On Again, Off Again

The original plan was to help mom unwinterize the house and head out on the boat for a mid winter cruise.



We headed up I-5 in snow showers, caught the same ferry as mom and settled in on the ferry marking our Oscar ballots in preparation for small impromptu Oscar party later that evening. We thought it might help ease the transition back to empty house – the ever present reminder that Dad wasn’t there.



Arrival at the house was uneventful and in short order the water system was charged and all systems restored after a months absence.



Jodi made a great sausage pasta dinner and we watched the Oscar's unfold. Collectively we turned out to be lousy at Oscar predictions. While mom and Jodi nailed the best picture category I eked out the win with the most right (or least wrong) guesses.



Sunday night the wind howled. Straight out of the northeast, the house was slammed by 30 knot winds with higher gusts. None of us slept very well, but the Monday morning sunrise was more peaceful.

Monday was a bittersweet day. It would have been Dads 84th birthday. We had a couple of cinnamon rolls (his favorite) in his honor.



Shortly after breakfast we decided to climb Young's Hill and give the dogs and ourselves a brief workout. Mom was game and charged up the hill without complaint. Not bad for a woman who next year will turn 80.

Predictably Kuper and Rex immensely enjoyed the outing.

All morning we had been texting back and forth with Tom and Tessa. We were going to cruise with them, but the weather forecast was dim and getting dimmer. Strong winter gales were forecasted to sweep through the area. The National Weather Service had dire “GALE WARNINGS” in big red font. Tom and Tessa informed us that they were bailing and wouldn’t be coming up. Jodi and I formulated a ‘plan B’, but then to our surprise they again revised their plans and undaunted and they caught a ferry off Bainbridge and headed north.



Jodi, mom and I had a pleasant dinner at the Cask and Schooner while Tom and Tessa uncovered a couple of unpleasant surprises as the splashed their boat in Anacortes. Their fresh water system had a cracked filter, but they surmounted their problems and steamed towards Rosario under starry skies. We'd join them in the morning, using a forecasted gap between weather systems.



We’d have to get an early start to get to Rosario and secure the boat prior to the wind arriving.



We left a little later than I had planned and the winds arrived a little earlier than anticipated. We took some spray over the bow in San Juan Channel with the wind blowing 20 to 25 knots. The windshield wipers did a good job smearing the seawater across the windshield (gotta replace the things). Once in the lee of Lopez Island things were civil until we approached Rosario. By that time we were running with the wind at about 7 knots. The wind, blowing from astern, was showing 23 knots on the anemometer. 23 knots plus 7 equals a 30 knot winds right on the stern as we headed towards the small set of docks. As we approached Rosario the seas began to build and we began to surf down the front of 4 foot waves. This was going to be interesting. We surfed into Rosario’s small moorage, most of which is tucked behind a small breakwater. The end docks were largely unprotected, bouncing wildly with the waves. Jodi had all fenders down and the lines ready. We skidded CAMBRIA into a tight 90 degree port turn to squeeze behind the docks. 30 knots of wind now on the beam pushing us towards the rocks. More power then another 90 degree turn to align with the finger pier. Tom and Tessa were there to catch the lines. I squared the boat up and then it was up to the line handlers to complete the landing. It turned out just fine, but ‘exciting’ isn’t the word you want to use when you land a 16 ton boat.



Once landed we again checked out the grounds around Rosario. Looks like major improvements are being made – lots of construction and they are redoing the swimming pool.



Jodi and I opted for a hike up to Cascade lake the joined Tom and Tessa in the hot tub. Appetizers followed on Docktails then Jodi made a terrific Pasta dish on Cambria.

The Hut

Justin is a New York city native. For most of his life, 'going outside' was merely a necessary step between two destinations. His formative years were spent in cities and since joining Eddie Bauer, his strong fondness of First Ascent has been primarily about color. "It's all about the color" is his oft repeated phrase as he mixes and matches tees with Micro Therms and, yes, shoes. His First Ascent apparel looks great, but has yet to withstand any real functional test.




Justin had never camped before, so one of our co workers, Mitch, decided to gently introduce Justin to the art of camping.



Mitch has not only summited Mount Rainier, he has also hiked the entire "Wonderland Trail" encircling it. This summer he spent a week in the back country hiking a remote trail in the northern cascades. Mitch spends his weekends as a Nordic ski patroller, assisting other cross country skiers in the back country.



