TAHUYA USA – It is, besides being the No. 1 place in the world to be when the sun goes down, the summer headquarters for the Howl at the Canal, a golf tournament of vast global significance and a party notorious throughout the greater Bald Point region.
So far, one deal has fallen through a day after being struck. Another apparently sincere suitor sent regrets.
I hope they all fall through. It’s the apparent will of my siblings, however, that we sell the place, this waterside cabin on Hood Canal, where at high tide the salt waves slosh near the top of our seawall. Even putting a dollar sign on the place is an insult to the 45 years it’s been in the family.
It’s out in the country, in deepest rural Mason County, where the closest store with beer is two miles away but the closest town with groceries, hardware, restaurants and gasoline is 18.151 miles east then north on the North Shore Road.
Lately, I’ve been at the cabin with tasks – stuff to fix, high grass to whack, photos to snap of the steps to the beach that lifted off their base on the day this winter when a violent storm met the highest tide of the year.
There are things to do, but what I want to do, damn near always, is sit on the deck with my feet on the railing, with a beverage in hand and something burning in the ashtray, with no need to eye my watch because I’m already done with the hardest work I’ll do that day, all 18 holes of it. The nearest golf courses – did I mention? – are close enough and just far enough away.
When I’m sitting there, I figure on looking up, maybe later, the exact distance between my shore and the other, which straight across sits halfway between Potlatch and Hoodsport. I still don’t know the answer, but I estimate that after dark the tendrils of flickering light on the water from the brightest-lit buildings on the other side stretch 78.7 percent of the way to me … close enough to throw an oyster shell into, a swimmable distance if I wanted to freeze my balls off to frolic like a sleek-fat seal in the mirage of shimmering silver.
Any one of the five of us could veto a deal, but I’ve said I won’t be that guy. Probably.
Meanwhile, there is a building emerging slowly from the lumber pile in the backyard of our Olympia home. There’s way less lumber now, and way more walls (four, in fact), plus two doors, a window and a roof, now with shingles.
It ain’t the cabin on Hood Canal, but it might someday be The Cabin, where the work that’s gone into it and the work product that comes out could help make sense of a post-Tahuya world.