In the May 10 Herald I told you about my four favorite places in West Seattle. But I was a bit selfish, and gave only vague hints to the location of the last place. Here's the clue I gave, and, as you can tell, I had a bad case of DaVinci Code-itis when I wrote it:

There's a view to George's island, where salmon fires blaze,

And James' isle too, that's two-in-one

Past the pool of Laurence, there's a ferry in the haze,

And over The Brothers, sinks the setting sun

Other than selfishness, I kept the last place secret mainly because it's been off-limits to the public for part of the year. And, even when accessible, it was not a pleasant place to visit. But that's not the case anymore. So come join me on a visit to place four.

The tide is on the rise. My favored spot will have to be abandoned soon. Directly across the sound stand the twin peaks of The Brothers, mountains that rise 7,000 feet above the Sound. In the foreground of this Olympic panorama a tree-clad Blake Island floats on the water. Today it's is a bit hazy, but on those rare clear-air days I can see the Indian longhouse where they cook salmon over open fires. Blake is named after George Blake, a member of the Wilkes Expedition of 1838-42.

Off to the southwest, Dolphin Point on Vashon Island looming behind it, the ferry MV Issaquah glides across the sparkling seascape. Wingehaven Park, a hidden gem of the Vashon coast, lies nestled around the point, its stone lion and alligator patiently waiting for me to pay them my annual visit. Vashon is named after James Vashon, a member of the Vancouver Expedition (1792) and, thanks to the Portage isthmus that connects it to Maury Island, it is two isles-in-one.

The ferry disappears behind Point Williams, leaving only the large barnacled intakes for Colman Pool to break the surface of the Sound. The pool, built in 1941, is named after Laurence Colman. As I sit here I no longer have to listen to the sound of sewage surging through the large black pipe that straddled the trail for a while. Over the past year the beach trail was torn up to put in a new sewer line, and that's why I've been unable to enjoy a quiet visit for a while. Most every time I came I had been politely turned away as giant dozers dug into the earth. But their work is done, and you can once again walk down the trail and take a seat on the soft sand.

I am at the north cove of Lincoln Park, near where the trail drops down the bluff to the shore. I first sat on the beach here in 1966. I even went swimming, braving the icy water for short periods. But these days I come to sit, eat, and zone out to the sound of the surf. All that's left of my sandwich are bits of crust. Greedy gulls and crows have been lusting after my lunch, so I toss a piece of bread at them to watch the ensuing brawl. The only other wildlife I've seen is a lone coot bobbing on the surf. I used to call them dodo birds until bird-watchers told me their name. They have an oddly comical look (the coots, not the bird-watchers), a bulbous dark-gray body, with a tiny black head and pointy white bill. I toss the coot a crumb. It's not interested. A waiting crow's patience pays off and it takes to the air with its prize.

Just as the sun sets the tide chases me off the sand. In the gathering darkness I climb the trail to the top of the bluff. Here I pass the buried shell of James Rudolf's magical pond. Built in the 1930s, it hides in a shadowy nook, waiting to gladden the heart of those who know its past. I cross Fauntleroy and climb the hillside behind the tennis courts. In the thin forest that once covered the hillside I'd had a tree-house long ago. But these days it's open to the sun and crowned by a low stone circle. Solstice walkways intersect the circle, and I half-expect a druid priest to appear and invite me to be the day's human sacrifice. No thanks.

The sightline of the summer solstice flies over the Cat's Eye Cafe. I follow its course downhill and take the shortcut to Gatewood via the secret passage that connects 45th to shady Sylvan Lane. From Gatewood I head north along California Avenue, following in the footsteps of childhood marches to duty as a school crossing guard.

So that's my fourth favorite place (and a few others). They are places that allow me to time travel; to glimpse the past, and the future. Forty years ago I sat on the north beach, and, God willing, forty years from now I'll sit there again to watch the sunset; to see a crown of sunlight settling on the brow of The Brothers, burnishing to a golden sheen the clouds that float over their snow-capped peaks.

Marc Calhoun can be reached via wseditor@robinsonnews.com

Marc Calhoun

The Fourth Place - Time Traveling in West Seattle Page 1