Bellingham And Back

Drove up to Bellingham and spent a day aboard the Hawaiian Chieftain visiting the cook.  He has a nasty case of bronchitis procured from the mold and mildew on the ship, as well as a life-giving upset stomach from the high-strength antibiotics the doctor prescribed. But. Despite all that, I found chilling on a boat in a Northwest harbor to be basically magnificent.

There’s an ineffable stillness to living not just on the water, but in the water, especially in the early mornings and evenings.  You wake up in a cramped cubby, bang your head against the ceiling that’s only several inches away, and then scurry out of this damp, dirty-sock-smelling cave to be greeted by chill air, sunshine, and still, still water. The quietness fills you up inside. You walk to the marina bathroom for a shower, while a bald eagle sitting on a buoy gets harangued by a posse of Canadian gulls. A fish flops in the water. Coffee percolates in one of the neighboring boats. The harbor ever-so-slowly comes to life.

The ship's hold, where unpleasant odors abound.

The cook, about to fix a sweet-potato steak taco feast.

A basil plant with sea legs.

Sunset over Bellingham smokestacks.

A raucous waterfall park near downtown B-ham.

Near Mt. Vernon, WA, where farmers are hip to solar power.

Kelso—a stop on the way.