San Juan
Island . . .
. . . is a magical mix of rocky shores and harbors, of ridges
and meadows, of quaint towns and artist studios, of bikers, hikers, yachters,
sailors, of vegetable farms and oyster farms, of madrona, firs, Norway spruce,
and flowers of many names blooming in May. We love San Juan Island and chose to
celebrate Ann’s nth birthday there, as we had done last year.
Magical: she turned a year younger at Snug Harbor, last
birthday, and now two years younger birthdaying at The Lodge at Lakedale. Arrival
Tuesday; that night, a marvelous dinner at McMillans, in Roche Harbor.
On B-day, we kayaked out of Roche Harbor, 2 ½ hours snug in
a seagoing double with our splash skirts tight, out among seals and along coves
with deer and eagles and an oystercatcher, new on my list. No orcas, alas.
Lunch at Madrona Bar & Grill. Super seared ahi on bed of
Japanese seaweed and ginger.
B-day dinner at Duck Soup, rack of island lamb with a bottle
of 2010 Tablas Creek Bordeaux blend that we bought at their Paso Robles winery with
Scott Yoo and Alice Dade. A wonderful wine with wonderful memories attached.
Thursday, June 1st (OMG; where is this year going
in such a hurry?) Hiked – walked, really – up Mt. Grant, the island’s highest
at merely 736’. Forests of Madrona, Norway Spruce and Douglas Firs amidst
basalt outcrops.
Lunched on clam chowder and ale (for me; wine for her) at
Wescott Bay, about as islandized as one can get.
Dinner at Vinny’s in Friday Harbor. What a surprise! Not a
standard Italian-American-tourist-town restaurant, but real cucina raffinata.
Watched the weekenders arriving on the evening ferry.
Friday, wandered the shore of Straits of Juan de Fuca, out
of American Camp. (For you inlanders, this dates to the border war of the 1850s
between the US and Britain over which strait divided Washington Territory from
Britain’s Vancouver Island – Haro or Rosario. English Camp was on the north
end. The bloodless war began when an American sheep herder/homesteader shot a
Hudson Bay Company pig rooting in his kitchen garden. The British protested and
threatened the American families homesteaded on the southend as trespassers.
The alarmed Americans called for protection; a company of infantry under Capt.
George E. Pickett, later Maj. Gen, CSA, of Gettysburg fame, arrived and set up
American camp. The dispute finally was settled under arbitration of Kaiser
Wilhelm I in 1872. The Pig War is a
tribute to forbearance, for despite twelve years of bluster, there were no
other casualties, neither man nor pig.
Swung by Limekiln State Park to see if any whales; alas, none.
Friday night—the only bad meal. Avoid Downriggers on the
waterfront of Friday Harbor unless you favor poorly prepared seafood, harried
servers, noise to drown out a 747, plus high prices.
Saturday, waiting for the ferry, strolled the farmers market
and main street of Friday Harbor. Then front row spot aboard and southern pod of orcas spotted way off in distance. Mt. Baker
beckon
ed us back to mainland and home again, home again. What a great get-away!
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| The Lodge at Lakedale |
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| Atop Mt. Grant |
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| Limekiln State Park |
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| Hotel de Haro, Roche Harbor |
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| Limekiln Light |
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| Mt. Baker Beckons |
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| Evening at Roche Harbor |
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| South Beach Walk from American Camp |
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| Lakedale |
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| Tom D Hunt Totem Pole |
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| Kayaking Off Spieden Island |
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| Westcott Bay Oyster Farm |
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| Lodge Room #9 |
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| Evening Ferry Arrival, Friday Harbor |
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The Birthday Girl
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