The Elwha rumbles into docking position at Orcas Island, loaded to capacity with tourists, the lifeblood of the island’s economy. Stragglers on the upper deck watch seagulls play in the blustery seawind. A colorful kite shop displays its wares just up the hill from the Orcas Landing.

Many of the tourists are headed toward the village of Eastsound, which caters to the tourists’ needs by providing places to eat, sleep and ride rented motor scooters at $15 per hour.

They brought extra money with them, and they want to spend it. That’s one of the main reasons artist and sculptor Anthony Howe moved here 10 years ago—he wanted his art to be seen and, if possible, bought.

There’s no way to miss the sculptures. Made of stainless steel, copper and ball bearings, they hang from the trees by the Horseshoe Highway, the only road into Eastsound. Twisting and twirling, they wave their metal arms at the tourists like robot barkers at a carnival; they beckon the curious up Howe’s hilly driveway to the fabulous forest freak show.

At the top of the road is the field. Here, Howe strung thick suspension cables between Douglas fir trees and hung his art on his mettalic spider’s web. The ocean inlet that gives Orcas Island its horseshoe shape allows a steady breeze to flow up through Eastsound and Howe’s sculpture field. Some creak, others rotate slowly, silently, their shiny metal parts glistening in the sun.

One is like a spaceship, another is a jester’s cap with legs. Dizzying DNA strands made of metal; a whirling copper Sufi dancer with no body, only arms. In the corner a giant blue pod stands on stilts. Roll it on its stationary pedestal and listen to six superballs clunk around inside, hitting a mishmash of drumheads, guitar strings and metal. A strange instrument in an eerie forest orchestra, it sounds like heavy-metal fairies.

The kinetic constructions are the result of 10 years of work for Howe, now 43. Ten years of hard work, starting at 2 a.m. every day.

“I can’t sleep too long,” Howe says, sitting down in a metal garden chair of his own creation. “I get depressed if I sleep too much. Plus, I like what I do.”

Working in the small hours of the morning allows him to be alone with his thoughts without threat of distraction. It’s the time in the morning when there are no restraints on his concentration, he says.

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