Waldron Visit Kit

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This is kind of a rush job. Wisely was it said I’m sorry this was so long; if I had more time it would be shorter, or however that goes.

Written in early 2004; last updated late on 9 July 2005.

Please Find Enclosed

1. intro
2. about Waldron
3. about Loyds
4. pictures
5. catches and details

Waldron

Waldron is an island of about five square miles in the Puget Sound near the Canadian border (48.7N, 123.03W – just northwest of Orcas Island). It is mostly forested, and has a year-round population of about 100. The Samish tribe cultivated camas here and had several buildings on the beaches. A century ago, settlers logged most of the island, quarried it to pave Seattle’s streets, and built homesteads. CO Quakers moved here in the Second World War, in the Seventies the back to the land movement sent a second wave of farmers, and in the Nineties several young families arrived to raise their children. There are only a couple borderline rednecks here, and most islanders are educated and alert. Winter is long and dull enough that if you can’t entertain yourself you flip out. We certainly have weirdos, but they’re mostly hermit types rather than gun nuts.

There are a couple small organic farms (Nootka Rose, Blue Moon – Harvest Moon when it was a Loyd operation – and sometimes Thousand Flower), which support themselves mostly by selling greens and bouquets to the tourist industry on the larger islands. The school, although public, is quite liberal. We have the usual small-town assortment of carpenters, weavers, mechanics, and craftspeople. Unlike many small towns, there is neither a default enterprise (farming, mining, …) nor a central company on which to base an economy. In fact, it’s illegal to run any business here that attracts customers. Some selections from our subarea plan:

This subarea plan (SJCC Chapter 16.36) was developed by the Waldron Island community through a series of weekly and bi-weekly public meetings beginning in October 1992. These meetings were announced to all Waldron residents and property owners, and all were welcome to attend and/or to submit comments in writing. A preliminary draft Limited Development District subarea plan was submitted to all residents and property owners for comment, and a final draft was approved by written ballot by a vote of 152 (82 percent) to 34 (18 percent). …

While Waldron is frequently characterized by the “amenities” it does not have, it is rich in attributes highly valued by the majority of its residents and property owners. Fields and forest, rock and beaches, clean air and water are a part of everyday life, as are litter-free, unpaved roads with minimal motor vehicle traffic. Children have a sense of almost complete safety, a rare and fragile almost unheard of [sic] state of grace in this day and age. Privacy and quiet prevail: sounds of engines and machinery with their attendant pollutants, physical hazards and disruptions do not predominate in any area. With no retail outlet or commercial entertainment or outdoor-area lighting, Waldron nights are dark. The small size of the resident population allows for intimate participation in matters affecting the community. The limited opportunities for earning money are to a great extent offset by the limited opportunities for spending it, and by ways to meet one‘s needs in creative, non-monetary ways. There is no [public] ferry service. There are no public utilities. There are no public facilities to attract people to Waldron. There is only one private dock. Commercial recreation facilities are prohibited and development restricted under Waldron’s designation as a Limited Development District. Waldron is not a wilderness, but the environment is relatively unspoiled. …

No structure shall contain more than two toilets that use potable water for flushing. … The following uses shall be prohibited: marinas; ports; resorts; campgrounds; transient accommodations by themselves or in combination with any other commercial use (including but not limited to workshops, seminars and retreats); commercial recreational facilities; restaurants; retail stores; grocery stores; and delicatessens.

The two-toilets rule is cited in a couple dumb-law databases, on the assumption that it was intended to conserve water directly. Actually, the idea was to discourage large crowds of finicky people. The feeling among the islanders, especially the old-timers, is that people who weren’t invited here shouldn’t be here. There is a taboo on referring to the island where yachters, real-estate investors, prospecive trophy-home owners, &c. might be lurking. It’s unlikely to matter much, but I avoid the string “Waldron Island” where Google might hear me (this page is not indexed) – the things that make me want to get unschoolers here make me want to let others ignore it. I’d take it as a kindness if, should you come here and write a photoessay about it, you would stay short of giving people the means, motive, and opportunity to visit without the proper local contacts. Dad has more than once politely refused to take people here on the grounds that they didn’t know anyone. It’s easy to overstate the secret-club aspect, but it works; I can see how, on a small scale, things like the Mafia could stick together. If you visit and get caught tresspassing where you oughtn’t to be, mention that you’re visiting the Loyds and see if that doesn’t get you off.

