July 5, 2015, Prescott- I have it in my mind to return to Europe, at some point, probably some time in the second half of 2020, or later, as part of a 1-2 year sojourn, just because I feel I must earn back the money I spent on the trips taken, over these past three or four years. It’ll all boil down to what seemingly needs to be done, at the time.
That’s all pie in the sky, right now. I think of it, mainly because the news tells us that it is hotter in Madrid than it is in Dubai, or New Delhi. Budapest and Zurich are warmer than Istanbul. The sizzle factor is making things seem topsy-turvy, but don’t say this too loudly, lest someone think we have gone full-on Liberal.
I have to say this, just once: Name-calling has not, and will not, bring the temperatures back into what we regard as normal range. If that is even an option, we need to look at everyone’s habits. What can each of us do, and what is each of us willing to do, to bring the overall climate into a comfortable range? The areas of focus would include: Diet, daily cleansing and grooming, animal husbandry and crop rotation, forestry, fishing and manufacturing practices- especially production of technological products. Ever stop and think about how your smart phone components’ manufacture might relate to the raising of the atmosphere’s temperature? Didn’t think so.
Each of us has the role to play. Me? I drive with the windows down, when alone. With others in the car, AC is usually a must, but that is most often for short distances. Showers? Have to say, I keep them to 5 or 6 minutes, and there is no “eeeww” factor, of which I am aware. I drink small smoothies, when possible, though I don’t really go in for the idea that smoothies use more water than hamburgers, from start to finish.
These are just things to consider, next time your town hits an uncomfortable heat level.
June 24, 2015, Spokane- I was intrigued by the chocolatier’s use of Rocket Bakery as his sandwich purveyor, so this morning, Rocket was my first stop, after getting cash from the ATM. What a fine place! Like so many coffee houses in the Northwest, and our own Wild Iris, in Prescott, Rocket Bakery has a Steam Punk ambiance. Two lovely and effusive young ladies were the baristas, and sang along with each song that came on the house’s Sirius channel, as I savoured my drip coffee and scone. Rocket is a very happy place. It also has a bookshelf, a surprisingly rare feature among coffee houses, and one that is most welcome. The piano is also there, for anyone who can play decently.
After the wonderful interlude, I headed back to Downtowner Motel, checked out and made a beeline back to Riverview Park. One of my friends in Spokane recommended taking the gondola, over the Falls. This I did, to the amusement of four high schoolers who were in line ahead of me. “Like, why is the old dude going up by himself?” Well, because it’s there. There are some decent views to be had, from the nosebleed level.
Once back down, I headed to the southern, less frenetic part of Riverside. I found the Clock Tower, Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial and World’s Fair Pavilion to be restful places for meditation.
A flock of Canadian geese, lined up at the river’s edge, was an unusual sight. It almost seemed like the Bird Olympics was set to begin.
A unique feature, for kids and adults alike, was this set of giant blocks.
Lunch was from a hot dog vendor, in front of Atticus. As he advertised “all beef, no additives”, I was game. The coffee and gift shop was worth another visit, after lunch, for some chai and a few gift items. After an hour or so longer at the library, I called my local friend, and ascertained we weren’t going to meet, due to a sudden emergency.
So, it was off to the south side, and dinner at Chalet Restaurant, near a retirement community. I was received a bit cautiously by the waitstaff, but the salmon and side dishes were fine. Sometimes, it is a good idea to greet an “outsider”; like me, who tips 20 % to anyone who gives at least adequate service.
After attending a Baha’i worship service and social, nearby, and briefly connecting with an old friend from Arizona, now living in Spokane, (pictures didn’t come out), I headed east, then south. it was dark, so no photos of beautiful Coeur d’Alene. The night came to an end in Moscow, ID, at Royal Motor Lodge. I woke up the night clerk, who groggily lined me up with a room, and settled in for another comfortable night.
July 4, 2015, Prescott- It is a strange twist of fate that, on this 239th anniversary of the issuance of the Declaration of Independence, many Americans’ minds, and those of others around the world, are on Athens, the Birthplace of Democracy and now a seeming hotbed of rebellion against a global system that emphasizes money and profit as indicators of responsible behaviour.
There are several schools of thought about this global system. Many here in the United States are convinced that it is the work of a tightly-knit group of families, whose specific identities are unknown and are called, collectively, Illuminati. Dozens of TV series,and a few movies, have featured this entity, in various configurations, as their Archvillain. Christians immediately identify it as serving the Antichrist, or maybe being It.
