Footloose and car-free on San Juan Island

SAN JUAN ISLAND — Take the bus, and leave the gas prices, kibitzing, impromptu roadside stops, island tales, detours, life lessons, restaurant recommendations, whale spotting, hometown pride, weather forecasts — oh yeah, and driving — to us.

Well, to them, actually.

To San Juan Transit and its fleet of well-traveled, California-imported mini buses that make regular trips between the island's ferry stop and largest town of Friday Harbor and the resort community of Roche Harbor, home of gorgeous views and increasingly sumptuous lifestyle, about 20 minutes away, depending on whether or not you take the scenic route or stop to pet Mona the camel, visible only on the direct route.

Or you leave the driving to one of Susie's Mopeds, one- and two-seaters available. Or to a rented bike or kayak or your own two feet.

It is possible, and, in fact, delightful, to tour this most populous of the San Juan Islands while leaving your car at home — or more likely in the parking lot of the state ferry landing near Anacortes, although that will cost you.

But look at it this way. Take your car on board and right off the bat you're socked with a healthy tab ($49.85 peak fare). Then, watch your conveyance suck up fuel every time you stop and start and maneuver the thing around the island — to say nothing of the several hours you can wait, in your car, to catch a ferry at the height of the summer season.

And you will do all of that in relative silence. That's the worst part. You can argue the sum total of car finances vs. the cost of ingenuity. But there's the ennui of the car-encapsulated driver that must be a part of this equation.

Drive alone and you will miss:

The tale of Mona the camel and the various speculations on how she got to the island.

The saga of Ranger Mike Vouri and his fabled portrayal of staunch Pig War leader Gen. George Pickett.

The off-the-top-of-the-head listing of just who ties up at which of those mega slips at the marina in Roche Harbor and how much they paid for them.

And so much more — the story of the Lavender Farm's deer fence built before it was discovered that the creatures don't care much anyway for many of the fragrant varieties they were supposed to be kept from. Oops.

The kibitzing between bus drivers and neighbors. (Neighbor relating a tale of being stranded out on the water: "That was such a great thing he did for me. He didn't have to tow me all that way. I should give him something." Driver: "Give him a salmon. He'll love that. He could use that. He's not a very good fisherman. Don't ever tell him I said that.") OK.

So there you are — life, fresh off the boat in Friday Harbor.

But you're sans car. What do you do? How do you collect your own tales of the island?

Run upstairs to San Juan Transit's office in the Cannery Landing building, right next to the ferry dock, get a map and a busload of advice and then catch said bus. During the height of summer, buses run all day. (They don't in winter, so you'll need to be even more inventive. There are cabs — yes, cabs — on the island, however. Handy for those late-night suppers or a bout of drinking at Herb's Tavern in Friday Harbor, for example.)

San Juan Transit President Dan Ward has had his little bus company for about 12 years. "We do like to talk," Ward laughs about himself and his drivers. "We consider ourselves ambassadors to Friday Harbor. We have all these tourists with us for 20 minutes minimum so we can have all this interaction.

"We tell them all about the island and all the sights. We even get people talking to each other."

Put that in your fare box, Metro.

Lovely lavender

First stop on this particular day was at the 20-acre Pelindaba Lavender farm belonging to Susan and Stephen Robins, about 10 minutes south of Friday Harbor. You'll note the lavender fragrance the instant you step from the bus. In the summer, you won't be able to take your eyes off the rows of stunning pastel colors, locals insist.

Nor will you quite be able to believe that nearly every one of the 130 or so lavender-based products in the farm's gift shop (and at Pelindaba's store in Friday Harbor) was made right there.

"We wanted to [keep the acreage] as an open-space preservation project rather than just unused land," Stephen Robins said of the property he and his wife purchased in the late 1980s as a potential homesite before they decided to move elsewhere on the island.

"We said let's make it productive, do some farming ... We didn't want to compete with other farmers on the island, we wanted to do something that would complement what they're doing."

