Blue hour


I moved to Seattle from Virginia in October 1992  and I remember being struck by the beauty of all the neon glowing in the rain. So I take pictures for this ongoing series I call Blue Hour. It’s from a line from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story “Babylon Revisited”:

“Outside, the fire-red, gas-blue, ghost-green neon shone smokily through the tranquil rain…he wanted to see the blue hour.”

Aberdeen is always good for spooky surrealism, but the empty carnival in the South Shore Mall parking lot in monsoon rain was a scene of spectacular northwest melancholy.

      At the beach, my neighbor, Stanley stopped by. He was exhausted from weeks of houseguests, due to the death of one of his wife’s family’s matriarchs. Stanley said that at the funeral, the matriarch’s husband of 50 years got up and said, “Before you all go saying how much you’ll miss Shirley, let me just say I’ve got the clicker now, and I can eat and sleep whenever I want.”

I fell down laughing, but Stanley said it was a rough crowd. “It got so quiet, you could’ve heard Jesus breathe,” he said.


My Norwegian friend Regnor, who spent his life on boats, told me to go to Seattle Marine and buy these boots. They are Vikings, comfortable as slippers, and I would wear them every day in Seattle if people wouldn’t think I was insane.

At Washaway I have no such concerns. But it always cracks me up when Clam Time comes around and I am suddenly fashionable.

The clammers seem to prefer boots made by Xtratuf, which have the street cred of the Alaskan outdoorsman. The cute boy in the “Into The Wild” movie wore Xtratufs.

I have not tried razor clams, so it is possible that I am missing something delicious, but they just look kind of gnarly.

Someone wrote me asking to check on their place which had been getting looted. The thing that really sucks about pirates, here and everywhere, is they rip you off.


About washybeach

Washaway Beach This Week is a blog by photojournalist Erika Langley. See more work at
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