands and then pass west of Barren Island and Pearle Island. The scenery is the constant scenery of the San Juan Islands. Numerous islands and islets, various shades of green as thick trees cover the landscape and rocky coastlines that plunge to deep water. Dolphins dance around and splash playfully. At 3:24 pm, I motor A. J. Wanderlust through Mosquito Pass and into Roche Harbor. Just as I am dropping anchor, a float plane takes off in front of A. J. Wanderlust’s bow. Roche Harbor is still a busy place.
Roche Harbor is a popular spot in the San Juan Islands, a place to see and be seen. Mega-yachts moor at the dock and everybody who is anybody is seen eating at the Roche Harbor hotel restaurant, formerly the main residence on the estate. A hotel rich in history, Roche Harbor Lime Works was started in the 1800’s by Robert McMillan. McMillan owned a lime mining operation and built the hotel to capitalize on businessmen coming to purchase lime, extracting even more profit from the negotiation. Due to the lime and kiln activities, Roche Harbor soon grew into a small village with cottages for workers and a small school. Roche Harbor today is a hub of activity, with condos being built nearby. Each evening at sunset, an elaborate ceremony featuring “Taps”, “All Hail the Queen” and “America the Beautiful” takes place while the flags of Washington, Canada and the United States are lowered. The fourth of July beckons hundreds of boats to a jam packed anchorage where a massive fireworks display is presented.
This afternoon, Jackson and I take a slow walk to the sculpture garden and walk various trails amongst the art. He is tired from our long days exploring James Island and Clarke Island and while he slumbers aboard A. J. Wanderlust this evening, I head to the restaurant’s balcony for a BBQ chicken pizza and margarita.
September 14th dawns bright and following coffee in the cockpit of A. J. Wanderlust, during which I watch many float planes land and depart, Jackson and I head ashore. We walk the familiar grounds surrounding the hotel, including the pretty trellised rose garden. It is 11:30 am before I haul anchor from Roche Harbor and motor to the dock to take on water. Boat watered, I set a course to Patos Island. As is customary to the San Juan Islands, the breeze is light coming from the south at 7 knots and then from the east; seas are rippled at less than 1 foot. A. J. Wanderlust leaves to starboard Spieden Bluff at the west end of Spieden Island and to port the Cactus Islands. I motor past White Rocks and Skipjack Island. A. J. Wanderlust proceeds at speeds between 4.4 knots to 7.7 knots as currents come and go, wrapping around the islands in a predictable manner. I steer A. J. Wanderlust to the approach of Boundary Pass and begin to enter Active Cove. Lined up for the entrance, I can see there is no room for us; there are already two boats on mooring buoys. Anchoring is not an option, at least not if I want a good night’ sleep. The holding ground is marginal or worse. I circumnavigate Patos Island, hoping a buoy will free, but to no avail. I point A. J. Wanderlust toward Shallow Bay on Sucia Island on a sunny afternoon at 4 pm.
It is my first time mooring A. J. Wanderlust in Shallow Bay and I am surprised to find an open mooring ball this late in the day. I like mooring balls, all the security of a well set anchor and none of the mess or hassle of pulling up a hundred feet or more of chain which is encrusted with thick sticky mud. A mooring ball is nothing more than a very well set series of three anchors connected to a chain. The mooring ball has a little metal ring on the top, and then a boat takes a line through the ring and back to the boat. Although in reality mooring balls can drag if not well set and maintained, to me they provide a great sense of security. I sleep well on a mooring ball as A. J. Wanderlust rocks me peacefully to sleep.
Once ashore on Sucia Island, Jackson and I walk a loop toward Echo Bay. Sucia Island is one of my favorite in the San Juan archipelago, featuring many options for hiking trails of various distances and difficulties. The terrain can be almost flat or rugged and hilly. The natural dirt trails are all lined with old trees that reach heavenward. The beaches of Sucia Island are littered with drift wood which makes for interesting landscapes. Fossil Bay is a distant walk, but well worth the effort for the multicolored and unique stones that form its beach. The trail up Ewing Bluff proves a steep climb in places, but the hiker is rewarded with magnificent vistas to the San Juan Islands from a high vantage point.