I only know that such a controlling presence, if real, would only suffocate and oppress the human spirit. Working for wages has never been liberating, and only adopting an ethic of work as an act of worship, of service to humanity, has given most of us any kind of fulfillment. My best years of working were when I was a school counselor, followed, oddly enough, by my years as a substitute teacher. Most prospective employers who’ve looked at my resume have shaken their heads at this, and the selection process has ended for me, then and there.
Work, though, has to be an act of service, because our humanity is what we take with us, and besides, acts of service, in the long run, are what make us independent. Money can be taken from a person, by the government, by creditors, and, in the form of lost investments, by a collapsing economy in a place far away. One’s accomplishments and relationships, however, can never be taken away.
I thought about all this tonight, as my good friend was driving us back from viewing the fireworks at Pioneer Park, on the northwest corner of town. Her concerns are with an imposed world government, and contrived financial collapse. These things are possible, but study of the teachings of various faiths and some secular philosophies tells us that they are not the End Game. Each of us has individual DNA and each of us has a distinct soul. We are, by nature, independent and will only successfully act in a collective manner, if our acts of service lead to a collective consciousness.
As I saw the other night, on “The Celestine Prophecies”, that consciousness, and not an externally-imposed mindset or false world order, represents the next step in the evolution of the human spirit. This is chosen by each of us, in healthy independence.
June 23, Spokane- I woke up from a night of roughing it, on the ground at Country Corners RV Park, in Wilbur, WA, about ninety-minutes west of Spokane. I got dressed and off to breakfast, at Doxie’s Diner, one of those places where the cook is the waitress, and the regulars address her as “Mom”. The coffee was on the main table, and I was invited to make myself at home. Great place, Doxie’s, and I could easily have whiled away a good morning there, especially listening to everyone’s stories of the previous night’s aurora borealis, through which I slept, of course. It had appeared around 2 AM.
I had a feeling it was about time I got over to Spokane, to see what had changed since I was last there, in 1995. I stopped for a bit of reflection, at a Rest Area, off US 2. Greeting me was this intrepid little critter, who might be a tad uncomfortable on a leash.
I got to Spokane, around 9 AM, and headed straight for Riverside Park, which was one of my fondest memories from 20 years ago. The first sight was the salmon ladder.
The Spokane Falls, though, are quite prominent, both at the north end of the park and towards the middle.
After a couple hours of meandering around the park, I headed east a bit, to the old Flour Mill, now home to about a dozen shops. One of these is Chocolate Apothecary, whose proprietor had sandwiches advertised, along with his main line of delectable chocolate.
Alas, his sandwiches, prepared by Rocket Bakery, had not arrived. At his suggestion, I headed across the parking lot, and up the street, to Stella’s Cafe. The Northwest is a fabulous place for cavernous, Steam Punk cafes and restaurants.
Stella’s offered a lovely Roast Beef, au jus and had some intriguing art work. This woman had tied up her demon and her ego, and was ready to take on the world.
After lunch, I checked out Spokane’s near north side, and its majestic County Courthouse. This neo-Renaissance classic was built by W. A. Ritchie, and was open for business in November, 1895. It is, arguably, one of Washington State’s finest buildings.
Returning to Riverside Park, I found quite a flock of gulls, feasting on whatever they could find in the Spokane River.
.
Anthony’s at Spokane Falls is another member, in that great chain of West Coast seafood establishments. It is across the bridge from the hydroelectric power station. It is notable that Spokane, using the force of its cascades, was the second community in the U.S., after New York City, to become electrified.
It was starting to get pretty hot, in mid-afternoon, so this fountain was a big treat for the children who were at Riverside for the day.
As for me, I went over to Atticus, a lovely coffee, book and gift shop, across Spokane Falls Drive from Riverside Park, and got a refreshing, cool beverage. After being there for an hour, catching up on my e-mails and correspondence, I noted the barrista’s consternation, and vowed to come back the next morning, sans laptop, and just savour the coffee.
The evening was spent, between Downtowner Lodge, which at the time was the only motel in downtown Spokane with no WiFi, Spokane Public Library, and the Food Court in River Park Square, which offered connections to anyone eating supper there. After satisfying myself that my friends and family were safe and well, I went back to the room and watched a bit of nondescript TV, then read for a while. Day two would feature a gondola ride, more walking around Riverside Park, perhaps a visit with an online friend and an evening with some of the Baha’is of Spokane.
