Journey to Port Townsend

Posted Mon, 2010-03-15 13:35 by Emily Caryl

Few of my Port Townsend friends were actually born here.  Most folks relocated here from somewhere else - Chicago, California, Seattle, Texas.  Everyone has a slightly different story about how they got here.  This is my story.

I graduated college after summer quarter, in August, 1997.  The following summer, just after Memorial Day, I quit my job, loaded up my truck, and took off traveling across the United States.  It was just me, my beautiful dog, Lucy, and the thrill of the road.  Lucy and I hiked a slot canyon in Escalante, heard bluegrass in Telluride, and drove the Pacific Coast Highway from LA to Washington.  The second week in July, we landed in Seattle.  We planned to stay in The Emerald City for several days before heading out to The Gorge to see Phish.

Telluride Bluegrass Festival, 1998¹

Lucy and I hunkered down at a small B&B, Pensione Nichols, just above Pike Place Market.  We wandered around town and saw every dog-friendly tourist attraction in Seattle.  One evening, I left Lucy in the room and walked down to the Pike Brewery for dinner and a frosty adult beverage.  Sitting at the bar, I picked up a book of matches from the Owl 'N Thistle.

After dinner, I wandered down the street, window shopping and killing time.  On one corner, I spotted a small sign for the Owl 'N Thistle, with an arrow pointing down the hill.  Since I had their matches in my pocket, I'm not one to believe coincidence is random, and I almost never pass up a great Irish pub, I marched down the hill and into the bar.

The O'nT wasn't a big place.  It was dark, smokey, and loud.  There couldn't have been more than a dozen stools at the bar.  And all but one was occupied.  I squeezed into the vacant seat, ordered a Guinness, and struck up a conversation.

Before long, the man to my right introduced himself.  His name was Tad.  He noticed my Southern accent, wondered where I was from, and asked what I was doing in Seattle.  I told him my story and explained that I was just passing time before seeing Phish play at The Gorge a few days later.

As luck would have it, Tad was also going to see Phish at The Gorge.  He and his friends would all be there, on the front row, wearing silly hats.  He said I should look for their hats and come say hello.

Sure, buddy, I thought.  Whatever you say.  Nice to meet you.

A few days later, I arrived at the concert venue.  I'd never been to The Gorge before and I didn't know a soul.  When I walked into the arena, I was standing at the very top of the lawn, with 25,000 Phish phans spread before me.  And sure enough, what do you know, I could actually see that crazy guy from the Owl 'N Thistle on the very front row.  I recognized his hat.

Since I didn't know anyone else, I meandered down to the front row and said hello.  Tad introduced me to his friends:  Peder, Holly, and Rita.  Rita was actually from Rhode Island.  Ironically, Tad met her randomly in Seattle the same day he met me.

We all hung out the entire weekend.  We danced like wild things.  We laughed until it hurt.  We ran around the campground with Lucy.  We ate steak and potatoes.  And, although two of us were brand new to the group, it felt like we'd all been friends forever.

First Night at The Gorge, 1998²

We had so much fun we vowed to do it all again the following summer.  And we did.  In September, 1999, I flew into Seattle from Atlanta.  Rita came up from San Francisco (having relocated from Rhode Island in the intervening months).  We picked up Peder and Holly along the way.  And we drove to The Gorge in Tad's VW Vanagon for another weekend of Phish.  We secured our spot on the front row.  We danced and laughed.  We went skinny dipping.  We ate steak and potatoes.  And we vowed to do it again.

First Night at The Gorge, 1999³

Sadly, in 2000, Phish didn't play The Gorge.  And at the end of their Fall Tour, they announced they'd be taking an indefinite break.  The band didn't play again for more than two years.  During that time, I had little contact with Tad.  We chatted here and there.  We emailed every once in awhile.  But he had a busy life and I had a busy life and we lived 3,000 miles apart.  We kept in touch.  But just barely.

Finally, in late 2002 Phish announced their return to touring.  I went to the first four concerts - New Year's Eve at Madison Square Gardens followed by three shows at the Hampton Coliseum.  The energy during the New Year's run was outrageous.