The morning of September 15th, I am tempted to depart Sucia Island without walking Jackson in order to better my chances at a buoy on Patos Island. However, looking in this old dog’s graying and expectant muzzle, I can tell that going for a walk is the right answer. “You big goofy dog, Jackson, you’d be happy just to sit in one spot, never move A. J. Wanderlust, and just walk the same trails as long as Mom was there to pet you, wouldn’t you?” “Good boy, you teach me the simple pleasures of life.” Jackson and I enjoy the relaxing pace of morning coffee and unhurried walks.
Returning from a meandering morning shore leave, I fire the main engine on A. J. Wanderlust ready to depart Shallow Bay at 12:22 pm. A northeast wind of 7 to 10 knots is blowing; I intend to race to Patos hoping for a buoy. My target is only 2.5 miles away. The main engine will not start, no sign of life, but I am unconcerned with this familiar problem. There is an issue in the wiring. Maybe corrosion or maybe something related to the fire in the wiring harness while enroute to Hawaii. Either way, I start the generator and allow it to run a full 10 minutes before the engine fires to life. Leaving Sucia Island, I fight against a strong current only to find two new boats moored on the only buoys. “Stuffed again,” I say to Jackson. “What do you say be head for Prevost Bay on Stuart Island?” Again, I am faced with no disagreement. Best thing about our relationship I think jokingly as I point A. J. Wanderlust off to Stuart Island. By a quarter of 2 pm, I find myself straddling US –Canadian waters while slowly advancing along in Boundary Pass. The wind is southwest at 8 knots and my knot meter evidences speeds as slow as 1.7 knots but averaging 4.5 knots.
Stuart Island features two bays for anchoring, Prevost and Reid. I prefer Prevost due to its small territory and intimate feeling. The mooring buoys are all full and I anchor A. J. Wanderlust. Soon the familiar afternoon routine begins. I pack Jackson’s bag with ample water, food, treats and a coke and beer for me. We dinghy ashore and create quite the spectacle landing on the wooden float. Jackson jumps ashore as all the boats tied to the float watch. He is off up the ramp, as I quickly work to secure the dinghy with a bowline. My feet hurt looking at the metal grates on the ramp; I know these have got to be painful for paws.
Stuart Island features two distinct loop hiking trails, each are a slightly over a mile in length. I let Jackson choose the path. Whatever trail we take this afternoon, we can take the opposite tomorrow morning. Similar to all the San Juan Islands, the trails weave between large old trees and open to expansive vistas overlooking the island group and its labyrinth of channels.
Hearing Jackson stir is again my alarm clock on the morning of September 16th. Coffee, then walk, per usual, this old dog knows my routine and every move. “Good morning, Jackson and Charlene” the now familiar faces on the power boats tied to the float call out. I shout a quick “good morning” back as I toddle off behind Jackson. Walking the circular loop, the sun shines brightly and Jackson lopes along slowly, taking each opportunity for shade and rest. Arriving back to the float, I leave Jackson in the care of the friendly folks on the dock and dinghy alone out to A. J. Wanderlust. He seemed almost too tired to get into and back out of the dinghy, so I simply take the big boat to collect him after the morning walk.
A. J. Wanderlust departs the float in Prevost Harbor at 9:30 am with a negligible tide that should soon turn positive. I am hoping my early start today will gainer me a buoy on Patos Islands, my absolute favorite of the San Juan Islands. Light and fluky winds again, east at 5 knots to northwest at 7 knots to west at 12 knots to east 6 knots. The seas are tide rippled. The effort is for nothing, as again all buoys in Active Cove are occupied. I mill about near Patos’ picturesque lighthouse for more than an hour, being pushed to and fro by the heavy current, before heading to Fox Cove on Sucia Island. Dolphins accompany A. J. Wanderlust and light rain wets the decks.
A. J. Wanderlust arrives at 2 pm to Fox Cove and I tie to a buoy. Jackson and I walk to Fossil Bay and a significant part of the trail to the highest point on Sucia Island. I would like to press on, but Jackson is exhausted and quickly running through his water supplies. “Enough bud?” I question. He needs to know that we are a team and I will accommodate his pace. Reaching the bottom of the trail, Jackson spots water and heads toward the tidal mud flats. This is going to be one dirty and muddy dog, I think to myself. But I am unconcerned for the mud; in reality I just don’t want him drinking the salt water. Of course, it is cool and so distraction is not possible. Oh well, lots of fresh water after and probably an evening of diarrhea. Such is life with a big dog. Jackson plops down in the cool mud and relishes a long sit in the tidal mud flats. I laugh; there is no white left on my Berner except the stripe that runs down his face. I am thankful Sucia has running water; I will try and clean part of the mud before we go back to A. J. Wanderlust. Wandering slowly back to the dinghy, I pretty colored collect rocks.
