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A Voyage of Discovery

Having cheered Harold on as he passed 99, and since I had the next day free, Daniel invited me to join him in exploring what for both of us had been a mere rumor:  that Olympia was, in fact, connected to the rest of the world by water.  Other than that fingers of brackish water slosh back and forth nearly up to the capitol building, there is no evidence, no  convincing evidence, that French trappers or ships from anyone's navy have ever had a clue that Olympia shares a connection with Tacoma or Seattle or the bounding main.  That is what drove Daniel to rent a runabout with a fierce Yamaha engine, and for us to set out from Olympia.

We pushed out, at a moderate pace, on a perfectly peaceful and warm day, threading between Anderson Island and McNeil Island, up past Fox Island and under the Narrows Bridge, keeping an eye on it, since both of us remembered that once before it had whipped around and fallen into the Sound.  We were in luck.  We were relieved.

We were worried, because the Marina people had told us that we should keep a keen eye on the gas gauge, since at full speed (which we were not pushing) would suck up fuel at an astonishing rate.  The reason for our worry was that the fuel gauge began at 3/4 full, and stayed there.

More even than the fame that proving that Olympia was actually connected to the modern world, we were interested in lunch at a place that had discovered beer.  We had been told that our best chance would probably be in Commencement Bay, and since we needed to get that far to prove our thesis, that is where we headed.  Around Point Defiance, with the Port of Tacoma mudflats dead ahead, we found two red-umbrella restaurants side-by-side.  That is where it all came together:  our thesis, our thirst, and our appetite for food and fame.

That is where we sat and measured the meaning of an immovable gas gauge, a sketchy assurance that we would find fuel somewhere, and our next move.

Our next move was to cross Commencement Bay to Brown's Point, a mere smear of a peninsula in the photo to the left, where Stan and Becky had once lived, but moved away from just before Mt. Rainier erupted again, and the Cascadia Subduction Zone, just off the coast, took a dive beneath the restaurant we were seated at.  We skipped dessert, and had another beer, instead.

We avoided running aground at Brown's Point, spotted the roofline of the house we wanted to see, and ran west to look for fuel; the gas gauge still unwavering at 3/4 full.  They do not sell fuel in Gig Harbor, but they do at the Narrows Marina, farther south.

We praised our good luck, passing the McNeil Island Penitentiary, and opened up the engine, since our six hour rental time was almost up.  Fortunately, the tide was now high, the wind gentle, and the water almost glassy smooth.  We kept a sharp eye for logs and debris, and returned to the marina, just north of Olympia, with the good news about the rest of the world being there, accessible, and connected to almost everything.

It was a grand day!  Harold was on his way toward 100;  Ruth was not far behind; gasoline at marinas is only about five dollars a gallon, but beer at the restaurant was reasonably priced.  Daniel and I had already toasted our adventures, the night before, with a single malt scotch!  We admitted how we love birthday parties like that!  Just another sip or two.

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