A Great Idea and the Look

Every once in a while my meager brain has a hard time remembering things. You might be surprised by this because I probably seem overly brilliant. It's true, I am. But even with my brilliance, I sometimes forget simple words. Usually when such a word is forgotten, my brain digs into it's built in thesaurus and comes up with another equally fitting word to describe whatever it is I'm talking about and all in the world seems right again. Sometimes in our family, the new word that was just used becomes the permanent way to describe whatever I was trying to describe in the first place.

Case in point...connectors. There is a body part that is smack dab between your foot and your shin. Right now I am pointing to it, so if you were here, you would know exactly what I am talking about. You may not need the finger pointing to deduce that what I am talking about is an ankle.

About 12 months ago, during one of our marathon hikes, I was so exhausted that I couldn't remember what the ankle was called. I was trying to reinforce my dislike of the marathon by complaining to Brenda about how sore my ankles were. Since I couldn't remember what the ankle was called, I pointed and said, “this part right here is sore, you know, my connectors.” Of course she said, “stop being such a weenie. I don't care about your connectors. Keep walking.” Ever since that day, any time an ankle needs to be talked about, it's referred to as a connector. After the year of use, “the connector” has become all encompassing when referring to body parts that connect to other body parts and are sore...knees, wrists, knuckles, hips, shoulders, you get the picture, and yes, pointing helps when using the word “connector”.

Some of our friends name everything. Sort of a secret code that only their family knows. “Speedy” is the white car. The “skeetonator” is the fly swatter (or mosquito killer). “Big dog” is, you guessed it, the cat. Most of our named items aren't some cute name that is only a secret code for us, they are almost always because we can't remember the actual name and the automatic thesaurus kicks in and spits out something that will forever be stuck. Our thesaurus tends to work with hand gestures and pointing and “you know exactly what I mean, stop looking at me like that.”

Another case in point...clamps, which are obviously pliers. Or “that thing”, which can mean anything but is distinguished by the hand gestures and “the look”. Every couple knows exactly what “the look” is. Mostly “the look” is bad. Sometimes “the look” is extra good and means that I'm getting lucky.

A few days ago, we were anchored in a pleasant little bay aptly named “Pleasant Bay”. This protected little bay was a great spot to spend a couple of nights because there were gale warnings that brought fierce winds and monster waves which are not only miserable to try to sleep through, but can also be somewhat dangerous if you are not prepared for the worst. Another case in point...a sailboat that was anchored across the bay from us during one of these gales had their anchor drag and ended up on the rocks. And I'm not talking about just bumping into some rocks, I'm talking the waves threw him high onto the rocks with no hope of getting the boat off. Unfortunately, the boat was a total loss and now this stretch of rocky coastline has some lawn art in the form of a mangled sailboat with some huge holes ripped into the hull. During that night, I'm sure that sailor got “the look” from his wife and it was not good.

While we were anchored in our pleasant little spot, some boat parts that we ordered arrived to the little store in Bellingham where our order was placed. With the storm raging, we weren't going to haul up the anchor and move the boat to pick up the parts and Brenda was giving me “the look” that told me she needed to get off the boat and move her feet. My suggestions were to wait out the gale, we are in no rush, lets hang out, maybe you could give me one of those “looks” that are extra good and we can occupy our time in a lucky way. No such luck. Brenda said “I have a great idea! We could walk to Bellingham! There are great trails all the way there! This will be fun! When is the last time we went for a nice long walk?!?!” “Um...yesterday we went for a nice long walk. Don't you remember that yesterday we walked all over Fairhaven? We made two trips to the grocery store with our backpacks. Does that not ring a bell?” Another “look” was shot my way that told me we were walking to Bellingham.

I won't bore you with all of the details of our walk to Bellingham but I will tell you that there is a great network of trails that goes all the way from our pleasant anchorage to downtown. I know you are wondering how far of a walk that is, and since you are wondering, yes I'll tell you. According to my gps, it was 18.68 miles round trip. And yes, my connectors were sore...not just my ankle connectors but all of them...every single one of them. When we got back to the boat, Brenda said “that was so much fun! We should do that again tomorrow!” I gave her a “look” that was not good and should have been very clear that we weren't going to do that again tomorrow. She then gave me a “look” that said we were probably going to do that again tomorrow.

On the morning after our big walk to Bellingham, the wind had died down from gusting in the low 40's to a more manageable 20 knot range. We had made plans to meet some more of our former boat neighbors and good friends in a couple of days at Stewart Island which was about 40 miles of sailing away. My great idea was to haul up the anchor and start sailing before Brenda knew what hit her because the best way to avoid going for another monster walk is to be on the high seas where there is no chance of getting off the boat. When she realized that we weren't meeting our friends for a couple of days but we were already sailing in that direction, she said “I thought we were going to go for another walk today???” Then I said, “um...nope. We are already sailing. It's too late for that.” A “look” came my way that wasn't of the lucky variety.

There are a couple of activities that I absolutely love. Skiing through dry fresh powder and a good long sail with a stiff breeze. I could do either of those things every single day and not get tired of them. Our sail of 40 miles through the islands is somewhat of a rare thing. Ask any Northwest sailor and they will tell you that sailing in the Northwest during the summer generally means running the engine most of the way to where you are going. I got lucky (get your mind out of the gutter because it wasn't that kind of lucky) and was able to sail all the way to where we were going. And if I'm going to be honest with you, I was able to sail past where we were going because I was having so much fun that one more harbor away just seemed like a better idea.

About 7 hours after we left our pleasant anchorage, we were anchored in Roche Harbor. We sailed all the way there. It was great. It was just what I needed to refresh myself after our marathon walk the day before. After our good long sail with a stiff breeze, I felt like I could walk back to Bellingham and not be too angry about it. But the best part of this story is the fact that I wouldn't have to because we were no where near Bellingham.

We are now anchored in Reid Harbor on Stewart Island with 2 boats tied up next to us. These 2 boats carried 5 of our good friends up from Seattle and parked them right along side us so we could spend some time catching up, catching salmon, eating salmon, laughing, and yes, Brenda is taking us all on long walks. It's been really fun. More on all of that to come in the next episode.