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Saturday July 23

Every now and again, the day pans out exactly as we planned: and today was one of those days. I had seen these WW2 veteran amphibious trucks around the city giving guided tours around the city: so I wanted to go there. Afterwards, I thought a meal at an Irish bar I spotted near Pioneer Square. And after that, go on the Underground Tour, which I had heard so many good things about.

The Duck Tour depot was near the Space Needle, so I walked there after another breakfast in Starbucks. I managed to get the last seat on the next tour departing in less than half an hour. Lucky me. So, all there was to do was to wait.

The tour went downtown first, with loud music filling the gaps in-between interesting places. Waiting at traffic lights on 2nd street, ‘Mickey’ by Toni Basil kicked off, and the driver trying to get as many of the people walking past to dance. We headed off up route 99, past my hotel, to the Seattle Yacht club, beside which is the public launch ramp. So, we sang just a little louder for the rich guys inside. So, we slipped into the water of Lake Union.

We chugged around, looking at the floating houses and boats. We saw the house where Tom Hanks was supposed to live in Sleepless in Seattle. As yesterday, we dodged landing aircraft. It seems that aircraft have no priority until they land, so no one has to get out of their way. Which is interesting. All through the trip, the driver had joked that the Duck was breaking down, or was unreliable.

When it did actually break down, no one really believed him. When he crawled along the gangway, and opened up the engine compartment, swearing, we realised it was serious. As luck would have it, we were near the shore, and the Duck can move just by turning its wheels rather than using its propeller. Only trouble was, it moved at about ½ a mile per hour. Progress was painfully slow, but none of us were in a hurry. A mechanic was waiting for us at the shore, and it was a quick job to fix the problem.

Once back at the depot, I thought I would walk back to the downtown area. Although it looked easy, the roads led gradually upwards, and soon my calves were aching. I walked past Pike Street Market again, and as usual the crowds around the fish stall were huge. I carried on down 1st Avenue, almost to Pioneer Square where the Irish bar was. As usual, the air conditioning was on full, and it was cool and dark. Suitably refreshed, I walked to where the Underground Tour started: and once again got myself squeezed on the next tour.

Seattle had a major fire in the early years of the 20th century, and in an attempt to flatten out the hills of the city, the level of the street were raised, leaving older shop fronts and doorways not below the street. In truth, there was not much to see, but the guides had a wealth of stories and anecdotes that made the time fly by, and hugely enjoyable. On the way back to the hotel, I picked up a leaflet for a whale watching trip out of Anacortes, a town about 70 miles north of Seattle. Once back at the hotel, I tried to ring them to book a place: but no luck. I decided to drive up there anyway in the morning: I might get lucky.

Sunday July 24

I am writing this, sitting at an antique wooden bureau, in a large Victorian town house: now a bed and breakfast in the town of Port Townsend, Wa. It overlooks the harbour below: which I arrived at about an hour ago and beyond that is Puget Sound, and in the far distance, Mount Rainier towers, its snow glowing pink in the evening sun. Behind me is a large brass bed, with chintz covers, and a bear on the pillow: it appears I won’t be sleeping alone. There is a semi-circular window, with a large window sill, which has a soft covering: making it into a settee. Just like yesterday went like a dream: if anything today was even better. Everything I set out to do, I did: Against all the odds.

Driving out of the hotel this morning was a thrill: the thrill of the unknown. I really did not know where I would be that night. I headed off in the direction where I knew I5 was: a road sign directed me left, and left again, only to come out in downtown on 1st Avenue. I tried again, got a little further out, but found the signs leading me to a residential area. It seemed like Seattle likes tourists so much, it never wants us to leave. Eventually, I headed up route 99, back past my hotel, heading north. And once again, I picked up signs to the freeway. Thankfully, the junction was just a couple of blocks to the east. And so, after taking nearly an hour to get out the city, I was on my way.

