We arrived at a restaurant called "The wharf' which is just about the best way to describe it since that's what it's built on. It was no humble McDonalds and I imagine that in the evenings, particularly, it must do a roaring trade with all those who like the romantic (well) setting and jolly good sea food, In the midday light the setting was not very romantic but rather matter of fact nautical with rows and rows of medium size fishing boats F11 tied to the piers bobbing up and down on the swell. The food... well I don' t get off too well on any sort of sea food but the menu was large enough, that I managed to get by without starving. As something special Buz ordered martini's, I hate to sound uncultured but after many years of debauched living these drinks were still unknown to ma. Maybe one of these days I'll come to appreciate the martini, afterall it took a long while to get over the feeling that wine tastes like rotten grapes and that scoteh or burbon is thinly disguised acid, I've never grown out of the impression that beer tastes like dish water and don't mind if I never do so who knows what will come of my initial impression that a martini is an excuse to drink watered down ethyl alcohol. It will probably be a long time before Valma or I get over the spectacular scenery around Seattle. Looking out through the large windows at the restaurant the hills climbed to mountains and the river or inlet from the sea ran up a deep valley towards them. In various places bridges ran over the valley, some so high that a skyscraper could have passed under them, The closest bridge to us was low enough that it split in the middle and had to be raised for boats to get through, Buz told us of the occasion on which a fisherman had earned the gratitude of the crowd coming home from the football. Rather than force the bridge to be raised, causing an even larger traffic ]am than already existed, he climbed the mast of his boat and sawed the top off it so that he could pass under. They told us about Alaska, Buz used to be an electronics engineer (I hope I've got that right) and had spent a lot of time there setting up radar networks (or something similar). The place sounded fascinating but not altogether the sort of place I'd want to live. Apparently they agreed and in part that's the reason Bum is now writing for a living. The conversation turned to writing and then turned again to fandom. Once again I was reminded that the history of American fandom runs back unbroken to the very beginning. If I were very liberal minded I might say the same about the history of fandom in Australia but usually don't, Talking to people like the Busby's I realised that despite the masses of fanzines which have been published the continuity of fandom is carried on orally. When we arrived back at their home there were still a couple of hours left before we had to catch our plane to San Francisco. They brought out their photo albums and we looked through the pictures at the faces of BNF's still around and long forgotten, except by their contemporaries, Alone the faces would not have meant much but with each photo there was a story of some long ago convention or event. At moments like this when I'm writing and remembering, I wish I'd made more notes on some of the stories Buz and Elinor told, Most of them have gone from my memory, They would make enjoyable reading but really I'm satisfied to remember the feeling of sitting around the photo albums just listening, the two hours spent then probably taught me more about fandom than I might have learned in years of just reading about it. Buz looked at his watch and announced that it was time we left, if not fifteen minutes earlier. On the way to the airport we ran into a slight traffic jam but we made up the time on the freeway and arrived. with thirty minutes to spare (which we squandered by getting lost in the bowels of the terminal), Buz helped us with our luggage and as we said goodbye he said that they hadn't been looking forward to having guests when we arrived but they were honestly glad to have had us at their place. He could not have made us feel happier or more honoured. 71