A seal of approval at Barbara’s bench

BARBARA JUST MIGHT BE A SELKIE NOW, it seems.

If you’re not an avid fan of the delightful 1994 John Sayles movie, “The Secret of Roan Inish” (in which a selkie is part of the secret), you might need this Wikipedia definition: “Selkies are mythological creatures that can shapeshift between seal and human forms by removing or putting on their seal skin. They feature prominently in the oral traditions and mythology of various cultures, especially those of Celtic and Norse origin.” “Roan Inish” is a real island on the Ulster coast of Ireland.

Daughter Lillian and I just returned from our annual overnight pilgrimage to remote Sucia Island, a marine state park that’s home to the park bench memorializing Barbara, my wife and Lil’s mother, who died of breast cancer in 2021. Three years ago, we cast her ashes in waters near this island.

The bench, a GoFundMe project funded by generous donations by many of you Reef readers, sits in one of the most beautiful spots in the San Juan Islands, with a stunning waterfront panorama that takes in Orcas, Waldron and Patos islands in the San Juans, along with Boundary Pass (the Canadian border) and a handful of Canada’s Gulf Islands. Eagles soar, kayakers skim the waves, sailboats ride the breeze on wide, wild waters, and seals bob in the sea.

As always, getting there was an ambitious 90-minute saltwater voyage aboard WeLike, my restored 1957 Skagit Express Cruiser, the 20-footer built in nearby La Conner, Skagit County. WeLike’s cuddy cabin includes a cozy V-berth just big enough for a father and daughter in a couple of sleeping bags.

After departing Center Island in a warm summer-morning rain, Lillian and I docked at Sucia’s Fossil Bay on a pleasant, partly sunny afternoon scattered with puffball clouds. We immediately gathered a sack lunch and set out on a mile-long hike through tall cedars and swordfern grottos to the southerly point at the entrance to Shallow Bay.

There we found the bench in excellent shape. We always bring a scrub brush, spray cleaner and paper towels for an annual cleaning, but the cedar-colored planks of durable recycled plastic needed only a quick wipe. The bronze plaque — which I personally affixed three years ago with wood screws and plenty of epoxy — remained, unmarred: “For Barbara, who loved this island, from Brian, who always sat beside her.”

As we munched our lunch, Lillian and I saw a harbor seal bobbing in the water and looking up at us from just beneath our shoreline perch. The emerald-green water was so clear here we could see the seal’s entire body beneath the surface. Remarkably, the seal stayed there, riding the incoming swell, as we finished our lunch and began to read aloud from one of Barbara’s favorite authors. We continued where we left off in last year’s novel, “The Last Camel Died at Noon,” an Amelia Peabody mystery by Elizabeth Peters.

As Amelia, husband Emerson and son Ramses traveled down the Nile on a mysterious quest, we watched the seal clamber out of the water and on to a rock so near that we easily looked each other in the eye. Kayakers paddled near, motorboats buzzed by, and our friend the seal stayed put. When Lillian and I walked down to a small rocky point beneath the bench’s promontory, the seal followed us with her eyes but never fled back into the water.

Barbara?

Back at the dock, we chatted with other boaters. One friendly fellow on a C Dory heard our story and asked, “Oh, are you talking about Barbara’s bench? I was there yesterday! Wait, what’s your name?” “I’m Brian,” I told him. Another dock neighbor made plans to visit Barbara’s bench the next morning.

It’s sweet to know that other visitors are enjoying that resting spot with the million-dollar view. It was what dear Barbara wanted.

I hope they saw the seal.