Sunday the home neighborhood and all of town sunny, the streets clear, Port Angeles' yearround green lawns emerged from their temporary glaciers. So I headed west to go to the ocean, but before I got as far as the Lake the road still seemed too iffy, lots of snow to either side, icy patches. Had an old-lady moment and turned back around milepost 236. Should have just gone, but instead crept home and soon found myself once again—fourth time this week— on Ediz Hook. There was a little pilot boat action: Majorca picked up a pilot on her way into the Sound. And a lot of people out; walking, bicycling, staring out across the Strait, hopping on the rocks, or sitting in their car reading until there were ships to watch.