Jul 20, 2007

Once upon a time, a plutocrat's son fell in love with a dairymaid on Lopez Island. Cream-skinned and butter-haired, she played the minx, eyes always in the barn's gutter, when he longed to see their stars.

Desperate to gain her attention, he became a ferryman. Each evening, after the last run, he would detour through the treacherous strait between Lopez and San Juan. And each evening, she would wave from the bluffs.

One night, he peered into the dusk – and saw only sheaves of stone. Unbeknownst to him, she was courtin' with another lad.

Distraught, he scanned the cliff. Was his beloved hurt? Lost? As he pondered, the ferry foundered on the shoals. The last sound he heard was the laughter of seals.

His boat still sails these waters, a phantom blaze against the blue. And the good Lopesians are condemned forever to wave – a tradition they practice on the island's roads. Because anyone who fails to salute the ghost ferry will die within 24 hours...

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer ain't touchin' this one...


  1. What?? The P-I took kelp over the ghost ferry?

  2. The BULL KELP CARTEL owns this town, I'm afraid...

  3. Anonymous11:29 PM

    Finally, someone's explained the Lopesian wave.

    Bless you, child.