Months of research later, out popped lavender, a thousands-of-years-old herb known for its color, fragrance and potency.

But no time for dawdling in this genteel sliver amid the rugged Northwest ethos. The bus was coming. "Just flag us down" — anywhere, anytime, had been Ward's parting words.

It worked.

Try it along the western shore, especially with a picnic, where you can get off at any number of seaside lookouts for a shoreside glimpse of any number of orcas and their pods. (If you don't know what these are, pay a visit first to the Whale Museum in downtown Friday Harbor — a spectacular combination of exhibit, education and expert advice on whale-watching trips, one more thing to do without that pesky car.)

Pig-nacious

The bus stops, too, at English Camp, the counter outpost to American Camp at the southern tip of the island, where British and American forces drew up their armaments in 1859 ready to do fierce combat over the death of a pig.

That would be because American settler Lyman Cutlar shot and killed a British-owned oinker he said was repeatedly chomping away in his potato patch. When the Brits tried to arrest Cutlar, all hell nearly broke loose. But nary a weapon was used as the two sides diplomatically snarled at each other until 12 years passed and the intervention of Kaiser Wilhelm I of Germany gave the San Juans to the U.S.

The erstwhile captain of the American forces (George Pickett, who later and more famously served the Confederacy as a general) lives on in the person of Ranger Mike Vouri, who portrays him in a two-man historical show presented on the island (and featured last year in an edition of Smithsonian magazine).

The last stop on San Juan Transit's scenic and direct routes is Roche Harbor, once home to a lime quarry and factory ranked as the largest west of the Mississippi. The industry is gone now, but some of the buildings are still there, converted mostly to lodging for guests.

Most famous among them is the 120-year-old Hotel de Haro, a landmark in the tiny port, as much preserved as possible, its creaky floors running every which way. And there's new construction in the harbor — period-designed buildings including houses, townhouses, suites and shops and plans for more as owners try to develop the harbor's allure.

If you're staying the night, don't forget to ask about the sunset Striking of the Colors ceremony (complete with recorded music and cannon shot) otherwise you, too, may hurl a glass of wine into the air at the unexpected blast. Then, the tiny Chapel of Our Lady of Good Voyage will awaken you at approximately 9 a.m. with another recorded concert, this of more time-honored religious tradition — and no cannon shot.

Among the newer sights at Roche Harbor is the 19-acre Westcott Bay Sculpture Park, its mown paths wandering among more than 75 sculptures made by several Northwest artists.

A camel by the sea

At the height of the summer season, the last bus leaves Friday Harbor at 5 p.m. bound for Roche Harbor, where it turns around and leaves for Friday Harbor at 5:25.

Your last chance to see Mona the camel.

Mona lives on acreage belonging to Corina Tettinger, on the south side of the Roche Harbor Road not too far outside Friday Harbor.

Mona is a total fixture as she often stands near the fence with her 22-year-old gal pal, Chappy the horse, as they await stunned gawks and occasional friendly pats.

Be prepared to hear all kinds of stories about the origins of Mona. The truth, according to Tettinger, who designs beads under the business name Corinabeads, is that Mona was born about 6 years ago in Spokane, she thinks, then lived briefly on Bainbridge Island where she became a pest and chased golf carts, went back to Spokane, then to Mill Creek and then into the Little Nickel want ads. That's where Tettinger found her — $6,000 retail.

"She is sweet ... and she is dangerous," says Tettinger. "She thinks she's a puppy and she weighs about 1,200 pounds."

And what a thing to ponder as you finish your time on San Juan Island — sans car. A camel, the whales, a dead pig, lavender-eschewing deer, a salmon for a newfound hero.

What more could you want?

Well, maybe 2-buck-a-gallon gas.

But then, you'd drive, and just think of all that silence.

Terry Tazioli: 206-464-2224 or ttazioli@seattletimes.com