Sailing the San Juans 2026, Part 2 of 4

Monday, July 13

I awoke suddenly from a restful sleep in the early morning, about 0530 if I had to guess from wan light coming through the ceiling hatch. As I lay diagonally in the rack, the only way my long frame fits comfortably, insistent trills of Spotted Towhees punctuated the quiet. Something felt unusual but I couldn’t place it at first. Then I realized, as a kingfisher started rattling and drowning out the towhees scratching for food on the island, that my clothes were sticking to my body. Glancing upward, dew covered the ceiling hatch, the cool morning air dropping on me decidedly damp. I had not experienced humidity like this in a long time.

Morning in Echo Bay: Lenticular Clouds over Mt. Constitution, Orcas Island

After coffee and a bite of breakfast, Jon took us ashore on Sucia, a marine park, to walk one of the legs of the horseshoe-shaped island, a different hike than we made last year. As a Great Blue Heron fished stealthily nearby, we jumped out of the dinghy in shallow water and waded in, carefully avoiding the many red rock crabs and a few Dungeness scuttling along the bottom. A flash of orange color caught our eyes in the ankle-deep water, a Leather Sea Star. I have seen many different kinds of sea stars along the coast, but this 5-armed star with orange spots on a cream body was a first for me.

My First-Ever Leather Star

Beach Lined with Chest-High Hawkweeds

Madrones, missing from Central Oregon, are trees we see rarely. They are impossible to miss here, their trunks gleaming in the low angle of the morning light. We all goggled at the cinnamon-colored outer bark that exposes green inner bark as it peels and not one of us could resist running our hands over the bark so smooth that it might have been sanded with 600-grit paper. Its unique rhododendron-like leathery leaves littered the trail that verged on overgrown in places.

We Were Fascinated by Madrone Bark

The woods here are so different from Central Oregon, a blend of trees that surely must be a signature of this part of the world—in addition to the madrones, towering conifers mixed with hardwoods. In the shade of these trees, two other plants caught my eye. I recognized one as a maple with extra-serrated leaves and one as an orchid, but I could name neither. By the end of the trip, Douglas' Maple and Elegant Rein Orchid had found permanent places in my mental Rolodex.

Douglas' Maple

Elegant Rein Orchid

Out on the sandstone cliffs, another plant brought me back instantly to the Badlands of South Dakota, where a casual brush against a yellow-flowered gumweed coated my hands in resin that took days to wear away. Curlycup Gumweed grows here as well.

Curlycup Gumweed Along the Sandstone

Broadleaf Stonecrop, Another Sandstone Specialist

Pocked and Honeycombed Chuckanut Sandstone

Echo Bay Through Douglas Fir and Sandstone

As we hiked, I found myself at times trailing the others as I took in what makes this place special, etching these things into my memory.

Salal Berries Starting to Ripen

White-crowned Sparrow Sharing a Perch with...

... An Olive-sided Flycatcher, Strange Tree-mates

A Constant Ruckus Alerted Us to
Adult Crow Trying to Coax Baby Crow into First Flight
The Baby Did Not Fly While We Watched

Motoring back to the boat, I realized—for the first time—that compared to last visit to Sucia, I took few photos. Last trip, I worked diligently to record everything I saw. This trip, I was happy to be a spectator and let my memories suffice. I have vivid memories of the baby seals hauled out on the sandstone, river otters wrestling, and guillemots feeding babies in the cliffs, but no photographs.

Soon after, we set out in the direction of San Juan Island and Roche Harbor. I thought we were aiming for Roche, but Jon kept going into Westcott Bay. I was excited to visit a new and unexpected place in the San Juans, especially one that I have heard of as a great producer of shellfish.

