So, after that sleep-deprived Monday night, I appreciated the blah-ness of Hunter Bay and woke up well-rested on Wednesday morning. Rain, though. That's okay, I have my NEW DODGER!!! Oh, joy!

With my first chore of breakfast accomplished, I hoisted anchor and set off north to Spencer Spit at the north end of Lopez Sound. The wind freshened as I drew off shore, so up went the sails. Wow, another nice run north! Not as boisterous as my exit from Seattle, but very pleasant with flatter water that didn't require so much concentration.

I could see the old schooner Zodiac to the north and would have loved to get up close to her for a real photo op, but I lost the breeze in the lee of Decatur Island and she got away from me. The picture above is as close as I got.

Spencer Spit is another spot I and my offspring spied on a special spring sail some years ago. There are a couple of fun things about Spencer Spit. Most notable is that the spit comes within yards of adjacent Frost Island. I mean, yards. Probably only ten. When the current goes through that narrow slot, it REALLY goes and it's both a challenge and a thrill to ride it through in a 50ft, 16 ton boat! I did it with the girls in our previous visit, but wasn't so adventurous this time.

The southern beach of the spit is also a favorite clamming spot. Not for me, ...I've never been clamming, but I have it on good authority from, ...oh, from people wandering on the beach. That they're there IS pretty evident just wandering on the beach because the clams delight in squirting blasts of slimy salt water up your patootey as you walk by. It can be quite surprising!

After I arrived and took one of the State Park buoys (another YAY! for my Washington State Park pass), I rowed ashore for a walk. (That sounds odd doesn't it, ...rowed ashore for a walk. "Sometimes I just THINK funny thoughts.") As I strolled inward along the spit, a very cheerful wading bird (a Ruddy Turnstone, I think) cheered me on, chirupping, then running ahead and stopping. Chirupping again and running again. It was actually very annoying! He seemed to be saying, "Walk faster! Keep up!" It wasn't until a dog many times his size came along that the insolent little bugger buggered off!

The southern shore of the spit was getting quite a bit of attention from a group of tweeners armed with shovels and buckets. Clammers! Neophytes, they turned out to be, ...very loosely coached by their youth group leaders. In my naiveté I attached myself to them (only temporarily, you understand) in hopes of learning a thing or two about clamming, but was sorely disappointed, learning only a few rather dubious facts:

- As related above, clams delight in squirting you in embarrassing places as you walk by.
- Clams are not easily dislodged from their sandy burrows by a young teenage boy, even when said boy has a firm grip on their "tongue". A corollary I inferred from this brief experience of mine is that, chasing the damn clown, ...no, I mean clam down with a shovel in the hands of another teenage boy usually results in crushed clams. Not good. Not good at all.
- Clams bite! Yes, they really do! I've witnessed it and seen actual evidence of a clam whose "lip" had to be smashed open to release an unsuspecting finger. It must be said that these were horse clams about 5 or 6 inches across and could deliver quite a chomp.

The one rumor I was NOT able to confirm was the one I read years and years ago in the BC comic strip: