The Pacific Northwest is full of little islands and ‘hanging chad’ peninsulas— and adorable historic towns that are so quaint, they’d make a great setting for a Hallmark Movie.
Port Townsend is one of those towns.
If you’re familiar with peninsulas and islands, and what kind of travel that entails— you might be wondering how I got my van from the mainland onto them. The ferry system, of course– but this might bring up more questions for you than it answers: can a vehicle as oversized as my van go on a car ferry?
Why yes, yes it can. Below is visual evidence. The forecast, in case you can’t tell, was: FOG.
To minimize issues with my van coming aboard, I woke up early to head to the dock— though I had a reservation (as is advisable during summer months), I knew that capacity for oversized vehicles on each boat was hardly infinite— and wanted to get plenty of chances to get aboard.
Sure enough, I missed the first ferry thanks to capacity of big trucks, but got into the second. RIIIIIGHHHHTTT at the back, as you can see— though the nice ferry officials put blocks behind the wheels of my van, I had to cringe when imagining the worst, thinking my van might slip off the back of the boat into the water.
Luckily, that most decidedly did not happen, and about an hour later, I was pulling my van onto the shore of what the locals call “The Peninsula”— not technically an island, connected by a land area MUCH farther south than I was— the dock of the Port Townsend ferry basically lets you off right in the downtown area.
You might have noted some serious fog in the preceding photographs— this region of the country is notably wet and rainy, and even on dry days, the fog over the water can be thick and persistent. I happened to catch one of those mornings— and the affect was so emblematic of Washington State, it felt downright picturesque instead of eerie.
There was a little diner at the end of a dock called “Hudson Point Cafe”– it was an actual ancient sea shack that served huge breakfasts, but given its location was far from the main drag— it didn’t seem touristed. Full of locals, it was a great place to start my overcast morning.
I happened to be in-town during the annual Wooden Boat Festival, something I didn’t realize I stumbled into until I arrived. But a solid rule of thumb of traveling is, if you see a local festival, even if you have ZERO interest in the topic at-hand— go.
So I went.
Right away, Mac and I ran into a “no dogs allowed” rule, which surprised us both, since the festival was completely outside. In retrospect, wooden boats can cost thousands or tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I bet the thought of unruly pups near them would upset some very wealthy people— so, I suppose it made some sense.
Either way, Mac was furious (as you can see him saying ‘hrumph!’ below)— but I stashed him into a doggy daycare for a few hours and he seemed to enjoy that use of his time.
The wooden boat festival mostly consisted of people proudly displaying their own boats— boats they’d worked on, boats they owned, and sometimes, boats they were selling. The crowd was full of aficionados, who spoke to each other with a lingo of a closed club. Which meant interacting with participants was likely not to be fruitful for me— instead, I observed.
This meant that I experienced what I’d describe as a ‘post card version’ of the festival— I got to see some beautifully-crafted boats, and snapped photos of them to share— but most of the substance of the festival was lost completely on me.
So, here’s some pictures of the very cool boats I saw.
The best part of the festival (for me) was seeing the woodworkers and artisans who were practicing their craft right there— making these expensive boats that were works-of-art seem more accessible and down-to-earth.
After the festival, I headed to the downtown area. It’s famous for its Victorian charm. Can’t imagine why (*that’s sarcasm*).
I got some food— and found a delightful ramen shop on one of the side streets named Tanazono. I got some udon noodles and vegetables, which felt like a score in a town whose food scene caters more to tourists– so lots of steak, Italian, and American pub grub abound.
The historic downtown area was lovely, and as cute as could be— but also, clearly intended for tourist dollars. Getting even a block or two away from the Main Street unearthed better gems, so I’d recommend that if you’re in town.
For instance, below ground, down a random staircase on the street reminiscent of the subway stairs in New York City, was a candle shop. But not just ANY candle shop— a witchy one. They featured candles that were blessed with magical essence, and the proprietors were a hoot to talk to— far more interesting, if you ask me, than the patrician folks and their nice wooden boats. The candle proprietors talked about purposely keeping their prices at about $20, to ensure their candles were affordable to everyone, including locals— even though they were often told the quality meant they could increase prices.
In this same downstairs area, there was also a worthy vintage store, where I found a couple of shirts secondhand, for $10-15 each. So, while it would be easy to overspend on goods right on the main road, you can still find affordable gifts if you know where to look. And since they were dog-friendly, Mac was hoping to find something besides his bowtie to make him more charming– but alas, found nothing.
A vintage bottle sale was taking place in town, and I found a couple of very cool bottles to gift to friends for the low price of $10. The guys (and they were mostly guys) selling the bottles were swapping techniques for washing and drying these old bottles, as well as tricks for getting rid of the ancient former contents when-necessary. Experts in their own right.
I stayed at a Hipcamp in Port Townsend that was WELL outside of town, a reminder that quaint downtowns are only a bit of the story of a place. This campsite was on private land, down a long rural dead-end street, and the first greeter on the property was a band of horses chewing grass near their barn onsite. This sublimely quiet spot let me see a more local side of town, and side of life on the peninsula.
Tiny driveway ‘markets’ with jars for honest patrons to leave payment in were plentiful. Whether flowers, eggs, honey, or produce— every working farm had a product to offer for a far lower price than one would pay in-town. A reminder to bring cash when going to the peninsula, as you don’t want to miss out on these goodies.
I also got to visit the farmer’s market, which was charming, and had everything I would need for camping for several days in the van: lots of green produce, fresh cheeses, baked goods, and lovely provisions of all kinds. It was one of the more truly stocked markets I’d seen in awhile.
On my second day, I made my way to Fort Townsend, an old military outpost with a beach for swimming and a delightful campground that featured an old-fashioned working lighthouse. It was misty in the evening light when I arrived, and the band of light that stretched above the lighthouse was due to reflections off that mist, rainbow-style, but with white light.
One of the most endearing and memorable things about Port Townsend is its precocious resident deer population. These deer are EVERYWHERE— and when I say everywhere, I mean, often in people’s front lawns, chowing down on their trees, shrubbery, and gardens (*regardless of the fences people erect to keep them out).
I once saw a doe jump an 6-foot fence to get to the delicious greenery inside a small yard without a moment of hesitation. They are poachers of landscaping, to be sure, so I can’t imagine the locals always love them— though they do tolerate them.
Mac, on the other hand, DID love them— sticking his head far out of the window to sniff the air near where they’d been just a moment before. He was enamored with them, always whining a bit when they came into view— and even learning to search the sides of the roads for them when we were driving (which I appreciated, as it meant having a second set of eyes to ensure I didn’t accidentally hit one).
The deer are so unafraid of humans, they would sometimes walk down the sidewalks. Just striding along like the bold pickpockets they were, looking for their next free meal.
Speaking of meals, probably my favorite of the meals I had in Port Townsend was at Green Crow Tacos. This spot was humble-looking, but the tacos delivered a huge punch of flavor that was layered throughout. Every element they added enhanced the taco in some way, and it was clear they thought through every element (down to adding crunch in the form of crushed pistachios). This spot was not expensive at all, especially compared to the touristy joints– well worth a visit.
They also had plenty of vegetarian options, which I was grateful for.
Port Townsend, though I had been there before, had new things to discover in the van. I hadn’t ever gone outside town much, and I was thankful the nights were full of stars (and were very quiet) out in the more rural parts of the area. A good reminder that when traveling, one can always find something off-the-beaten path, even in a touristy place.
I also felt accomplished about putting the van on its very first ferry ride. Not gonna lie.
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