July 3, 2015- I encountered two online posts by women, today. One was a TED Talk, by a fashion model. The other was a blog post by a young friend, part of her ongoing exploration of who, and what, she is.
We thrive on the superficial, many of us, because it seems easier. Men ogle attractive females, from girls not even old enough to drive a car, or hold down a job to those women deemed by society to have “preserved well with age.” Women have their share of “Magic Mike” and Chippendales moments. There is not much difference, in such as we do in that regard, from a trip to the zoo. Now, to fend off any troll who may be sharpening his rhetorical knife as he reads this- Yes, I have had my share of such superficiality.
It’s time to move up the evolutionary scale, a few notches, however. I was married to a physically lovely woman, with a winsome personality, who was also several points higher than I, in terms of intelligence. Since she passed on, my friendships with women have been varied. In each case, I have learned to place their sense of self-worth, first and foremost. I was not a perfect husband, but Penny taught me that much about friendship across the much vaunted Gender Divide. We were best friends, as well as spouses. Anticipation of the other’s needs is part of it, and direct communication, another.
Of the utmost importance, though, as the young model and my blogging friend both attest, is that there is always more, far more, to any given human being, than the pretty face, lithe figure and statuesque bearing that seem to mean so much, to so many in society. I thought of this, constantly, during a recent visit to Spokane. As I walked from my motel to downtown, I passed a billboard featuring the singer/actress Taylor Swift. The ad stressed her features, and makeup. My immediate thought was “There is so much more to you than this, precious soul.”
Those dismissed as “eye candy” may buy into that shallow assessment. The human spirit, however, is a hard taskmaster. A pigeonholed person will act in restless fashion, and will either: Seek attention in unhealthy ways; will meekly submit and then fade into obscurity, as the feckless lose interest; or will, as the late, and estimable, Hedy Lamarr did, combine a healthy respect for her natural beauty with a vigourous pursuit of her intellectual skills. The same is true for men, though on a lesser scale.
The closest of my friends, both female and male, are those with whom I can carry on meaningful conversation, can engage in interesting activities or just sit in one another’s presence, each doing what is foremost in their personal realm. The key is mutual regard, a belief in the ability of the friend to reach whatever heights one’s soul seeks and a willingness to let go of limiting personal agendas. There are those in my life, conversely, who are often calculating what I might do FOR them. They see little of me. I have enough to do, to pay back those who have shown me great kindness, but that’s a topic for another post.
To each, falls the task of scaling one’s own mountain, and triumphantly setting foot on one’s own moon.
June 22, 2015, Wilbur, WA- The day started with getting laundry done, in Monroe, at one of the more expensive laundromats I’ve seen in a while. It uses an Easy Card, so the fare is purchased in advance, for laundry supplies, washer and dryer. I did everything in one load,as is my wont, when on the road.
I passed Travelers Park, before turning right onto Highway 2 East.
On the way out of town, I gave a short ride to three people, who my intuition said, correctly, were good risks. They had no interest in me, other than to know why I was here, from Arizona- a reasonable query of a stranger. Eight miles further, I let them off, at a place called Gold Bar.
My next stop, however, was a tough little town called Skykomish, which has about 500 people who still support a weekly bus service to Monroe and have their own school district. It was founded as a rail stop, by routing engineer John Stevens, for whom nearby Stevens Pass is named. This old building used to be Skykomish Hotel.
The rest of the town also has a frontier air about it, still.
I had lunch (leftover lasagna) at a picnic table facing the main street. Then, it was on to Deception Falls.
This popular trail, at the foot of Stevens Pass, offers the three cascades of Deception Creek.
Note the relative purity of the water.
The trees provide variety in the scenery, especially as they lean,
serve as springboard stumps,
or act as nesting pots for new trees.
or, still as a place to drive piles.
Meanwhile,back at the falls:
There was a plenitude of visitors, yet much of the time, I found myself alone, as most people gathered at two overlooks.
The road led next to Leavenworth, not the Federal prison, but the touristy mountain community, about forty minutes from Wenatchee. The Wenatchee River is a major comfort, for locals and visitors alike.
