Mondays with Mike: At land’s other end

A typical view in Anacortes.

Beth, Gus and I lived at the edge of the earth—at least the United States’ part of the earth—for the better part of two years back in 1997-1999. Our time there was an impractical whim, but one I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The Outer Banks of North Carolina has a kind of magic that only coastal areas have.

Last week, we spent a few days on the opposite edge of the country—in Anacortes, Washington, on Fidalgo Island, one of the San Juan Islands. Beth already wrote about her appearances there, and last Monday I wrote briefly about my kayaking adventure. But the place deserves a little—a lot—more description.

It’s an easy drive from Seattle—once you get out of Seattle, anyway. Less than two hours, and the scenery just gets better and better. What’s stunning, especially for us midwestern flatlanders, is the way mountains, farmland, and ocean intermingle. Skagit valley is full of farms—but you won’t find corn and soybeans. More like berries, various vegetables, and tulips—yes, tulips. Our hosts—Beth’s sister Cheryl and husband Rich—treated us each day to some of the local crops. We had the aptly named donut peach, which is shaped like…a donut…and better than any donut I’ve ever had. And golden raspberries that just sort of burst on the tongue.

That’s tiny me in the green kayak, bringing up the rear. Everyone else was in tandems. (Photo: Cheryl May)

Cheryl and Rich live on a bay—which is where I kayaked last Monday. My eyes were bigger than my stomach on that decision—I signed up for a three-hour trip, which was probably about 45 minutes longer than my muscles would’ve opted for. At one point, I got stuck in some flotsam and jetsam near the shore of the island we paddled around. In addition, we were paddling against the wind and current. I was dead in the water. Our intrepid guide hooked a line from his kayak to mine and paddled me out. The guy was incredible—he paddled and towed me out faster than I could paddle myself, and we gained on the other kayakers. From that point on I just followed our guide as closely as possible to mimic his every move—he was remarkably efficient.

I learned along the way that he was from Ithaca, New York. He’d earned certifications as a whitewater and ocean kayak instructor. He loves what he does and wants to build his own enterprise at some point. If you get out that way, his name is Alex, and for the time being, he works for Anacortes Kayak Tours.

Weather wise, my kayak day was the worst of our time. Chilly, windy, cloudy, and the water was choppy. But the other days were pure heaven. We sat out on Rich and Cheryl’s deck, soaking in radiant sun all the while cooled by a light ocean breeze. The air was pristine. It was quiet. No exhaust fumes or sirens, just the scent of trees, ocean, and the sound of some birds. At a nearby park, Beth and I and Whitney hiked a 2-1/2 mile path that alternates between canopies of trees and stunning views of the bay.

Of course, we ate well—and had our share of fish, oysters, and clams. The highlight: On our last day we drove 45 minutes to Taylor Shellfish Farms located in a tiny town called Bow. We went on the recommendation of a local bartender, and we’re glad we did. The drive was worth it by itself. Farms, mountains, water, repeat. Our route took us along Chuckanut Road. (Yes, fire away on that one.)

I shucked my first oyster. It wasn’t the last.

Driving from Anacortes, as we got close, Google Maps told me we’d arrived—but it was in front of a steak and seafood restaurant perched high above the water. So we kept driving. After a substantial descent and a hairpin turn, I finally saw the entrance to Taylor Shellfish—it was directly below the first restaurant that passed. We drove about a 1/4 mile along a gravel road that skirts railroad tracks. It didn’t look promising until we got to the farm.C

You can see pens in the water—then there’s a pier of sorts. Some picnic tables. There’s a little store that sells various seafood, including straight-out-of-the sea oysters. The guy behind the counter described them like they were wines—these have a hint of pepper, those a note of honey, etc.

The oysters were priced from $1.25 to $1.80 each. You pick out what you want, they put them on an ice platter. They’ll shuck them for you, but I took the ad hoc lesson and shucked them myself.

They have a few local beers on tap, plus a couple white wines. So Beth and I and Whitney sat out in the sun, with a cool breeze of the water, and ate the best damn oysters we’ve ever had.

We spent a lot of time on Cheryl and Rich’s deck.

We ended the day out on Cheryl and Rich’s deck—it stays light a long time up there. Slept with the windows open. The next day we drove back to the airport and headed home. But I had one more treat. Mt. Ranier was clearly visible for a good part of the trip.

OK, now maybe I’ve done the San Juans justice. On the other hand, I don’t think there are enough words. I think you’ll have to go there.