We Passed the Two-Masted S/V Carlyn, a Training Yawl
Northwind is a Sloop, with Mainsail and Jib (Genoa)
Carlyn Adds a Mizzen and Staysail

En Route, Jette Served a Delightful Shrimp Louie

As we dropped anchor, Westcott Bay introduced itself with dozens of pairs of round black eyes watching us—curious Harbor Seals, some with pups. So populous are the seals here that although we were all keeping an eye out for debris in the water—the San Juans are rife with logs—all of us dismissed one log as a seal until we were right on top of it.

Nonchalant Harbor Seal

Soon after anchoring and knowing our fondness for oysters, Jon took me and Ann to the Westcott Bay Shellfish dock, piled with the empty cages in which they grow their oysters. Ashore, scores of tourists milled about taking photos or getting in line to dine at the seasonal restaurant. At an outdoor stand, I bought three dozen to share with everyone and when I found out they also grow clams, a bag of clams as well.

Westcott Bay Shellfish

We Took Geni Ashore at English Town British Troops Were Garrisoned Here

What Remains of the British Garrison Both Britain and America Claimed San Juan Island in the 1850s Awarded to the US after the Civil War

Just about Happy Hour, it was time to shuck the oysters. Even though Jette has an oyster knife always aboard, I brought mine along like I did last year. Mine is nothing fancy, but it is a knife I have had for decades and I use it with a familiarity born of shucking tons of oysters for the restaurant. At the restaurant, shucking oysters was work, a bit of kitchen drudgery. As I sat on the transom, the rhythm became hypnotic: pop the hinge, wipe the blade, lift the shell, free the oyster, toss the top shell back into the ocean. Before I knew it, all 36 were open. I could have shucked many dozen more in that trancelike state.

At long last, I tasted one. It may have been the ultimate oyster, small with the perfect balance of brine and sweetness. The sun, the water, the sailing, the friends, the eagle flying over, and a glass of Grand Cru Champagne might have influenced this impression. Of the uncountable number I have eaten in my life, this is the one that I expect to remember.

When I climbed up off the transom into the cockpit, I could see Jette working below, rolling sheets of freshly made pasta, then cutting and hanging strands of fresh tagliatelle to dry down in the galley, answering my unasked question of what dinner might be. After oysters and Champagne up top, we all gathered at the table in the salon to feast on tagliatelle with lemon cream, prawns, and the clams we brought back.

Kudos to Jette for Making Fresh Tagliatelle

Tagliatelle, Prawns, Clams, Lemon Cream

After dinner, Jette pulled out her guitar and entertained us until well after dark, topside in the cockpit, playing mostly her own original songs. As she sang, the final hints of sunlit clouds reflected in the now mirror-like surface of the bay, the horizon doubled on the water. In the last glimmer of light, a shape slid silently across the surface, black on black.

Sailing the San Juans 2026, Part 1 of 4

Prologue

The wind finally arrived.

From the stern, I watched an ominous fog bank creep nearer and nearer as we sailed into it. A gust slammed into my shoulder from starboard. The sleek boat answered instantly, laying farther onto her port rail and accelerating as if someone had pressed a non-existent throttle. We were quickly skimming the choppy surface of the water on a beam reach, the wind at ninety degrees to the direction of travel billowing the sails.

I'd spent four days waiting for this wind that formed white caps all around us, visible evidence of the constant 20-25 knot wind that limited the amount of sail we could unfurl. I took in the leaden skies, choppy water, and wind whistling through the rigging thinking, this is why I love to sail.

Not everyone enjoys this, I realized quickly thereafter as Michelle reappeared from below, looking ashen and not her chipper self. The south wind was fighting the north current and churning the water, bouncing the hull this way and that. These conditions that I love were taking a toll on her.

Saturday, July 11

Ann said it best last night, "It does not feel like we are going on vacation. It feels like we are going to spend time with friends." I agreed. It felt both familiar and good to return to Bellingham and the Northwind, sailing the San Juan Islands once again with Jon and Jette. This time, we would be joined by Andreas and Michelle—visiting friends with friends.