I stopped just long enough to walk along the river a bit, and to buy some coffee from a local grinder, Square 15. It was to be a gift for my friends in Reno. The faux Bavarian scene can be taken in small doses.
I stopped in Wenatchee,for about two hours, long enough to marvel at the clear air (compared to the smoke which brought me here in prayerful service, three years ago) and to enjoy a fine Hispanic-fusion meal, courtesy of two friends.
I shall send them some Arizona treats, very soon.
The rest of the evening entailed driving down from the central Cascades, and into the western edge of the Great Basin. Some outlying areas reminded me of the Great Plains. There are patches of desolation.
There is a worrisome dryness.
The coulees of the Columbia River, and its tributaries, provide irrigation water, regulated by a series of dams.
One of these is Dry Falls Dam, about a mile south of Grand Coulee.
No, that’s not a fresh-water dolphin, in the river above.
I settled in on a grassy patch, at a little RV park called Country Corners, and slept fairly well, except there was this event called Aurora Borealis, and my tired self couldn’t leap out of the sleeping bag and take a shot or two. Perhaps one or two of you saw it.
July 2, 2015, Prescott- I am grounded. The Nissan’s dash says “Service Engine Soon”, so it will sit in the carport until my mechanic, and everyone else, has gotten the holiday out of their system. It may stay there longer, if the money that I am expecting shows up in my account, tomorrow morning or Saturday. Then, I will catch a shuttle to Phoenix, and a plane to San Diego, and honour my son as his birthday approaches-on Sunday of course, and I would stay in SoCal until Wednesday evening.
I have personal and civic obligations here at base on Independence Day, and these, too, are labours of love. A parade, in which I will be in the Red Cross contingent, a gathering at the American Legion, and the rest of the day with my best friend in Prescott, all of which brought me back here on the 29th of June.
Last night, after I watched “The Celestine Prophecy”, about which more in a moment, I was upbraided on social media, for not being willing to conduct an online dalliance, with someone I’ve never met. What a change, from two years ago, when I was all over the place, trying to figure out what my emotions were and how to deal with them. Most of the people who were in on the mental anguish I was enduring at the time, are still my friends, and God bless every one of them.
This brings me back to “The Celestine Prophecy”. Every American film, it seems, has to have a romantic twist. In this one, Marjorie is pursued by John, captivated by both her beauty and her aura of mystery (he saw her in a vision, that appeared to have taken place in the year 1622). John learns, quickly, to give the lady her space, and eventually sees that it is not the time for them to be together, though they certainly endure a lot- especially at the hands of Jensen, a cartoonish villain (whom John also sees in his vision, replete with wispy, handlebar mustache.)
“Celestine”, a film adaptation of the first of a series of novels by James Redfield, explores the growth of human consciousness and postulates nine principles, revealed in a series of scrolls in ancient times. John, and a group of like-minded souls, seek to find the ninth scroll, which Jensen, representing The Powers That Be (an Illuminati-like entity, who, of course, remain unseen), wants to find first and destroy, lest it tear asunder the power structure.
The upshot of the film is that the quest for power, by the Illuminati and everyone else, is a chimera. Human consciousness is moving steadily to a far deeper level than any materially-oriented force an ever appreciate. It is emerging, regardless of the quibbling, death and destruction that The Powers That Be are visiting upon us, and will continue to visit upon this planet, for a certain time. Real power, however, is spiritual and collective. It is as present in the most humble, vulnerable child, as it is in the person of a brutish, swaggering general ( such as Jensen’s chief minion in the film), and perhaps more so.
So, I sit in a safe, comfortable room, and contemplate my blessings: A strong, hard-working son, a good woman who is a steadfast friend ( and who, much like the film’s Marjorie, is given the space she needs to process all that is going on in her own, considerably complex life), a community that stands firm together, in spite of the callow local government, and a Faith which can carry me through anything at all, and does.
June 21, 2015, Monroe, WA- I woke , to a bit late today, around 7:15, to speak with my son on this Hallmark morning. It’s always good to hear his voice, contrived occasion or not. I was in the suburban clime of Mount Vernon, had been wished “Happy Father’s Day” by the waitress at Farm House Restaurant, in this city’s La Conner neighbourhood, after getting off the ferry last night, and got a somewhat more subdued greeting from the server at Riverside Cafe, near the motel, during breakfast this morning. Racial politics, Hispanic vs. Anglo, seems to be playing out a bit in this community, which is always a hard thing. I was given my breakfast, and two cups of coffee, then expected to leave. Riverside will not see me again., though Farm House would be a pleasure.
