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Category: walking

Puddle Jumper

Puddle Jumper

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Last night’s deluge tapered off by morning, leaving plenty of puddles in its wake. They presented a small challenge to the early-morning ambler. 

Despite the burbling, hard-working storm drains and runoff ditches, water was still pooled on walkways and streets.

Some puddles were best navigated by stepping around them, partly on tufted islands in the saturated grass and partly on the slightly raised edge of the macadam path. 

Other puddles were small enough for me to jump. Luckily, there weren’t too many of those. 

Turqoise Trail

Turqoise Trail

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A new year, a new direction. Yesterday I walked a familiar trail, but instead of heading straight at an intersection, I turned left and kept going around in a big circle along a route known as the Turquoise Trail.

I’m not sure why the path is named after this particular shade of blue, but I like the alliteration — and I liked the trail, too. It was 30 minutes around, a perfect length for a blustery January afternoon. 

There were a few dog walkers and some hearty hikers decked out in hats and scarves and gloves. Winter is here, whether we like it or not. Walking through it (almost always) makes it easier to take. 

Sunrise, Sunset

Sunrise, Sunset

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It was unseasonably warm yesterday, although the last couple of winters have been mild enough that the term “unseasonably warm” may soon require some tinkering. I took two walks, one as the sun was rising and the other as it was setting. 

I only realized this morning the symmetry of these strolls. The first one I timed with sunrise. The classical station I listen to announces sunrise every day with a little fanfare and a specially chosen piece of music. Yesterday’s was a recorder rendition of “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba” from Handel’s “Solomon.” 

The later ramble was not planned for sunset. But the sun sets so early these days that it’s easy to postpone a stroll until the day is almost done. Based on the number of people we saw on the trail, I’d have to say I wasn’t the only one to whom that happens.

Sunrise, sunset. Much like yesterday’s Arrivals and Departures. It’s yin and yang at the closing of the year. 

Jackson

Jackson

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When I’m falling asleep now, I imagine I’m on Jackson, one of my favorite streets in Port Townsend.

I make my way down the hill from my house at the foot of Artillery Hill in Fort Worden, stroll along the brow, listen to the surf surging below.

From there it’s up one hill and then another. But at the top of that second hill, huffing and puffing, I see all of Admiralty Inlet spread out before me.

I snap photos. And in fact, I snapped plenty of them. But they never did it justice, never captured the openness and the light.

No matter — it’s in my mind now, and in my bones and sinews, too.

Warming Up

Warming Up

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Cold weather moved in yesterday. It wasn’t frigid by winter standards, but by the gentler measures of late fall, it was significant. 

The wind and cold reminded me how hard it can be to drag myself out of a warm house into a brisk breeze.  But it also reminded me that the body is a furnace stoked by motion. The colder I am, the faster I walk.  

Yesterday I was almost running. 

(One place where I wasn’t cold yesterday: a sunny bank full of warmth and glare.)

The Houses

The Houses

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There are 400 acres of park trails to explore outside my door. I’m hiking some of them every day. But as much as I enjoy the forest paths, I’m more drawn to Port Townsend’s residential streets and the houses that line them.

There are bungalows and A-frames and high-and-mighty Victorians. There are saltboxes, many-gabled wonders, and wood-shingled beauties turned on their sides, windows placed for maximum sea views.  

The houses have vegetable gardens, apple trees, the last roses of summer. A place I spied yesterday is tucked behind a thick hedge. I imagine walking through that green archway up to the door beyond.                                                    

A Trip to Town

A Trip to Town

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Yesterday, I went for groceries. If this sounds like some sort of Old West expedition, coming down the mountain for coffee and sugar and flour, that wouldn’t be too far off the mark. Because it was an adventure, the adventure of public transport in a place I barely know. 

I walked into town, but thought it would be better not to walk back, given the heaviness of my load. No problem. I’d studied the bus route, thought I knew what I was doing. 

The first sign of difficulty was the road closure in front of the grocery store. I thought I’d accounted for it when I found a temporary stop, but actually I hadn’t. The bus that finally arrived wasn’t going my way. Instead, I had a lovely tour of Port Townsend from a bus driver who reminded me of Paul Giamatti. 

“You missed the #2,” he said. “Best go back to the Transit Center and get the #3. I can take you there.” He did that, then I waited … and waited. As Paul was pulling out for another loop and there was still no sign of the #3 bus, he opened his window and shouted, “He’ll be here soon; he’s just fixing his bus.” 

Uh oh. Fixing his bus? This didn’t sound good. But in fact the #3 did arrive minutes later, and a colorful cast of character hopped on, all with various forms of bag and baggage: shopping bags, sleeping bags, backpacks. Eventually, I was dropped off at the stop Paul suggested, walked another half mile or so, and was glad to see the barracks of the fort park where I’m staying finally swing into view.

I’m thinking now about those few hours in town, knowing no one, carless, dependent on strangers. I think about the kindness of the driver, and of my fellow riders. They remind me how much some people carry — and how little I do.

(The mossy roof of home.)

Admiralty Inlet

Admiralty Inlet

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I enjoy taking photographs, and I take a lot of them, but I’ve never visited a place that a photo truly captures. A still image can’t communicate the broad sweep of an ocean vista, the tang in the desert air, the way a place speaks to you — or doesn’t. 

Many places speak to me. I’m fickle in that way. Last month I was enraptured by Savannah and Charleston. This month it’s the Pacific Northwest. But in my defense… I do love all these places. Especially when I’m walking through them. 

I strolled through Port Townsend the other day and took in its Victorian/hippie vibe, bought a small packet of tuna salad from one of its overpriced grocery stores, savored the views from Jackson Street overlooking Admiralty Inlet. 

Returning to my little house, I passed homeowners putting their gardens to bed before the rain moved in, the omnipresent grazing deer, and the view you see above. 

I plan to take this walk again soon.

Seattle Sunday

Seattle Sunday

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Today I head up to the residency at Port Townsend, but yesterday was a break between prep and travel. A Seattle Sunday. 

And not just any Sunday, but a crisp, sparkling one, temp in the mid 30s to start. I hoofed it east toward Lake Washington and strolled first down, then up. The water was so clear you could see the rocks at the bottom.  

People were running and strolling and walking their dogs. The sunshine was intoxicating. I don’t expect to see much of it while I’m out here … so I reveled in it, too. 

Autumn Afternoon

Autumn Afternoon

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A late walk through the woods, along the lake, over the bridge, and back to where I started from.

No question what time of year it is. If the leaves didn’t clue me in …

the peg-legged skeleton pirate did. 

But there are still patches of green, remnants of summer left behind.