The Finger

           

             The ponderous green and white ferry crept slowly through gray fog that had covered us like a shroud since we'd driven aboard. Up on deck, chilly in windbreakers and scarves, my wife and I watched a seagull hover ahead of the bow, then disappear into the thick mist. We feared this would be a wet and dreary weekend. 

            Our goal was Lopez Island, one of the four in Washington state's San Juan Islands that are accessible via the state ferry system. The San Juans consist of four hundred islands (more or less, depending on the height of the tide), most of which are uninhabited and unnamed. They make up a gorgeous archipelago that lies in the Salish Sea between Washington and Vancouver Island. Granite scarps rise out of the sea, and evergreens, oaks and madrona trees climb down hillsides all the way to the water.

            Each of the four large islands is beautiful in its own way and has its own personality. Eponymous San Juan is the most populous; it boasts the picturesque town of Friday Harbor, the county seat. Despite summer crowds on busy streets and sidewalks, a visitor will look in vain for a stoplight.

            Orcas Island, larger by two square miles, considers itself a bit artier. It caters to folks who want to avoid tourists but who nonetheless don't mind frequenting fairly upscale shops and restaurants that only a healthy tourist trade can sustain.

            Shaw Island (population 240) is unique, too. For many years, Washington State Ferry passengers were charmed upon arrival by watching nuns (Franciscan Sisters of the Eucharist) wearing bright reflective safety vests over their brown habits, operate the dock - hauling ropes, lowering the off-ramp, and directing cars onto the island. (No longer do they perform these tasks, nor do they run the deli and store which is located at the landing.  In 2004, the three remaining sisters sadly decided it was time to move on.)

            Lopez Island is a favorite of bicyclists - relatively flat and not terribly crowded. The only commercial center, Lopez Village, consists of a market, three bookstores, a couple of real estate offices, a bakery, a few assorted shops, a community center, a latté stand, and three restaurants. That's about it. There's a church here or there on the island, a library, a motel, a school, and not much else. Approaching Lopez that foggy day we were prepared for quiet, and also for a degree of clubbiness on the part of year-round residents since the ratio of tourists to natives there is low. As it happened, this trip to Lopez did indeed make the point. We were given . . . the finger.

             When we arrived, like something out of a seagoing adventure movie, as if on cue the fog broke and disappeared. Bright sunlight glared off the big green-and-white boat and danced on the indescribably blue water. We drove up the ramp, following the vehicle in front of us in a slow procession that gradually picked up speed. It was fall and, windows down, the island air was glorious. There could be nothing amiss in this idyllic space.

            Yet, on our way to Lopez Village, all of five miles distant, the driver of an oncoming car flipped us a finger - or so it seemed. Curious, but we both pretended not to notice.

            In town, there were groceries to buy before setting off again to the house we'd rented. But after shopping and getting back on our way, it happened again. It sure looked like the guy behind the wheel of another car flipped us off. Then, there was a third time, impossible not to notice and clearly directed at us!

            There were few other cars on the road and bicycles had thinned out. The beauty all around us did present a safety challenge, but my driving was fine! What was this finger thing about?

            "Honey, did you see that?" said my spouse. "What were those drivers doing? Were they waving at us or something?"

            "Some wave," I said.

            Another one passed.

            "There, I knew it! That guy did it, too."

            Ever the glass-full kind of guy, I said "Maybe there's something we're missing."

            "Jeez, should we reciprocate?"

            "Good idea. I'll do it." As the next car approached, I raised my hand off the steering wheel and lifted a finger. "There! I did it."

            My wife figured it out. "Hon, you did it wrong."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Wrong finger! It's supposed to be a greeting, I think. So use a different finger."

            "You're right. Here, I'll try with this guy."

            A baseball-capped codger driving a faded blue pick-up passed us.

            "How'd I do?"

            "Better, dear. But your technique needs work."

            It took more than one trip down island to get it, sort of, and feel like part of the tribe. But remembering was hard, again because the drop-dead scenery in the San Juans intrudes, as every visitor will tell you. Between showers or patches of fog, sunbreaks lit up the yellows and reds of trees with fiery brilliance. Hundreds of droplets hung from salmonberry bushes and cabbage rose hips glistened like Christmas tree garlands strung along weathered cedar fence lines. Bald eagles, clusters of sea birds, hungry ravens, flocks of robins, busy juncos, and noisy crows were everywhere. Across much of the island, tree-lined driveways led to secluded homes.

            That first trip, we pulled over to catch our breath and take it all in: emerald-green fields with horses and cattle and llamas. A solitary wren chirped and dashed for cover. Two hares, one dun-colored, the other black, scampered through the grass beside us and disappeared. We were careful to watch for deer. A twenty-minute drive took an hour.

            We returned to the road and toward us came a car. Oops, forgot again.

            Over the next several days, we knew the locals noticed when we forgot. They surely noticed my feeble, amateurish attempts along the finger-wave learning curve because I'm positive I saw some barely suppressed grins.

            But then success!

            Want the secret for mastering the genuine Lopez Island greeting, guaranteed to erase the word "mainlander" stenciled across the front of your car?

            Don't lift your hand from the wheel at all. And, don't use just the index finger. The absolute sexiest is the first two fingers of the left hand, just slightly apart, and raised no more than three inches off the steering wheel. Hold it for barely one count. Simple.

            The aha moment? When you know you've got it?

            My wife shook her head disapprovingly at an approaching car. "Honey, did you see that?"

            "Yeah. She waved her whole hand."

            "Damn tourist!"