Peanut Butter Coast: Five Hundred Forty One

Five hundred and forty one miles. That's what happened this weekend. A serious circle in search of surf, friends and food. It started with a quick trip to the Fish Tale Brew Pub in Everett where we picked up a couple of six-packs. From there we drove back to our house on Alki, filled up Fargo and continued south. We ate dinner in Olympia, then rotated right and drove west toward the water. Our friend Jake had offered us a place to park, so after taking a look at Todd Fischer's new art gallery, we drove toward John's River, crossed a creepy wooden walkway, took a seat in his trailer and drank a few bottles of Spire Mountain cider before going to bed.

We woke up to wind and rain and grey skies. The beach was blown out, and the spot toward the top of town was too small. We decided to wait awhile, eating donuts and drinking coffee at Little Richard's in the interim. Derek had driven down in hopes of taking a few photos, but by the time we'd walked back to the beach he was already packing up his equipment - unwilling to stand in the rain and watch people paddle into that big white washing machine. We ate lunch at the Half Moon Bay Bar and Grill and then went our separate ways. Karissa and I, desperate for a few windless waves, decided to drive north - fingers crossed.

We'd never driven that way. Where Highway 101 hugs the west side of Washington. A beautiful bit of coastline. We stopped at some spots and took a few photos before finding a place to park. Karissa cooked chicken sausage over the campfire and kale on our new Camp Chef stove, while I smoked some of the whiskey cavendish pipe tobacco Derek had given me. The sun set shortly after eight, and we drank Pinot noir in pink plastic cups and brandy from my flask. It was an excellent evening. There was more wind in the morning, though. Waves, but wind. We'd made arrangements to meet friends we'd met in Mexico, so we didn't surf. We did, however, have a wonderful weekend. Follow the link for a few more photos.