CATEGORY: SAILING
PHOTO: PROTECTION ISLAND FROM THE AIR

That last summer while crossing the Straight of Juan de Fuca from Victoria to Port Angeles, Bob caught a salmon.

While he was sailing, Bob always kept a twenty pound fishing line, with hook and lure, out behind the boat just in case he might hook a salmon–just in case–but he never did.  That day, getting in line for First Happenings, this one particular sea dweller volunteered to be First Salmon.

The several days before that had been full of Firsts: First Time sailing around the southwestern tip of Vancouver Island, First Time sailing into the Inner Harbor in Victoria, First Time getting drunk on liqueur chocolates, (just kidding), First Time sailing across the Straight of Juan de Fuca, and now First Salmon.  The next Firsts were sailing into Port Angeles, sailing out of Port Angeles, getting caught in a violent wind storm and anchoring off Protection Island.

Other than being able to see Protection Island from North Beach in Port Townsend, I really knew very little about it.  I knew that puffins nested there and that there was an effort to make it a sea bird reserve.  I knew that the name “Protection Island” had been bestowed upon it by Captain Vancouver because it protected the mouth of Discovery Bay.  I didn’t think it was inhabited by anything or anybody except puffins.

On the southern end of this island is a spit: according to the chart, Kanem Spit.  Bob said we would anchor there, build a fire and roast the salmon that he had carried suspended under the boat to keep it cool through heat, wind, storm and light of day.  There was plenty of driftwood on the spit, and it wasn’t long before a fire was going and the salmon spread eagled on a rack of twigs wired together and propped up next to it.

It had been an extremely hot day.  It was still hot.  Bob was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.  I looked at him enviously and decided that, since the island was deserted, and since it was off the beaten track for boaters, I could safely take off my clothes.  So I did.  I went into the water to cool off, and was just walking out onto the beach when I heard a horse galloping.  A HORSE???  I looked up, and what should I see coming down the high rise to the north but a cowboy on a horse running at top speed down the hill, just like in western movies.  Another First!–this one surrealistic!  I always thought, when I saw the “horse-and-rider-running-downhill” thing in a western movie, that it was an extremely dangerous thing to do.  If the horse stepped into even a small depression, it would catapult ass over teakettle and probably kill the rider.  I thought that would be an appropriate scenario for right now.  While I was contemplating such a delightful possibility, I was also moving quickly to hide in the tall grass, of which there was a plentiful supply.

The rider, regrettably making it to the bottom of the hill, rode right up to Bob.  I heard him say that this was a private island and fires were not permitted.  But he added, glancing in my direction, that we could stay and eat our salmon if we were careful to put the fire out afterward.  It was difficult not to associate his generosity with the unexpected sensation of seeing a naked woman on the beach.  It did not take me long to get dressed after he left.

I wondered where this possibly hallucinatory apparition had come from, so after we ate, I walked up the bluff to look around. He had told Bob that the whole Island was a ranch. That really piqued my curiosity, being a farm and ranch aficionado from early childhood . When I got to the top, there was a long view of fields clear across the island. Right then, who should come riding up but our new friend, Hopalong Cassidy. That bastard had been lurking up there watching us!  I turned to walk away quickly, but he followed me, giving me his name and trying to find out who I was. Clearly this guy had been on an island too long.  I remembered a quote I had heard once, “He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up.”  I almost ran down the hill, wondering about ass over teakettle for humans.

After our salmon dinner, there was still a long summer evening ahead of us, so we decided to sail on into the Port Townsend Marina.  As we rounded Point Wilson and came into view of all the snow capped Cascade peaks, I felt we were re-living history.  Captain Vancouver had discovered the Strait of Juan de Fuca in 1792, entered it in the fog and anchored in Discovery Bay.  The next morning it was still foggy, so he and some of his crew took the longboat and proceeded east.  Just as he rounded what is now Point Wilson, the whole sky cleared and they could see the mountains: Mt. Baker and all the North Cascades clear to Mt. Rainier.  When I first read about it, I thought how awed they must have been by the splendor or it.  Then later, when I read that Vancouver was so keen on discovering the Northwest Passage that he named the hopeful prospect between Whidbey and Fidalgo Islands “Deception Pass,” I thought NO: when he suddenly saw that mountain range ahead in all its glory, he probably just said “……damn, damn, damn….”