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Mountains Finally Show Up for Vic and Ro!
By Victor Antoine Moitoret

Yes, Virginia, there really are some Olympic Mountains. We spent three days up close to these renowned giants touring the Olympic Peninsula from Bremerton around to Lake Quinault and back again to Kingston. We did the Drive-Through tour of the Olympic Game Farm near Sequim. We visited Betty & Jim Humfleet’s Printery Farm outside Port Angeles twice. We thrilled over the three-quarter mile stroll on the Hall of Mosses Nature Trail in the Hoh Rain Forest. We gaped appreciatively at the ‘second largest cedar in the world,’ thanks to some reliable sailing directions from Captain Jim Whatton, former ace intelligence officer of the US Navy. He also had tipped us off to the attractions of Ruby Beach where, in spite of the rain, we delightedly beachcombed amid acres of wave-rubbed smooth Stones and driftwood, then labored back up stairs and switchback trails with loads of those treasures to decorate our New Mexico acre.

Nowhere, though, during all of those peregrinations did we catch more than a sketchy, momentary glimpse of a part of a mountain, and we did not waste time on the 17-mile sidetrip to the top of enshrouded Hurricane Ridge – thanks again to Whatton’s intelligence briefing. (Well, what should you expect in a rain forest?)

Now we have journeyed to Oak Harbor on Whidbey Island for a first visit to longtime friend Babcock’s retirement haven. And what does the fabulous publisher of The Technician and The Pink Chicken do for us? He calmly and quietly, without a trace of fanfare, arranges for the whole blasted chain of snow-daubed peaks to be in full and glorious view across the water from us as we enjoy the languorous comfort of the Babcock breakfast table – with such Nancy-special touches as warm croissants and yummy omelette.

So we can honestly reassure you; yes, Virginia, it’s true – there is, indeed, a mountain range in the State of Washington known as the Olympics. But don’t go near them or they’ll hide. Come to Oak Harbor instead and let Ralph show you.

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What a Fortnight This Has Been!

“AJ’s exist fifty weeks to live just those two!” You can say that again!

How warming to have so many old friends find us way out in this backwash of Puget Sound.

Those 14 dizzy days of July! Topping off all that convention gabbing at Kennewick, we delighted in carrying Ann & Carl Vrooman back over Snoqualmie Pass and Mukilteo Ferry with us to Oak Harbor. There joined by the Engebretsens, we all indulged in a dinner finale at Cockspurr IV before those Californians merged forces for their southbound drive home.

Then Matt Kelsey popped out by bus for Saturday’s overnight talkfest along with Phil & Louise Metzger: dropping names & madly catching up on type news.

Monday saw Gale & Ruth Sheldon drop by for a seven hour stint in the shop, resulting in Weaker Gold.

Then Wednesday, minutes before arrival of the Moitorets, in dropped Harold Segal & tag-along Gussie – ending their grand tour of Canadian mountains and Banff; tantalizing with a brief half-hour before they fled back to Seattle.

When Vic left, he dropped off 40 full typed pages of the official Minutes for us to worry over. So ends NAPA’s 1978 convention.

[And thanks, Jack Hageman, for snaring all these nice people to the woolly wiles of Washington.]

Friday the 14th (after salmon dinner on the town) ended with a most splendiferous sunset, capping a rare and delighting glimpse of that majestic 14,000 foot high ice cream cone 100 miles to our south: Mount Rainier. (Rarely visible here in Oak Harbor – because of atmosphere and intervening Seattle overcast – perhaps five or six times a year, Rainier’s snow-capped majesty is accentuated by its solitary lack of other sideshow mountains or background distraction, seeming to jump up out of nowhere to its full 14,408 feet height.

And on Saturday Ed & Lucy Fielding wound it all up with a drop-by for a look-see at our view and press.

Now back on that diet – and to work on NA.

Now I’ve done my one good deed:
Here are those last 2 lines you need!

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Weaker Rabbit

A spasmodical from The Scarlet Cockerel Press in Oak Harbor, this time perpetrated by Vic Moitoret and Ralph Babcock, July 1978.

For National Amateur Press Association members.

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