Most mornings when I wake up the sky and the water are the same shade of gunmetal grey. Waldron Island and Vancouver to the northwest are the only indications of where the clouds end and the waves begin. It takes a few hours, but by the time the shop opens at 10 the sun has burned its way through the fog.
A few days ago I woke up to unspoiled blue. I got dressed, ate my breakfast, watched my requisite episode of
Planet Earth, then pulled my bike out of the basement and rode to the south trailhead of Turtleback Mountain. It's a breathtaking ride, following Crow Valley Road along the upper lip of the valley past rustic inns and pastures with grazing cattle, past roads with names like Plum Tree Farm and Honeysuckle Lane. Turn right at the West Sound Cafe and you curl around the eastern edge of Massacre Bay (which was clearly named by someone profoundly disenchanted--perhaps the neglected, unaccomplished twin of the person who christened the abovementioned roads). The trailhead sits at the top of Wildrose Lane. I parked my bike, not even bothering to lock it to the stand, and headed up the mountain.
This was my day:
 |
| West Sound |
 |
| West Sound Cafe |
 |
| Turtleback Mountain trail |
 |
| Casey, I couldn't help but notice that we don't currently live on this farm. Can you explain this to me? |
|
 |
| Looking west from Ship Peak |
 |
| The San Juan Archipelago from the top of Turtleback |
I have no explanation. Et tu, Margoshes? Because I can't imagine a better place to be.
ReplyDelete