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On'IheGo: Stretching
the-definition of ‘trail’ 1*
continued from page A-12
Lowlife versus no‘life
A few brief words of assurance for
those of you thinking “On the Trail”
has gone off the rails.
That’s not the case. But a bit of
stretching is in order. I’m stretch-
ing the definition of “trail” to include
roads, highways and neighborhood
streets from now on. I need more
room to roam or I will start to repeat
myself. (Thus the shift to "‘On the
Ga”) ,
And I’m also stretching one of my
major themes, waterfalls, to include
water in all its meanings and forms.
This week we’re swimming, so to
speak, in liquids of distilled and fer-
mented powers. . , -
‘Thanks to COVID (a word I hate
and a reality that won’t go away, ..
like that'ann‘oying kid at camp who
keeps hitting you and shouting
“Tag!” long after the game is over)
my life resembles a scrambled egg
as I grope daily on a shifting surface
of laws, rules, mandates, judgment
calls and gut-check intuitions.
I no longer listen to any news
from any source. Happier? Yes. But
new I’m getting caught in lots of
road closures.
“Mask on, mask off,” like I’m do-
ing the drill from “Karate Kid.” Any
day I’m going to hear that my boost-
er needs another booster.
. In addition to being 80% home-
.bound since that Chiefs-49ers Super
‘Bowl, I keep going places that ei-
ther aren’t open anymore, are closed
3 three days a week, or whatever you
’Wafit is out of stock. ‘
The'Mayans were right, you
know. Only off by a few years. This
is the reckoning. Not some time in
,thefuture. Right now. This is when
‘it all plays out. It will never go back
to the way it was, never.So why
restrict your fun-loving, wild-man-
of—the—waterfalls guy from having a
dive bar adventure now and then?
The planetary doo-doo’s already‘hit
the fan; I’m just trying to get a drink
before the whole world is covered
brown.
Takinga dive
As it stands, the term “dive bar”
carries connotations of a 'dungy, dirty
and dilapidated destination, the kind
of dark, dreary place you pass by but
never consider going into.
Well, as they say for-so many sub-
jects these days —- time to change the
narrative. '
As" a traveler, dive bars are of im-
mense interest. Likely they are the
older, more authentic watering holes
V and gathering plaées in a small town.
Like the little local history museum,
they are full of stories. You will find
stories in old phatos framed and
mounted on the walls, as well as sto-
ries claimed and mouthed by self-ap-
pointed bar stool scribes. ,
Dive bars display true, unapolo-
getic character; This, in fact, is, the
key defining element of a real dive
bar. Fake places slap up a bunch} of
barn wood and call themselves rustic.
Or plaster ’80s posters of Hulk Hogan
and call themselves grunge. Or mount
a million We and pretend to be a
sports bar. '
Sorry, you don’t slap on a theme.
\A true dive bar grows organically. It
springs‘from the soil, the jobs, the
lives of those who lived there when at
first the bar arrived. The wood grain
on the barghas a story, a place you
can trace it .to. The stools might be
wrought iron, forged nearby. Some-
body’s antique fishing rod and creel,
‘they were mounted next to the bee-
hive over the door for some specific
reason.
Here’s where the dive bar is at its
best. When donors love owners, the
memorabilia flourishes. Now your
bartender becomes a curator, explain-
ing to the 30-something Seattle hip-
sters that the mounted snipe does
indeed look like a jackrabbit fitted
with antelope horns, but until you’ve
hunted true Wyoming snipe
Brooklyn at last
Yes, yes, totally worth the drive
on U.S. HighWay 101 south of Cos-
mopolis,'turning left onto Artic Road
just after the Artic Tavern (it merges
with North River Road; if you pass a
school, you’ve gone too far).
The Brooklyn Tavern opened in
1927 and is the only remaining busi-
' ness of what was once a huge, boom-
ing logging’town. Four owners and
nearly 100 years later, Larry Vigue-
rie, 72, holds court over the many
Wide-eyed first-timers whofind them-
selves at 2611 North River Road, 17
miles from the nearest highway in a .
part of nowhere that’s nowhere near
the middle.
The tavern is a small space so
packed with nuance, humor and his-
tory, you cannot absorb it all on a sin-
gle visit. It is part loggers museum,
part howling man cave. ‘ ‘
Inside, Larry serves mostly bottled/
can beer, cider and box wine selec-
tions. He makes burgers, chili dogs
' and personal pizzas, but mostly he
serves Stories to satisfy the one ques-
tion on every first-timer’s mind;
“What is this place doing here,
exactly?” ' ‘ .
Remember, no apologies. A true
dive bar is real, not What you expect
real to be. ‘
An old woodstove throws heat from
the middle of the room. The bathroom
doors open by means of rope pulleys
and both genders are rewarded with
walls richly papered in centerfolds.
from Playboy and Playgirl magazines.
Dollar bills paper the ceiling above
the lone pool table. Dusty taxider-
mic critters appear here and there.
Old misery whips, balance boards,
rusty cables, pulleys and early model
chainsaws hanggfrom the walls. One
chainsaw is so big it looks like a mo-
torcycle with shoulder straps instead
of wheels, and a 6-foOt blade sticking
out its nose!’ v
Not one TV in this place, not one.
N 0 Wi-Fi or internet, either. A radio
plays whatever Larry or the locals
want to hear. Indeed, the locals look'
you over good and hard, because they,
too, want to know what you’re doing
here, exactly. ' '
Or as the sign next to the bar
, says, Beauty Is in the Eye of the
Beerholder.
Come. Bring yOu best, beautiful
self. If you pick up any dust, you can
dust yourself off later, when youre-
turn to your “ever strange” Year 2+
COVID life.
I Mark Woytowich is a writer,
photographer, video producer and
author of “Where Waterfalls and Wild
Things Are.” He lives in Potlatch .
with his wife, Linda. His “On the Go”
column appears every other week in
the Shelton-Mason County Journal.
Reach'him at his website, www.'where-
waterfallsare.com, or by email at
eye‘five@hctc.com. \
* my WolrkShOPS on Zoom
"MW
Thursday, Jan. 13, 2022 Shelton-Mason County Journal - Page A-13
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