Precision Port

Sunday is for slumbering, eating breakfast out, taking a short trip, getting ready for the ensuing week. We've motored to Port Angeles from Tacoma, arriving 90 minutes prior to departure in order to secure a place in the vehicle line. With pre-arranged reservations, we're directed to a special space and begin to explore the surrounding hamlet. Cars, campers, motor homes and a few boats/kayaks languish around us.



Immediately we are impressed with the public art displays which set a tone of culture and history for all visitors. Sumptuous hanging flower baskets sprinkle the streets. Magnificent murals adorn old facades and though most passersby ignore them, we pause to study each one.



Our mission is to capture a few scenes in photos and perhaps most importantly, to find lunch. Too many fellow travelers have the same intentions and the abundance of small, local restaurants appear overcrowded and understaffed. Concerned that we'll miss our departure time, we reject the eateries along the main street. I try to buy a healthy Morning Glory Muffin at Urban Spoonful but am thwarted when the barista concentrates on creating some exotic coffee mixture and the line moves not at all.

We dawdle before one looming mural and have the opportunity to talk with the artists who created it seventeen years ago. A husband and wife team with amazing talent, we learn that they are refreshing the scene. Though they were given some parameters for the rendering, the final scene was their own creation. The wife is painting faux bricks which look totally real. The husband is intently finishing a face with precise strokes. Of course they drive a VW bus. Of course they recently finished an assignment at Joshua Tree National Park, about half an hour away from our house.



Having consumed our limited time talking with interesting people, our dining options are almost nil. In hungry desperation, we choose a Dairy Queen. Inside, it is pure fifties with twenty-first century prices but still extremely reasonable. The walls are adorned with Elvis posters. Quaint, perhaps a welcoming sign. Several teen-age girls are busy filling orders. In addition to innumerable ice cream selections, sandwiches can be ordered. The least caloric laden is grilled chicken. It is surprisingly tasty. Thus fortified, we can make the 90 minute journey over water.



We're instructed to drive right into the cavernous hull and to park as close as possible to the vehicle in front of us. Once settled, we are to leave the car and proceed upstairs. There's a spacious lounge with soft, somewhat worn chairs. All around us people get out their Kindles, old fashioned books, a few newspapers. The more adventurous travelers, including Henry, exit the lounge area and stroll the open deck. Winds are very strong, causing hair and clothing to flutter.



I'm happy with my novel and notebook. Outside, there's one blonde lady, perhaps thirtyish, who wears a bright orange sundress which skims her lithe body. I muse that she's dressed for our desert rather than the Pacific Northwest. Perfectly chosen pale pumpkin sandals allow manicured nails to peek through. On deck, she dons an elaborate sun hat (also orange) with streamers to keep it secured. She poses, nearly professionally, for multitudes of photos taken by a young man who gazes rapturously at his subject. If pressed, I suppose I could create a back story for this couple. Instead, I doze.



We last ventured to this part of Canada in 1979. A bit more than half my life has unfolded during the intervening years. This trip we return as mature seniors, many years married. More than content with our years together, we're eager to see a special place once again.



As we near the Canadian shore, a voice from the loudspeaker announces that all passengers should return to their vehicles. Abundant staff await the unloading process. With many trips each day, rigorous attention is required to attain an on-time schedule. More than two hundred vehicles depart without incident, leaving gaping spaces to be filled almost instantly for the next watery journey.