I was in a funk, not knowing which direction to head, yet after reclaiming some items I had left at Holiday Motel, the day before, and enjoying some coffee and a treat at Johnny Picasso’s, in Anacortes, I had an idea. Heading to Arlington, and Oso, the site of a horrible mudslide in March, 2014, I took some time for prayer towards racial healing, as several people back in Arizona were gathering to pray for the same, with the Charleston Massacre as their focal point. There is no one group that does not need a healing balm.
The message was clearer to me after that, and I drove east on Highway 2, finding the small town of Monroe to be a good place to rest. The Monroe Motel lies alongside Woods Creek, so there was no finer place for me to observe today, thinking of fatherhood-how it affected me as a son, as a son-in-law, as a spouse and as a parent.
I was not an easy son. My happy-go-lucky, but hard-working father did not know what to make of me, half the time. I did not know what to make of me, half the time. I wonder if he knew how much he was loved, back then. He knows now.
My role with my father-in-law was part good-natured foil for his jokes, and part guarantor of his family line’s continuing on in safety. We gave him his only grandson, and that guaranteed my safety. He knows now, how important it was to me that Aram actively knew his grandfather. Both of mine were dead before I emerged from toddlerhood.
Penny and I were close to nature, as individuals and as a pair. She would sometimes, in the throes of her progressive decline, say that she felt she was in my way. In truth, she WAS my way. She knows that now.
I have gone through a fair number of personal struggles, in my late teens, in my twenties, and in the buffeting called my fifties. Somehow, I have emerged. Fatherhood happened for me, in the best way I knew at the time. There was a lot more I could have provided, for my son’s stability. I realize that now.
He’s okay, thanks to the discipline of the Navy, and his grandfather’s guiding hands of steel and velvet. I am here for him, and can finally show a solid example of how to move through life, come hell or high water. Aram knows that now.
I went into this lovely, if cavernous, establishment in downtown Monroe. A Caesar salad, meat lasagna and a bowl of spumoni were my Father’s Day meal. Half the lasagna was saved for tomorrow, and my drive to Wenatchee, where I will reconnect with friends from three years ago.
I end this with Monroe’s comment on the whole race issue.
July 1, 2015, Prescott-As is always the case when I return from a wandering, there were lots of base camp tasks in front of me. Not the least of these was tracking down my pile of mail, so as to get two pay checks deposited and thus stave off NSF. I have had a good track record, since recovering from the Great Recession, and aim to keep it that way.
Finance has neither been my strong suit, nor has it been an Achilles heel. The best way, for me, to go about life is with cash and check. Work will be quite constant this coming academic year, and that’s a great thing.
My yard project was pretty much done for me, by the landlord himself, while I was away. He is a trouper: That work was done during the period that Prescott, and much of the continent, endured 100+ ,for nearly three weeks. I will keep at the process of building raised beds, so that next year, seeds may be planted. t least the onion bulbs will go in shortly, and we’ll see how they do.
July will be prime time for volunteering, I can sense, so I will show up at things like the Fourth of July Parade, and the Red Cross float, the Hope Fest kickoff event on July 18, and whatever things Slow Food and Yavapai County Angels have going. Then, too, there would be any disasters that happen, but we will let sleeping dogs lie, for now.
The travels? Yes, I have gotten to be the Poster Child for wanderlust. As another friend recently remarked, this seems to be a Sagittarrian thing. This Sagittarian will be more inclined to short, focused bursts, for the next five years at least. There may be a faith-based trip down to Chile, late in 2016, but my primary focus is on family and friends: My son, and a couple of good friends, in southern California; my paternal uncle, in Colorado; my soon-to-be hexagenarian brother, in Atlanta; and the bulk of my biological family, at Christmas-time, in New England. I want to do more day trips from here, that could draw in a good friend. Finally, there are my long-neglected Native American friends in northeast Arizona, and at least one weekend in early August will see me up there.
This day finds me in a very relaxed frame of mind, ready for whatever life sends. It’s just too hot and languid to be otherwise.