Waldron has a slow culture war. The year-round residents are spread over the island and support themselves primarily by brow-sweat; the summer people, more felicitously known as sandfleas, collect in colonies and have Real Jobs in the Real World. In my experience, about one summer person in ten is worth talking to. Their view of things, I assume, is that Waldron is a fine place to come for the long summer weekends except for the reclusive and filthy aboriginees. Mine is that everyone would be happier if they stuck to their suburbs and didn’t insist on building essentially unused trophy houses right on the beaches, holding barbeques when there’s a burn-ban, shooting at the wildlife, lighting off firecrakers on non-holidays, leaving their cigarette lighters lying around, putting on airs with the locals, and in numerous other ways acting like what they are: rich people on vacation.

There is a nearly explicit train of thought that seems to go like this:

1. National parks are not covered in buildings.
2. Waldron is not covered in buildings.
3. Therefore, Waldron is a national park.
4. National parks are places to take vacations and relax.
5. Therefore, all people on Waldron are relaxing.
6. Therefore, when you see a local, it’s a fair assumption that they’re some sort of indigent who:
1. Doesn’t work. After all, when you’re here, you don’t work, so why should they? Perhaps you could complement them on what a relaxing life they live. This is especially appropriate when the native is running a boat, nursing a child, in a hurry to deliver something, etc.
2. Takes everything nice about the island for granted. If they live here, it’s a safe assumption that they’ve never lived in or even been to a city, so maybe you can think of a comment along the lines of I bet you haven’t even heard of traffic jams, huh?
3. Is, notwithstanding the above, extremely wise about everything even vaguely natural. If you’ve ever met a shaman, indian, environmental activist, or similar person, be sure to mention them to the native, who is doubtless In Tune With The Goddess.

Right, well, I’m a little bitter. When we had a whole flock of sheep, people wearing white pants would drop by all summer and ask things like what’s he doing? in reference to a ewe clearly nursing some lambs, and can we let our dog play with them? Once I was swimming at the dock and some salaryman came up in a motorboat and asked if this was Patos Island, which is clearly listed on the charts as being ten miles away, a different shape and size, without a dock or houses, and with a prominent lighthouse. Waldron:

The Nature Conservancy owns most of Point Disney (which is 200m at its highest) and the swamps north of the dock. Disney is quite an interesting place: among many other nearly-unique features, you will find on it peregrine falcons and cactus. North Bay Forge is run by a metal nerd – I was apprenticed to him for a while. The Rodiecks’ is our usual place for the kayak. Mail Bay has nothing to do with mail anymore. The weather is generally temperate; our rainfall is not as extreme as most of the northwest’s because the Olympic mountain range takes moisture from the Pacific clouds. Summer is usually quite warm and dry for our latitude. From NW Boating, here’s the view north over the west side of the island:

The Loyds

Ah, the Loyds. I’ll refrain from a general description of the family culture and leave you to draw your own conclusions from gossip and these handy bios:

Among these five you will rarely lack for someone to talk, work, hike, kayak, swim, draw, compute, or read with you.

Pictures

Everyone likes long lists of photos with pseudo-witty captions, right? Some of these are a year or two old, but they should suffice to demonstrate the important features of things.

It was even prettier at the time.

We were checking whether it was hot enough to fry an egg on the tank that used to be in the yard. It wasn’t.

Dad and the smaller, death-trap ’yak.

See that? That’s good weather. The islands in the background are Canadian. (The apparent slantiness is merely the effect of a strong ebb tide – the water is flowing rapidly to the left, i.e. west.)

Compost.

Andy balances a leaf.

Skipjack again.

My tea and I understand each other.

Nick B-W, Emily (a Loyd cousin), Mical B-W, and Camilla at the Disney cliff.

Near Fishery Point. Prime eagle territory.

The Dragonfly.

I’ll stand like this all day if I have to. You can’t quite see them, but Mom keeps sheep skulls on the dresser behind me. I’m not sure whether that’s a pen cap or a nipple in my pocket, but I’m guessing a pen cap.

Camilla.

Nick and I did battle on Point Disney a couple years ago.

Crepuscular rays.

Somethin’ about light on trees like that….

Looking south toward the dock. The cliff above is at the extreme right.

Unposed, with all-natural lighting: fungus on driftwood as the sun sets. Skipjack in the background.

My thumb (shell shown for scale).

Andy and Mom playing pounce, the most annoying card game ever.

In between pirating, Camilla finds time for some samuraiing.