The morning of September 17th, I look at an exhausted Jackson and determine that with Patos less than an hour away, he won’t mind if we head there for our walk. I pray the whole way that A. J. Wanderlust will get a buoy. I depart Fox Cove at 9:38 am and by 10:22 am A. J. Wanderlust is tranquilly bobbing on a buoy in Active Cove off Patos Island.
I am not sure why Patos Island is so magical for me but it is. Maybe it is the pristine lighthouse that sets at its entrance, facing Boundary Pass or the way a glorious sunset fills the sky behind the lighthouse. Maybe it is its position so close to Canada and the lure it provides to northern cruising grounds. Maybe it is the rustic nature of this island, with its inhospitable entrance respite with current and tidal rips. Few kayakers or boats enter here and peace and solitude is complete.
Patos Island features a trail which circles around the island and comprises a distance of about 2.5 miles. The trail is flat, yet very scenic, and narrow with foliage brushing against your legs as you walk the path. Vegetation is lush and dense, both at ground and canopy levels. I am spooked as Jackson and I are walking along by the presence of two snakes which slither off as we approach. We walk to the lighthouse and sit in the shadow of its shade watching large ships and small pleasure boats come and go in Boundary Pass. The terrain immediately out of the dense vegetation grows rocky. Large boulders, washed clean and flat by the ocean’s ebb and flow, form huge grey seaside monuments. The sound of silence is magnificent, the waves making a beautiful harmony.
Blessed to finally be on my favorite island, Jackson and I have no intention of leaving soon. We stay put for September 18th, and again walk slowly the trail around the island and out to the lighthouse. Our shore leave lasts almost the entire day, and I am grateful I had the forethought to pack both canine and human sufficient food and drink.
I would love to linger, I love this place. I am truly and completely at peace here. Yet my calendar tells me that today is September 19th. The 25th will be my 40th birthday and I have a plane ticket to spend it in Michigan with family. I must head south, I must return to Seattle. Surveying the fuel gauge, A. J. Wanderlust will need to pass through Friday Harbor for diesel. I tarry as long as possible, Jackson and I again walk to the lighthouse. It is 12:18 pm when I drop the mooring line and depart to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island.
Sun and cumulous clouds fill the sky as I motor out Active Channel into southwest winds of 10 to 15 knots. The wind is sufficient to sail, but mostly on the nose. Besides, I am too lazy to sail, especially with the tacks that will be required. I ponder if my lack of energy is middle age, the big 40, or if family and other pressures are weighing heavily on my mind and sapping my energy. I suspect both are a part. I am not living as healthy and active as I could. When I am only 3 miles from Friday harbor, the wind shifts and comes from abeam. Still, I do not hoist sail. A. J. Wanderlust travels from President Channel to Boundary Pass to Spring Passage and into San Juan Channel. Three miles is less than an hour; I proceed forward under engine power with seas peaking at a one foot chop.
Entering Friday Harbor, I see that the anchorage is rocky with waves transiting and bouncing from the shoreline. I cannot justify paying 40 dollars for a space on the dock and so I move forward to the bow to anchor. My attitude toward money has changed greatly since suspending my career in 2006. I would like a nice dinner at Downriggers after Jackson and I walk, and that is where I will allocate resources tonight. The wind is gusty as I set the anchor at 4:19 pm. I am unhappy with the way A. J. Wanderlust lays after the first set; I believe she is too close to the power boat behind. I haul anchor and reset farther away. Given the gusty conditions, I watch A. J. Wanderlust’s swing and shore bearings for an hour before loading Jackson into the dinghy and heading ashore.
Friday Harbor on San Juan Island is the main center of commerce for the San Juan archipelago. The ferry arrives here from Seattle and Anacortes. Friday Harbor features many businesses, hotels and restaurants. Kings Grocery services the community and transiting yachts. There is a fuel dock and propane can be filled here. U. S. Customs can be cleared here. There is the Whale Museum. While Friday Harbor is certainly a small island town, it is also a bustling hub of tourism, a launching spot for any other adventure into the San Juan Islands.