June 20, 2015, Victoria-I hit the ground running this morning, though it’d have been easy to laze the day away in Anacortes. A three-hour ride across the straits lay Sidney, BC, a harbour town northeast of Victoria. British Columbia’s capital was participating fully in Canada’s National Aboriginal Day. While this was officially on Sunday, the festivities were going on all weekend, on the grounds of the Royal British Columbia Museum, a magnificent facility, which would have taken up the entire weekend, in and of itself.
I zipped to the ferry station, west of Anacortes, and parked carefully in the day lot, as I would be returning at night.The wharfside featured some competitors for breakfast.
The cormorants far outnumbered the lone gull, however, so he followed us into the water for a while. Our first stop was Friday Harbor, a delightful little town I might like to explore further, some day.
The same is true of Sidney, the small port where we landed. A gruff Customs Officer gave me the third degree, then sent me happily along, to the port’s charming downtown.
My first act was to check Eastview Park, and its sculptures.
The artwork continued, downtown.
I spent about 20 minutes and C$ 10, at Haunted Bookshop, said to be Vancouver Island’s oldest.
The proprietor was kind enough to give me change for the bus to Victoria. I took a double decker, going to the top tier, and engaging in conversation with a Korean student, resident in Vancouver, who was also here on holiday. He was primarily interested in shopping, and in going to Butchart Gardens, which I had already consigned to a future visit. They are another site that is worth a full day, in and of themselves.
Upon arriving at the potlatch site, I took several minutes to wander among the totem poles of the Royal Museum grounds
I also took in the Helmcken House, home to Dr. John Helmcken and his family, in the late 19th Century. Dr. Helmcken persuaded fellow British Columbians to join the Dominion of Canada.
This carillon, on the north side of the museum grounds, adds a more contemporary touch to the mix.
Once into the Potlatch area, we were set straight as to where we were. The Songhees and Esquimault (Es-KWY-mawl) are working commonly, to preserve Aboriginal fishing rights and guard the health of the waterways.
I was taught, from an early age, that listening and observing were especially important, when in the presence of Native elders. Of course, these skills certainly lend themselves well to getting along in ANY company. I watch a seal-hunting dance, by some of the Songhees people, after having enjoyed a bowl of Vancouver Island-stye clam chowder and fry bread, an Aboriginal staple, across the continent.
While waiting for the walking tour guide, I took in the British Columbia Parliament Building and the Empress Hotel, diagonal from Parliament. The neo-Baroque British Columbia Parliament Buildings were completed by Francis Rattenbury, in 1898.
The Fairmont Empress Hotel, completed in 1908, was the western showpiece of the Canadian Pacific Railroad’s hotel line. It certainly competes with the grand hotels of Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver, in terms of ornateness.
I’m sure Queen Victoria would have approved of the city named in her honour.
Our walking tour started, just after I had paid homage to the Queen. We began at the old harbour, which guide Mark Albany, of the Songhees Nation, explained was traditional Aboriginal fishing ground, though the harbour was largely filled in by the British, for the sake of commerce. It is about half the size of its pre-British days.
Mark was an incisive, fast-moving human encyclopedia.
Human hand and arm sculptures appear at five points, in downtown Victoria. They honour the industry of all workers, who built the city, into a vibrant port.
These Romanesque supports for the downtown evoked Rouen and Vannes, France, for me.
Aboriginal kitchen middens have been preserved, at the water’s edge, by the City Council, as an archaeological zone.
Mark took us in and around the remnants of the Bastion, the original British seaside fortress, meant to defend against the Spanish and Russians, as well as against any Aboriginals who might have had depredatory intentions.
As you might guess, part of this building is now used as a wine cellar.
We looked around the old commercial district, where Mark noted the contrast between the British division of property into parcels, and the Aboriginal notion of land being for common use.
The original cobbles of Victoria’s streets were built of Douglas fir.
As this was soon found to be an unwieldy practice, the British turned to stone and pressed glass pavers for their streets.
I had to bid farewell to Mark,the group (who were mostly Victoria residents, just learning about their city from a First Nations perspective) and to fair Victoria. As the ferry back to Anacortes passed into the strait, a pair of orcas were engaged in feeding.
It wasn’t quite sunset, but the red sails were out.
The trimast also was out, seeking cetaceans for the evening.
I was favourably impressed with Victoria, and will set aside more time, strictly for Vancouver Island, on some future jaunt. For now, though, thought must be given to other areas of the Northwest, before I head southward to my base.