To Mitch, "getting outside" is the destination. Mitch also has carefully selected First Ascent pieces, but relies more on his early Eddie Bauer gear, some of it dating back to the 70's. (And some of no doubt purchased from a small windfall he received when Van Halen had to use Mitch’s REI membership number to buy thousands of dollars of climbing gear, but that’s another story).



Mitch has been with Eddie Bauer for some 35 years. Justin joined Bauer just over a year ago. Tried and true along with the latest and greatest.





Mitch's idea of a 'gentle' introduction for a first time camping experience?



A mid February hike.

With full packs.

On the snow in the mountains using snowshoes.

At night with headlamps.

We arrived at the trailhead well after sunset Friday night. Mitch had on his Ski Patrol parka, Justin suited head to toe in First Ascent.



Putting on snowshoes for the first time is admittedly cumbersome. Justin did fine after some coaching from Mitch. (Mitch to Justin, "Uh, they’ll probably work better if the front part faces forward").

We headed out into gloomy darkness, headlamps painting wavering patterns on the snowy trail.



Our destination was a warming hut used by cross country skiers. Picture an old trappers cabin high on a snowy slope in the trees. The only fixture was a Franklin Stove – no power, no water, about the size of two corporate cubicles. It was dark and cold when we arrived, but Mitch started a fire in the old stove and before too long it was tolerable as the temperature began to rise from the low 40’s. A few candles and a couple of scotch’s later, the temperature inside was approaching 70 while it began to snow outside and drop to the low 30’s.

Even with no power or water, compared to a tent, this was a palace. All to ourselves. Until the door burst open and two snowboarders with headlamps walked in and sat down. One had a bulging parka and politely asked if we would, perhaps, want a beer. From this parka he produced a considerable supply. Scott and Adam live at the pass and live for getting outside. Scott was an ‘arborist/woodsman’ and had met Mitch earlier in the year. Both were interested in stocking the hut with firewood this summer for the next winter. A plan was hatched between the two. Scott the renegade anti authority but good natured snowboarder, Mitch the ski patroller and voice of authority. All sharing beverages in a small hut on a snowy hill in the dead of a mid winter night. Wonderful.



Scott regaled us with a story of ‘floppy the fish’ a 26” trout of some sort he was able to snag out of a backcountry lake nearby earlier in the Spring. According to Scott, Floppy had behavioral traits of a Killer Whale, repeatedly breaching in this remote lake. He had pictures of Floppy. If not over 2 feet long, it was very close.

Scott’s buddy Adam had a date and was eager to get his ski runs in before the date was to appear at the lodge later that night. Adam was in a hurry, Scott was enjoying the moment, but it was a fun visit. Then they were off, and disappeared into the foggy night to conclude their adventure.



The hut was again ours and the three of us sat together for a while, chatting, but again the door burst open. Morgan, the cross country ski instructor. Armed with a finicky headlamp, he too was winding up his nightly adventure and was taking a few solitary runs after his Friday night routine of teaching 7 year olds how to cross country ski. He had a story about the warming hut from the end of the previous year. After the ski slopes close for the season, the backcountry becomes a temporary haven for snowmobile riders. They use the warming hut for parties and Morgan had stumbled into one. Normally snowmobile riders and skiers tend to look at life differently, but Morgan doesn’t see it that way. While he had planned to have a solitary evening enjoying his single serving of soup, he certainly wasn’t disappointed walking into an energetic group with an abundance of beer and bratwurst. Eager to show the skier they really weren’t terrible people with their noisy machines, they shared freely with their excess they had brought along. Morgan had a great time that night. After some time, Morgan too disappeared into the night.



And so we heard stories of the little hut. Our palace for the evening.



Morning arrived, the fire was stoked and coffee appeared from the stove (Starbucks Via rocks!). Mitch abandoned us shortly after first light for a ski patrol meeting and Justin and I gathered our gear for the snowshoe back to the truck.

The morning was quiet and beautiful. Fog and sun battling in a tug of war with the trees silhouetted in the crossfire. No sounds save for the crunching of snow beneath snowshoes and the occasional whistling of a Raven’s wings. Nice.



Mitch orchestrated and led a great little trip. Justin enjoyed his first night in the woods, and I was glad just to be a part of it. Thanks, guys.