Dictated by promises, plans and the tide turn to a long ebb that would take us across Juan de Fuca, our departure was just before dawn. As the sky blazed orange, the purple of the Cascades culminated in Mt. Baker far to the north. We passed the Maritime Center where later in the day and evening, dozens of people from very young to very old would come to learn and share traditional skills.
As we headed around Point Wilson the sun broke, glistening on the windows of the Victorian homes with their widow’s walks and the white squat buildings of the Point Hudson. In the background the massif of the Olympics towered blue and pink.
We had to admit that while we would see extraordinary places on our voyage, it was unlikely there would be a town lovelier than our home Port Townsend.