First Night in Hampton, 2003⁴

During that time, I found myself thinking a lot about Tad.  I doubted he'd come all the way to the East Coast for Phish.  But he was definitely on my mind.

I'd been home only a few days, when I got an email from Tad.  He suspected where I'd been.  Phish was back.  And we both agreed that if they played The Gorge that summer, we'd all get together and we'd do it again.

Sure enough, the announcement came.  July 12 and 13, 2003, Phish was scheduled to play The Gorge.  We couldn't find Peder.  Holly was stuck in Virginia.  And Rita couldn't take time off work.  But I flew out from Atlanta, and Tad and I experienced Phish at The Gorge once again.  We danced on the front row.  We made a Fluffhead sign.  I painted florescent designs on Tad's feet while he was napping.  We ate steak and potatoes.

Second Night at The Gorge, 2003⁵

I'd decided, since I was coming all that way, that I'd stay a few days after the concert and go hiking in the Olympics.  "Great," Tad responded, "I'll show you where I live.  It's this little town called Port Townsend."  After the concert, we drove straight from The Gorge to the Port Townsend Brewery.

Tad and I spent the next few days bumming around Olympic National Park, grilling oysters on his deck, and drinking beer in the courtyard of the brewery.  One afternoon, we were driving up to the mountains when I asked Tad if he had a piece of paper.  He handed me an envelope full of cash he'd gotten from the bank.  And I began writing.

"What are you writing," Tad asked?

"A list."

"What kinda list?"

"A list of reasons to move to Port Townsend."

Without another word, Tad spun the van around and headed back to town.  "If you're gonna move here," he explained, "there are a few more things you should see."  We spent the entire day bumming around town.  He introduced me to William James, Tyler Street Coffee, The Uptown Pub, Chetzemoka Park, The Hilltop, The Farmer's Market, and Aldrich's.  Tad told me that if I moved to Port Townsend, I could stay with him until I got a job and got my feet on the ground.

I didn't even take all my gear back to Atlanta.  I left half my stuff at Tad's house and flew home a day late.  After ten weeks, I quit my job, broke up with my boyfriend, packed my belongings, assembled my horde of animals, and drove across the country to my new home in Port Townsend.

It's one of the scariest and best things I've ever done.

On the drive from Atlanta, I decided I should come up with a reasonable explanation for my move when I was job hunting.  I was a recruiter in a previous life and I knew from experience that potential employers want to hear a solid motive from an employee who is relocating.  An applicant who "just thinks this place is cool" isn't necessarily going to stick around as long as someone who grew up in the area, left to go to college, and can't wait to return.

What I didn't realize then, is that a lot of people here have the same story I have.  Maybe not the whole Owl 'N Thistle, Phish, and silly hats part.  More like the I came here, I liked it, I decided to stay part.

Port Townsend is funny like that.  There's a spirit here that draws you in.  An energy that won't let you just go home and forget.  Maybe it's the water, the mountains, the (sometimes) blue sky.  Maybe it's the artists, the shed boys, the thinkers, or the great beer.

But whatever it is, Port Townsend has embraced me.  Life hasn't been easy here.  I've experienced death, love, loss, and laughter.  But through it all, this town and these people have nourished me.  They have healed me.  They have sustained me.

And now, this is my town.  That's my water.  Those are my mountains.  And this is my story.

1.  "Valley Road," written by Bruce Hornsby and John Hornsby, performed by Bela Fleck & The Flecktones with Jeff Coffin, Bruce Hornsby on piano, and Sam Bush on mandolin, Telluride Bluegrass Festival, Telluride, CO, June 19, 1998.

2.  "Stash," written by Trey Anastasio and Tom Marshall, performed by Phish, The Gorge Amphitheater, George, WA, July 16, 1998.

3.  "Ginseng Sullivan," written by Norman Blake, performed by Phish, The Gorge Amphitheater, George, WA, September 10, 1999.

4.  "Run Like an Antelope," written by Trey Anastasio, Tom Marshall, and Steve Pollak, performed by Phish, Hampton Coliseum, Hampton, VA, January 2, 2003.

5.  "Halley's Comet," written by Richard Wright (aka Nancy Taube), performed by Phish, The Gorge Amphitheater, George, WA, July 13, 2003.

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