Yesterday’s storms finally moved on. We walked the beach after dinner and saw Paulette. She was wrangling a spruce tree root, as grist for some future fiber arts project. She offered us some wine, which we accepted and sat with her and watched the sunset.

The storms must have knocked the friendly neighborhood Wi-Fi out at the Finlayson cabin. This event initiated a series of IT mishaps that that my eventual rebooting of the router only rectified. The time was that the cabin was where you went to get away from the world. Back in the day, when I was working at Chrysler, I never even left a phone number, when I went on vacation up to the cabin. There wasn’t even a phone at the cabin back then, with a number to leave. My boss at the time use to regale me with stories of calling out the state troopers, who could hunt down any man, but that, was just bluster. Then ole Al Gore had to go off and invent the Internet and now we even have Wi-Fi down at Doelle’s. Anyway, back to the future, after the wi-fi failed I tried to complete yesterday’s post via the iPhone. I saved over my almost completed post with a hopelessly outdated version. I ended up hauling the laptop down the beach to the Green Guy’s Cafe to complete the post. I was sitting in a beach chair, with a towel over my head and barely saw the bald eagle overfly me, when Paulette called it out. Just now, while writing this post, a diamond-shaped formation of nine jets overview the beach and I missed them, because I was typing this post on my iPhone, with my glasses off. Damn you, Al Gore!

In the morning, we saw Paulette again. Husband, Ray, had gone fishing yesterday and left the cleaned fish heads on the beach. The previous night, seagulls had feasted, but in the morning, Paulette reported that bald eagles were feeding on the catch. Bubs and Harry walked the beach in the morning. Along with Anne, they picked up, Paulette and Sophie. We ended up walking to Doelle’s. Along the way, Paulette, released Sophie and she swam down a gull. Paulette was mortified; she had expected the gull to just fly away. Lesson learned, by mid-August, all the immature gulls are dying.

It is getting late and it is time to pop this post. Fast forwarding through the rest of the day: meeting with Fran at Freighter View. We saw her walking around the lodge and by the time we had signed in, she had almost lapped us. In her room was an interlude with a strange woman, lost, thinking that this was their room. Cozy Inn and fish for dinner, this is how we bookended the most beautiful beach day that God has ever created.