It is a half-hour before dawn and somewhere in the covered boat slips at the entrance to the Foss Waterway there is incense burning. It comes on suddenly as I paddle past, completely enveloping the senses before it is gone, as quickly as it came. For me, this olfactory delight is as much a part of these Northwest mornings as is the rain. An invisible offering of sandalwood, courtesy of one of the shadowy boats tucked into the berths back there in the damp and dark, I don’t know which one. I’ve never looked to find out.