on the case of little Fidalgo Island crabs running sideways-amok for dear life

We spent most of the day on the Whulge with the boys, tucked away in a secluded cove which is known only to our family as Little Crab Beach. Getting there requires a mildly tangled bushwhack through tall brush that is not advisable for those who protest too awfully loud upon being flogged about the face and body by errant branches or pierced with tiny thorns and thistles. But after all, it’s a small price to pay for real solitude so close to Puget Sound City.

I taught Adam how to lasso with kelp: He practiced tying Oliver Fern up, which is as tricky as it sounds. Grandma finally goaded me into skipping rocks with her and I sent a hand-sized triangle of basalt skittering halfway across Lottie Bay, it was by far the furthest I’ve ever skipped a rock. The boys explored for little shore crabs (they were careful to hide them back under the rocks so gulls wouldn’t eat them) although Oliver refused to actually touch even the tiniest babies as the little pincers gave him an unusual case of the crustacean creeps. Before leaving for the day, we climbed to the top of Reservation Head to admire blue-green views to Rosario Head, the San Juan Islands and a broad profile of the Olympic Mountain range.

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