Dad.

The house from the west. The cabin is hidden in the trees behind it and to the left

This is what you see when you look over the cliff at Disney.

Camilla frolicking.

Looking north toward Sandy Point.

North Beach, 180˚ from the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen. That’s Skipjack to the left, and an upended scow on the right.

I catch hummingbirds with my bare hands a lot.

A ferry.

Camilla and Andy.

Andy.

Me, Freeda (a friend of Camilla’s), and Camilla. This is the busiest stretch of road on the island.

The solar oven.

I likes me the dry ice.

Camilla in the Banana of the Sea just west of Hammond. Note the cats-in-scuba-gear dress.

Yep. The water comes right up to the beach.

Right across the street.

Looking over the apple trees in the north yard.

Camilla on the dock.

Mom’s spinning wheel.

The cabin (which usually holds me and some of Mom’s cargo, but also serves for guests) from a flattering angle. As I write, I’m sitting against the top left window.

Dad’s birthday.

A rock. The kayaking is good here.

The Rodiecks’ bridge and pond. Yes, it is very green.

At the county gravel-pit. After a lengthy match, Camilla won this fight.

A bonfire.

What sort of stupid hat can’t be worn to bed?

And there are more where those came from.

The Catches and Details

First you have to get here. From Seattle, get to Anacortes; from there, take the ferry to Orcas Landing or Friday Harbor. Seeing as how a number of you are interested, I highly recommend an economical carpool of some sort, which could save greatly on gas and parking: let us begin hashing out these things by e-mail. Janice, Dad’s dispatcher, can arrange to have him pick you up at Orcas or Friday Harbor, but she strongly prefers at least four or five days of notice. (Gas is expensive. It saves a lot of money for Dad to combine boat runs when possible.) Her number is 1 (360) 317-8461 – messages only – but you may find it easier to work through us. As soon as you have a plan, however tentative, please e-mail me with it. Travel should be the most intimidating part of this whole visit proposition, but I guarantee that, short of foce majeure, it’s possible. I very much like everyone I’ve told this page about, and I would be disgusted to be deprived of your company by some stupid detail of logistics and money.

Nature mostly consists of dirt. Your clothing will be dusty. If you go barefoot, as you should, your feet will get dirty. If you go swimming, as you likewise should, you will have salt on your skin (which I like, but some people are weird). We have no toilet, only an outhouse, which freaks some people out. It does smell kind of funny in high summer, but, as I’ve often said, the idea of excreting not only inside one’s house but inside a room for bathing disgusts me. So there. There are plenty of opportunities for proper hygeine, you just have to use ’em.

There are also plenty of opportunities for drowning, breaking your ankle, etc. We have helicopter emergency medical service – which reputedly gets our casualties to the hospital faster than they can with rush-hour traffic accident victims – but you don’t want to have to use it. I have lived here for fifteen years and have never broken any bones, had a notable non-contagious infection, gotten stitches, or sprained anything. The only non-obviously dangerous organisms here are stinging nettles, yellow camas, poison hemlock, and probably some of the spiders and centipedes – none of which are easily mistaken for anything else. Other than that, obvious stuff like cliffs, and human stuff like cars, there’s nothing to worry about. I go out walking all day with a few apples and a waterbottle. We let Camilla off on her own as soon as she could toddle. Mom’s dad visited here about ten years ago and, after seeing a sheep slaughter, remarked on how close to death we lived out here in the boonies; a year later he died of Hodgkin’s Disease.

Bring approximately what you would to NBTSC. We can certainly do laundry while you’re here, but preferably not your whole wardrobe. If you intend to let me whisk you away for some walking, bring brush-resistant wear: long pants and non-sandal shoes; stuff you’d be willing to climb trees in. Shorts and a tee-shirt usually suffice for me at home, but the weather is not reliable. If you play a portable musical instrument, bring it. Mom and Peter are musical, as are many neighbors who drop in, and a medium-sized jam is in the question. Do not bring books to read while bored: we have far too many, on many subjects, and would probably rather that you took some of ours home with you. Likewise board games: Mom plays pounce and Scrabble; I play go, Scrabble, and Trivial Pursuit; Peter and Camilla play far too many things for me to keep track of.

That’s all I can think of. All comments are welcome – I’m too lazy to make this page a wiki, but you can e-mail me at visit@rheme.net with anecdotes about how wonderful/horrible it is to visit here, and I’ll add ’em.

Please come visit.

—Charlie