For Jackson, it is a dog friendly town. Despite never having been in Canada, he walks directly to the US Customs office where dog biscuits are given upon arrival. “How do you remember every place that gives free cookies?” I ask him. The Customs officers greet us with friendly demeanor. I promise Jackson will be back. Now for our walk through Friday Harbor, beginning with a roll in the grass by the whale totem pole, and then onto the ice cream shop that gives out biscuits. I take the opportunity of being near Kings to gather a few supplies and a bottle of wine.
I wake early on September 20th with plans for a hasty departure. Once ashore, I can tell that A. J. Wanderlust will depart once Jackson believes he has been well walked. It is 10:35 am when I lift anchor and depart Friday Harbor anchorage. Just as I am motoring past the channel buoys and into Open Bay enroute to Cattle Pass, a US Coastguard boat approaches. I am familiar with the tactic; they want to board and make routine safety checks aboard A. J. Wanderlust. I slow the engine to an idle and they pull alongside to chat. My hopes for a good tide out of Cattle Pass completely dashed. They inquire as to when I was last boarded, I cannot quite remember the date, but get the ship’s papers. Handing the papers over, I realize it is time; my last boarding was more than a year ago. The Coastie receiving the papers notes the previous boarding in Hawaii. “I was stationed there,” he says. “You’re good to go. I know the guy that did your inspection there.” I thank them and shoot off toward Cattle Pass hoping to make the ebb tide out.
Motoring across the Strait of Juan de Fuca I peruse the pilot book pages related to Port Ludlow. I have never been there and it seems Seattle may be too far given my late departure. Granted I am very familiar with Shilshole and a night landfall would be no issue. But a part of me is not ready to be back yet, not ready to be tied to a dock. Southeast winds of only 6 knots greet A. J. Wanderlust as she flies across the Strait of Juan de Fuca on a cool and sunny day. By 2 pm I am past Partridge Point and entering Admiralty Inlet. A. J. Wanderlust attains speeds of 7.8 to 9.5 knots for most of the day, taking advantage of very favorable tides.
Studying the pilot guide, I see that Port Ludlow will require a careful approach. Even more care is necessary as my visual reference per binoculars determines that channel buoys are not as indicated per the pilot book or chart. I slowly and meticulously weave my way into Port Ludlow watching the rock infested channel for any sign of trouble. Eyes dancing from water to depth sounder, I proceed ahead dead slow. I see the floats of Port Ludlow at 5 pm and a man from a power boat moored nearby assists me in tying up as the wind acts mightily to blow A. J. Wanderlust off the dock.
Secured to the dock, Jackson and I head ashore for a walk. My immediate impression questions, what is the big draw to Port Ludlow? I see a big hotel and nice restaurant and assume that is a part of it. Distance, close proximity to Seattle is probably also advantageous for a weekend trip. Good holding ground in a protected anchorage is an added benefit, but in my opinion Port Ludlow is nothing fabulous. I look to Jackson for consensus; he agrees. We return to A. J. Wanderlust and go to anchor at 7:14 pm.
Return can be delayed no longer, so on the morning of September 21st with coffee in hand, I haul anchor and depart Port Ludlow at 7:32 am. I promise Jackson that Seattle and his blessed Golden Gardens Park is nearby and that we will be walking there shortly. He seems to understand and paces a couple times around the cockpit table before settling in to sleep again. It is a peaceful morning with few pleasure boats running about; the sky is a pale pastel pink. A. J. Wanderlust speeds along in excess of 6 knots with a north wind blowing 8 to 10 knots. I soak in the full, albeit hazy view, to the surrounding mountains. I can see the peaks of Mt. Baker, Mt. Rainer, and expansive views of the Cascade and Olympic Mountain ranges. Before long, the skyline of Seattle and Shilshole Bay in the foreground with its aluminum forest of sailboat masts appears on the horizon.
I dock A. J. Wanderlust in slip J-9, at 11:34 am. Denny is back from California and there to grab the dock lines. Jacksons wags a happy tail, please to see Denny. Boarding gate open, he grabs his leash from the cockpit seat and expresses his intention for an immediate walk to Golden Gardens. Life in Seattle, together with all its simple pleasures, has returned.
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