We headed across famous Deception Pass Bridge toward the mainland of Washington, leaving sunny Whidbey Island and driving into a pall of gloom that we hoped was cloud, but suspected was smoke from a nearby forest fire.
Our campsite at a place called Baker Lake near the entrance to North Cascades National Park was shrouded in “mist” (Mike optimistically called it) to the point that the opposite bank was hard to see. Still, families swatted mosquitoes and frolicked in a shallow beach area of the pretty lake, clearly determined to enjoy their scheduled vacation no matter what nature threw at them.
The air held a sweetish, rotten scent that reminded me of the fermented molasses reek of the sugar cane mills I’d grown up with in Hawaii; it didn’t help that our spot was just downwind of dumpsters filled with fish guts.
“That ‘mist’ smells like smoke,” I said, sniffing.
Mike got out his phone and studied an app that tracks fires, frowning. “…
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