The countryside north of Seattle was flat; the freeway crossed plenty of rivers. There were low hills to the east, giving the impression of higher ones behind. I made good time, and soon turned off to take the road to Anacortes. The name Anacortes conjured up images of a pretty little fishing village, maybe with Spanish theses. In reality, it turned out to be a functioning fishing port, a small strip mall running down Commercial Avenue. The office was on Commercial, and I turned into the parking lot hopeful of getting on the trip that left in half an hour’s time. Unfortunately, they were booked up days in advance.

So I turned round ready to consider my options and what to do with the rest of the day. ‘However,’ the woman said. ‘We are waiting for a party that has not turned up. If they are not here in 5 minutes, do you want to go?’ Like, duh! So, I waited, the party was already over 15 minutes late, and I was allowed to join the trip. So a quick dash to the dock in my car, hoping that I would not get lost. I parked up to find the boat waiting for me, ready to cast off. As it was, the boat was only half full, so I don’t think I would have had getting on board if the other party had turned up.

As soon as I was on board, we set off. First of all weaving our way through the harbour full of huge yachts and motor boats. And then out into the channels that led to open water, leading to the San Juan Islands. It was cool, but not cold, although most people sat below deck. I made most of the sunshine, sitting near the front of the upper deck hoping to get the best views of the Orcas. Once again it seemed that we were going to have to travel two hours to see the whales, so we weaved our way through the San Juan’s. Word came that the Orcas were heading north a fast pace, so it was going to take a while.

Once, just south of the Canadian border, the Orcas were sighted, the captain positioned the boat ahead of the pod, and waited. It had positioned the boat perfectly, as the Orcas came straight for us, surfacing some 25 yards short of the boat before diving and swimming below us. We sprinted ahead and waited many more times, but none was as good as the first time. We watched various pods for about an hour and a half, before it was time to head back to port. Waiting on the dock was a crowd of people waiting for the afternoon trip.

I climbed back into the car, and consulted with the map. I saw that there was a quick way onto the Olympic Peninsular, taking a ferry from Keystone to port Townsend: thus saving a drive of 150 miles. So, off I set, heading out of town, and then south onto Skagit Island, which in turn led to the dock where the ferry departed from.

Crossing onto the island, the road crossed over a pair of high bridges, giving great views out to sea. Whilst passing a lake, I was frustrated that I could not see the top of the hills that overlooked it: and so I thought I would try to drop the roof of the car. I undid the two latches, and pushed. And pushed. But it would not budge. Doing the un-manly thing, I read the instructions, and found that it was controlled by a button. Oh yes, this is America. Ah, now I understood the appeal of convertibles. With the roof down and the music turned up, my God this was FUN!

Soon the countryside began to flatten out, and the road went across mudflats. The queue for the ferry was huge: and it was clear I would not be getting to Port Townsend very quickly. So, I lined up, and waited. I was worried about finding a place to stay. My guide book said that Port Townsend was the best place in Washington for Bed and breakfasts, so, I was hopeful. In time, we boarded for the half hour trip. On deck I got great view to where Seattle lay, and behind it was the shape of Mount Rainier.

Driving off the ferry, I turned onto Washington Street, which was main street. There were a great mix of bars and places to eat. One place called The Elk Public House caught my eye as looking nice. At the end of Washington, there was a motel. It looked quite nice, but I thought I could do better. Driving up the bluff that overlooked the harbour, I saw one place, The James House, and miracles, it had vacancies. Or vacancy.

I parked up, rang the bell, paid the bill in advance, and unloaded the suit case from the car. It was quite a hike into the attic, hauling the case: but it was worth it. After a quick shower, I headed off down the hill on foot, to find a place to eat. The Elk Public House had an empty table, so I looked at the menu, and decided the Blackened Salmon Caesar looked good. I was right, it was wonderful.

So, back to the B&B, hoping maybe to sip some wine on the stoop and watch the setting sun. But the family that had been there when I arrived had retired for the night. As so did I: falling asleep on the widow sill, as the evening chorus filled the air.