I'm not quite sure what it is about this ritual that compels us to continue, no matter how little we want to hear Walking After Midnight for the 12th time. But we flip the tape. And once we flip it a few times, it's like there's no going back. The momentum builds and the tape doesn't leave the devil's radio, until, mercifully, we close up the cabin for another year.
The year after that was Gordon Lightfoot, I believe. That was one of my favorites. We had a Neil Diamond year, and I think a Willie Nelson Stardust weekend in there too. Last summer it was Genesis Invisible Touch. Each cassette imparts each trip with its own special flavor.
This trip, for no particular reason, it was our boy George Harrison's turn. Hit it George.
No matter how fired up he gets, George Harrison is still pretty relaxing. I think that's what he brought to the table this year.
Clusters and I made a mess of our usual holiday traditions, reversing our annual Christmas Day pilgrimage from Southeast to the Island. We drove the other way! Dinner in the dub-dub. Insanity. From there we swept due west on the 28th, heading back to the Oregon Coast - former land of New Year's Eve glory. There we reunited with the whole clan for a good 30 hours. We made the most of it.
Oh, and look who replaced his lost camera.
On the 30th it was through Portland to pick up Irish Spring and Jackie Joyner-Kersee, and then a late night rendezvous with the Bard and the Shotgunner in Belfair. There we bought $60 in Gruyere Cheese (I'm not making that up) and continued on for an uneventful cabin de-winterizing. Hooks and his new delightful lady friend joined us even later. Let's call her "Dexter" to protect her identity and to celebrate the fact that she travels with a selection of very sharp knives rolled up in a black carrying case. Not making that up either. Background check is pending.
The Bard and I ran through a dress-rehearsal of our New Year's Eve set, featuring new special guest vocalists. Then we chatted for awhile, before noting that it was 4:50 am. Bedtime.
In the morning I made breakfast sandwiches, and then we set out for a hike. Normally we shun the forest for seafood collection activities, but I've gotten lazy in my old age. We played the "left or right" game on uplands trails, in which you ask people that have no idea where they are whether it would be better to go left or right at any given fork. Eventually, you end tromping through the brush or hilariously sliding down fallen logs. Luckily "down" is always the eventual right answer when you get sick of the game, and we descended the draw past the ice cube and down the two creeks driveway. Walking back along the beach, the Bard, Irish Spring, and I opened up some oysters.
It had been FOR-EVER since I'd eaten one of those raw. I used to like them, but started to shy away in my later years. Then opening hundreds of them for research in polluted southern California estuaries did not help the cause. But I just figured I'd try one this time. I forgot you weren't supposed to chew. Still, it wasn't too bad. Spring forgot to swallow his. His throat just wouldn't let it go down.
Back at the cabin our final couple had arrived, the Grizz and his new delightful lady friend. It's been a big year for coupling I guess. The singles are dwingling.
They brought an old family recipe called Glüg. It appears to be port and bourbon stewed in holiday spices, then roasted in 151-proof rum and sugar cubes. It is, I find, not to be messed with - much like the Grizz's home state of Texas. He left a nalgene of it under the sink for next year. Help yourself. I'm told it never goes bad.
Dexter and Hooks collected more oysters and prepared them on the half shell with some sort of sauce and accoutrements. These were EXCELLENT. I'm back on raw oysters. Especially when paired with the bottle of Patron that Knievel gave me for Christmas. I'm not making up how good this pairing is. I have witnesses.
For dinner Hooks n' Dexter prepared a gourmet twist on some American classics: the hamburger and mac n' cheese. I think that is where the $60 in Gruyere comes in. After dinner we celebrated the Bard's belated birthday, as is the tradition, and then had to roll right into New Year's Eve. Kind of an abbreviated schedule this year.
Approximate New Year's Eve Set List:
| Song | By | Featuring | Comments |
| Learning to Fly | Tom Petty | Only to annoy Clusters | |
| Ruby | Kenny Rodgers | Starting off so sad! | |
| Home Sweet Home | Motley Crüe | Clusters | A new classic! |
| Outta My System | My Morning Jacket | So screamy. So good. | |
| Molly's Chambers | Kings of Leon | ||
| On the Road Again | Willie Nelson | 4x4 via teleconference | Success! |
| These Dreams | Heart | Baby NYE via teleconference | Shunned! Hung up on! |
| Diamond Joe | Traditional | Better come get me! | |
| We Can Work It Out | Beatles | ||
| Use Me Up | Bill Withers | the Irish Spring | |
| Dead Flowers | Rolling Stones | the Irish Spring | By the ma-iiiiiiil. |
| Piece of Mind | Boston | ||
| Someone's Missing | MGMT | ||
| Pieces of What | MGMT | Rock Block!!!!! | |
| Sissyneck | Beck | My Rhinestone Life |
And then you know the rest. Down to the beach for a bonfire and a swim. This time with party horn blowers! So festive! The tide dashed any hopes of having the first aerial-entry baptism via rope swing ... but there's always next year. I guess dashed hopes are better than dashed brains. We had our usual four dudes - Me, Hooks, the Bard, except Spring had to fill in for 4x4. Plus, we had a lady swimmer! Dexter went in. I can't remember the last time we had one of those. Maybe since the Bug on Whidbey Island in 2007?
This year I thought I'd give the reader a special window into the world of late night polar bear swims. Someone, I'm not sure who, submitted this video of a similar event. Definitely not our event, because I have no idea who this mystery narrator is or the people to whom he refers. Anyway, our event is somewhat similar to this one, except more dignified, reverent, and speak-in-complete-sentences-y.
Now back to the George:
In the morning Clusters cooked an eggy breakfast for everyone, whist Spring prepared his personal rasher of bacon. Hooks and Dexter had missed the hike yesterday, so we returned to the uplands for more bushwhacking. This time we climbed to the area formerly known as camp mossy, and then continued to the area formerly known as Frog Bog (before the clear cut, which makes mossy glades and mysterious wetlands very difficult to sustain).
We tried for a while to find a loop back down to the main road, but as the sun sank low, and all logging roads kept directing us the wrong way, we decided to dead head home. We missed the "trail" from camp mossy and ended up surfing down waves of huckleberry until we hit the main road at twilight. Back at the cabin it was game night, featuring Yachtzee and Pilgrimidge.The Shotgunner dominated the dice, but I was able to make it to Jerusalem first.
Hooks and Dex had little time to recuperate from our epic whack through the woods, because there were sauteed greens, sweet potato mashers, and encrusted pork loins to be prepared. I feel like we've finally got the hang of the new wood stove, and proved it by roasting a loin at exactly 350 for an extended period in the oven. Delicious.
We re-winterized in the morning and headed for Belfair to debrief at a local sports bar. The pillar of the community, a bar called the Looney Bin, is now for sale. We audibled to Casey's across the street, and, it turns out to be better anyway. From there we all went our separate ways to separate states, hoping to each have our own very merry and Tebow-y 2012.
On a personal note, this is the year I finally accepted Applets and Cottlets into my life. Although, I am still convinced they made one big batch in 1957 and are still trying to sell it all.
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