L U N A T A L K with Eva Moon

Hand me that Dutchman

September 24, 2008 on 7:13 pm | In General Musing, Travel |

There’s a scene near the beginning of Shogun, where Dutchmen are boiled alive. I have increased sympathy for them today, not that I delighted in their suffering when I first read the novel.

We have decamped to Lummi Island, a lovely wooded little island within sight of Canada, for three days of intensive editing of our own novel. The cabin is secluded, tucked into a cedary hillside with a view of Puget Sound. It’s one of those cabins that’s all knotty pine and antlers, heated by a big pot-belly stove and decorated with ducks. The kitchen window frames Mt. Baker with an assortment of silly glass pendants. We’re cooking on a 1919 gas range and boiling water for tea in a pot over a gas flame of all things. I’ve landed in Grizzly Adams estates. With wifi, thank you very much. (Chris, if you’re reading this, you and V have got to come stay here. It’s so you.)

Lummi Island is the most northeasterly of the San Juan archipelago. Located near Bellingham, it is served by a small ferry which makes the crossing in six minutes. Right now the car ferry is in dry dock, so we went by boat, dragging our suitcases and ice chest. The island is wooded, rural and has no RV parks, campsites or state parks. There are a total of 18 miles of quiet roads. It’s what you call a getaway with a great deal of away in the mix.

The local natives, the Lummi Nation, did not originally call themselves that. When the Spaniards first arrived and saw the locals’ bonfires, they gave it the name “Luminara” which the Lummi later adopted. (And here I thought they used ‘lectricity for lummi-nation. Ar ar. I just kill myself.)

But back to simmering Dutchmen.

One of the highlights of our little abode is a home-made outdoor hot tub. It’s a Japanese-style wooden cylinder lined with blue plastic. A wood stove sits along one side, immersed in the water. It’s very effective, although there are certain differences between this and the hot tub we enjoyed on our last vacation. For one thing, we have to stoke it. After several pounds of damp newspaper and twenty-nine matches, I felt like Jack-Freaking-London in the Yukon, but we finally got it lit. Then, it takes several hours to heat. And, since there are no whirlpool jets, you stir up the water with a boat oar. It feels very much like tending a big soup pot and I hollered to Mike to send up the first victim.

Temperature control turns out to be something of an art - an art we have not mastered. We’d built the damn fire, tended it for three hours and goddammit, we were going to sit in the water if it killed us. Which it damn near did. After the first abortive attempt to force a toe in, I ran cold water into the steam, stirred it up, damped the fire, waited. But still. Fuck. That was some seriously hot water. I’ve been out for an hour and I’m still pink. I hope my skin stays on.

See more like that one:

• Feeling Sequimish
• Murder Most Foul
• Trail Mixed
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