One of my favourite restaurants in Poulsbo is Mor Mor. The kitchen is inspired but not too hoity-toity to make you fish and chips or a burger if that’s your leaning, and if garlic parmesan fries or lobster ravioli are more to your liking, well, they’ve got a moderately-priced French rosé to pair with that. And that’s just what I was quaffing, the Admiral across from me with her Pinot Gris, sitting outside in a warm August sunset, when a squawking went round the corner, with the words: “broke anchor– Awesome– return to your vessel immediately.” The culprit turned out to be– not a piratical parrot– but the local constabulary, who were touring the town with their public address cars, seeking to roust the skipper of the m/v “Awesome” out of whatever tavern had given him succor from the heat. To no avail, apparently, because they made the rounds several times.
The local at the table next to us commented dryly, “The police don’t have much to do around here.” I was actually rather impressed that they had chosen this particular pastime, in the supposed absence of other Kitsap Kapers, since I had already been entertained that very afternoon by two separate stories of Poulsbo liveaboards whose boats had suffered damage while at anchor. Our own vessel was anchored in that mooring field. I was grateful that the police were thus engaged.
We wove the dinghy back to Selah, (The Admiral always asks if she “should ‘drive’.” The day I accept you should watch your scuppers.) and there they were, a tiny police launch, blue lights aflash, holding a large motor vessel at station.
And just the right distance from Seattle, I told myself later, as we rounded Selah into the southern end of Agate Pass, bound north. When we first purchased our boat, the man who sold us the vessel suggested a trip up here. It’s just the right amount of challenge for a first trip: A little current timing, a tight passage, some crossing of commercial lanes, a bit of close reaching, and some great food at journey’s end. No wonder so many love it. The Seattle Sail and Power Squadron was doing a rendezvous there this weekend.
We take the grandkids, who never fail to be both impressed and impressive at Sluys’ Bakery, boldly choosing the huge Viking donut that sits so fetchingly in the lower portion of the display case, and managing to get (most of it) into their mouth before we can get our latte order in at Hot Shots Java across the street.
But what’s with the water?
The locals say it’s Red Tide, but it’s more brownish, and bubbles with pungent aroma from the depths of the bay. The smell is bad enough to conjure up the conjecture of what so many liveaboards are doing with their waste and why the Port of Poulsbo’s pump-out station looks younger than its age.
We have been to Poulsbo a number of times over the past few years, but never has the water been so foul and uninviting. It’s everything that the town is not. I sincerely hope that it is temporary. Perhaps someone have some insight as to the cause and the remedy.