Saturday afternoon, and new Seattle was gathered at Ray's Boathouse to take in the sunset and raise a glass to this life in this place.

But just a few doors down at the Ballard Elks Club, old Seattle was raising a glass to the life of Irving "Doug" Logan, and how this place used to be. Charlie the barber was there. So was Johnny Adams, who runs a boat-insurance company. There were fishermen and marine surveyors and fuel-dock owners, buying drinks and making jokes. From time to time, a Foss tugboat would cut across the water. Logan — once a captain for Foss — would have loved this.

But what a life he lived before he died last month at 76. He taught himself to cook by poring over "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." He mined and logged for hardwoods in Costa Rica. He deep-sea-dived in a bell helmet. In 1971, his ship was lost in Alaska.

He skippered an icebreaker for Foss. He read tall stacks of books but told even taller stories of his own, like when he said he shot the left eye out of a crow on purpose. ("Another one of his bluff and bluster deals," remembered friend Norm Englund.)

"He was just an interesting man who would try anything," said longtime friend Mike Wollaston. "He never finished high school, but he was a genius."

For a long stretch he bought and sold surplus military ships. One of them was the boat used in the 1955 film "Mister Roberts." It had no fuel but had 422,000 pounds of lead ingots in its bottom. Logan sold them and paid for the boat.

There was the time a farmer had Logan build a pier, then refused to pay. Logan hitched a tugboat to the pier and yanked it out, then let all the farmer's minks loose.

And there was the time Logan and a business partner couldn't get anyone to inspect the welding on a ship they were selling to some Russians. Logan got a lab coat and business cards that said "specialist" to appeal to the Russians' decorous nature. He stamped the inspection papers with the cork from a sherry bottle and the deal was done.

"He was a poker player with human nature," said longtime friend Oddvar Ogland. "That's how he survived."

Logan bought his signature white fisherman's hats — the "Ballard Stetson" — in bulk, since he tossed them as soon as they got dirty. Same with white cotton shirts from the Philippines. Someone recently saw them in a Land's End catalog with some fancy name. Logan would have loved that.

So how could a man who lived so many lives be finally felled?

"Tobacco and good food and he loved to chase women," Ogland said. "All the good things in life that will kill you."

At the time of his death, Logan was living in a former tuna boat that he had converted into a houseboat called "Reality." No one knows its fate. For now it's just good to know it's there, even though Logan isn't.

"There may have been some who didn't like him," said Lars Matthiesen. "But I didn't know any of them, and I only knew Logan for 25 years."

Nicole Brodeur's column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday.

Reach her at 206-464-2334 or nbrodeur@seattletimes.com.

Bagpipes always get to her.