Larabee State Park

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity . . . and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
-- William Blake

Sunday, September 12, 1999
One year ago: Liralen and TAFF
Two years ago: Dancing Begets Warmth

Hey, it's the two-year anniversary of the first time I went to the Century Ballroom! This has been a good dance year for me, with continuing classes, dance camp over the holidays, and more activity with dance discussions in online venues. My goal for this next year will be to take some private lessons, I think. I haven't done that yet, so it would be a new experience. I'll be hosting some out-of-town dancers next weekend -- I'm avidly looking forward to the Lindy Exchange!

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A few months ago, Jack and I saw a listing in the Bellingham Every Other Weekly about a science fiction fan group that meets weekly at a local cafe. He's been attending the meetings since then, and found some familiar faces (he's been active with Northwest sf conventions for years) and some new folks. I'm so glad he was able to find congenial acquaintances there!

So the group had decided to go on a camping weekend in a local state park, and I was to join them Friday evening. Larabee State Park was the chosen venue; it's just five miles south of town on Chuckanut Drive. Jack, his daughter H---, and I had visited there on my birthday trip to Bellingham, back in May.

But I needed to stay at work until our site was successfully updated (new content, and new glossary words by me!), and it was really going to be a better drive if I left later in the evening, after the traffic died down. I wandered over to Barnes and Noble. The downtown Bellevue one is converted from an old bowling alley, with great arching ceilings. I found new books by three of my favorite romance writers: Edith Layton, Mary Jo Putney, and Mary Balogh, and also picked up a copy of American Bungalow magazine. I don't expect I'll ever live in such a house, but I like the Arts and Crafts furniture styles and decorative items, and those I could have. I ate dinner at a restaurant in that odd Bellevue Galleria, Bob's Rambunctious Fish ("Eat Fish and Live!" is their motto). Bending my head to eat shrimp, pesto, and pasta while reading the magazine did bad things to the one tooth that still needs a filling replacement. I started feeling sharp buzzing pains, like electric shocks, in that area. Would this put the kibosh on my weekend?

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I decided to drive north anyway, and stop for meds if the pain got bad. Thank heavens that it mostly stopped, and didn't bother me for the rest of the weekend. (So much for suspense!) I drove north in the twilight and made the final approach, down the twisty two-lane Chuckanut Drive, after dark. I was glad that the road was closed south of the park -- less traffic, so I didn't feel pressured to drive faster than was comfortable for me.

The gates were closed! And it was well before ten, which is when they were supposed to shut for the night. But a ranger appeared in a few minutes and let me in, along with a few other cars. I made my way to the campsite. Jack had brought his motorhome, and some other folks were there with cars and tents. The campfire was burning, and Jack's guitar playing had attracted a few other people. One was a strange guy, young but mostly toothless, whose every other word was profane. He seemed good-humored but gruff; his female companion seemed simple, even dumb! They mostly wanted to share the beer. Another guy, Dave, was one who travels around from campground to campground, though he might stick around Bellingham for a while. He was prepared with an axe, and brought us split wood to help the campfire.

These folks dominated the conversation more than the Bellingham fans, but I did chat with Jim, a free-lance science writer, and Winston, a photographer. Robin, Winston's girlfriend, was also there. I pooped out about one in the morning, but Jack stayed up partying until three. We were joined in the motorhome by Jim, who slept on the dashboard (which is designed for the purpose).

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With such a late night on Friday, people slept in on Saturday morning. Jack cooked us some eggs around eleven, then we started debating about where to hike or walk to. I didn't want to go on a six-hour hike, so I lobbied for a walk to Clayton Beach. Here's a newspaper account of the hike we took; and here's a page of pictures taken by local children (note: large gifs instead of jpgs, but it's worth it).

We walked along the road for a short distance, then followed the trail down into the woods. John, the tallest guy in the group, told me "I usually bring up the rear, since my legs are so long that I don't want to lose the group." He kindly moderated his pace to mine. The trail was great! A gradual slope down to the water, with a few scrambles down some rocks at the end. We crossed the railroad tracks, then broke out onto the sunny, breezy beach. Gorgeous!

I'd never seen rocks carved so strangely by wind and waves. I wondered if the limpets or barnacles had played a role, digging out a small hole that was later magnified by the elements.

We split up fairly soon, and lost sight of the other group members. Jack straddled a large log and I sat in front of him, his arms about me as we enjoyed the wind. We walked along and inspected a very large dead starfish. For the first time, I actually saw sea anemones in tidal pools, and not in an aquarium. In a real "Wild Kingdom" moment, we saw a seagull dive down and catch something long, green, and wriggling. The bird dropped it several times and re-caught it, not out of play but because the eel (or whatever it was) was nearly at the limit of what the gull could lift. An adolescent chick, as big as its parent but still covered in grey, was tagging along and begging for some of the catch, but it didn't get any that we saw.

The tide was coming in. Jim and John had scrambled over some rocks around a point, and Jack saw that their route would soon be cut off by water. He shouted and waved to them, and we went closer and closer to get their attention. Finally they figured out what we meant, and were rather concerned and startled. John tossed the commuter coffee cup he was using for water over on to the beach (can't leave that behind) and pulled himself horizontally along a steep part of the bluff, escaping the water. Jim wasn't quite as fortunate, having to drop down and get wet up to his shins. They were glad to have had the warning; they hadn't been paying attention to what the water was doing at all!

We walked back to camp with a pleasant feeling of fatigue and accomplishment.

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Jack has gotten some chili cooking in the crockpot, earlier in the day. (He did most of the cooking for the weekend, by his choice.) But we needed more ice, more firewood, and various libations and odds and ends. So he and Jim borrowed my car and took the five-mile drive back into town, while the rest of us relaxed.

We feasted on chili, then I took a walk down to the beach to see the sunset. (Here's a page with beautiful pictures of the cove at sunset.) The light was that dramatic sideways twilight; the rocks and branches were glowing, and the purple islands contrasted with a melon-colored sky. Jack said, when I got back, that he'd have gone with me, but he'd been busy when I'd wanted to go. I didn't hold this against him.

We had another evening of videos (Red Dwarf), guitar playing, and drinking. I went to bed around eleven; Jack took it easy and went to bed around midnight. I wasn't being anti-social by retiring early; but the constant being with people (and we had campfire visitors again who weren't in our group) was wearing on me a bit. People showed up from across the way and asked Jack "Do you know any Johnny Mathis songs?" "I mostly play my own stuff," he said gently.

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The next morning there was lots of discussion about the next VikingCon, to be held next summer, since the con chair was part of our group. There was also much trapping of yellow jackets under plastic drinking cups, which was useless in terms of reducing their overall numbers, and seemed only one step above pulling the wings off of flies. Finally it was time to get packed up (we beat the one PM checkout deadline by a few minutes), and Jack and I took the short drive back to his place.

Jack and I spent a quiet afternoon, unpacking the motorhome and getting caught up on CNN headline news. Jack has a small aquarium set up, so we went to buy a fish for it -- a beta which can take cooler water, and will do well by itself.

So now I don't get to see Jack for two weeks, probably. He'll be doing his own stuff while I'm busy with the Lindy Exchange.