Over the past few months, cutting out cell phone use has helped me sleep better, through the night. I feel much more rested. Uncharacteristically, I awoke at 0437 and had trouble falling back asleep. As I worked through it, I realized I was excited for the trip and was itching to go.

Driving north on US 97, it seemed a normal July day, sunny and promising to be fairly hot, heat that we hoped to escape on the waters of the Salish Sea. Each Cascade peak that we passed seemed barer than the last, almost all of the snow melted after last winter's dearth of snow pack, the driest summer that I can recall.

Despite the tinder box conditions, crops were in full swing. In Jefferson County which produces the vast majority of carrot seeds for the entire country, fields of carrots lined the highway, their white blooms swaying in the breeze. Harvest of the carrot seeds will come in September, but is already underway for alfalfa and wheat. The air smelled vaguely of peas as we passed mowers cutting alfalfa, but there was no discernable smell in Grass Valley as the combines filled grain trucks with winter wheat, bound for the storage piles in Wasco.

Yakima makes a great halfway stopping point for a bite to eat and a bathroom break. Last year, we found a gem in the El Mero Mero Camaronero food truck at Bale Breaker Brewing. We were surprised by the excellent quality of the food truck's beef and shrimp tacos, not to mention the unusual but delicious combination of proteins. Fortunately, their one day a week at the brewery coincided with our visit again. The tacos did not disappoint as we ate them on the patio of the brewery built among Yakima's famous hop fields.

Beef and Shrimp Tacos at Bale Breaker Brewing

In Bellingham, after checking in to our hotel, tired from battling nose-to-tail Seattle-area traffic, we decided to head downtown for dinner to relax over a beer. I really like discovering new cities with Ann, just the two of us, to take in the town at our own speed, almost always on foot at walking pace. We usually shy away from the "must-do" places and restaurants to discover places and things that resonate with us. In walking downtown Bellingham, we discovered Juxt Taphouse this year, unplanned, where we had an unexpectedly good meal at the bar while watching the Argentina-Switzerland quarterfinal World Cup Game.

Watching Argentina Defeat Switzerland at Juxt

Sunday, July 12

Morning coffee is a priority and last year while walking, we discovered delicious pastries and coffee at Camber, so good that it was our sole must-do this year. We arrived at Camber to a long line out the door, many people caffeinating before attending the Pride Bellingham parade. All of downtown was a frenzy of people, many in rainbow garb. We felt fortune shining on us unplanned; watching the parade would be an entertaining diversion as we waited to board the boat.

Camber: a Must-Visit in Bellingham

Ready for Bellingham Pride

After our excellent coffee and a necessary side trip to a pharmacy, we could not find parking to watch the parade, so busy was downtown. Reluctantly, we headed away from the crowds toward Squalicum Harbor to find a light lunch before boarding at 1345. In passing, I spied a brewpub out of the corner of my eye, down on one of the piers. It looked like a nice place to while away time, so I made a U-turn. We had stumbled serendipitously onto Beach Cat Brewing right on the pier off of C Street. We had a couple of well-crafted brews, a bite to eat, and took in the sights on a gloriously sunny early afternoon.

Beach Cat Brewing: An Unexpected Pierside Find

We arrived at the harbor not two minutes after leaving the brewpub. Stepping off the firm dock onto the gently moving boat, I realized that I would have to mind my feet and my balance as the surface shifted slightly beneath me. Like hiking a rocky trail, the rocking boat deck has trip hazards that require attention to handholds and foot placement.

Greeting Geni Once Again

After unpacking, I settled into the cockpit with the others while Jon and Jette maneuvered us away from the pier. I put my phone in airplane mode, now officially on vacation and surrendering to the white noise of sailing—the waves on the hull and the wind in the sails and rigging. Outside the flatwater of the breakwaters, the swell picked up gently, a motion that I find soothing. Not soon enough for me, Jon killed the engine and set sails. As relaxing as I find walking and hiking, surrendering to the moment and going with the will of the wind and sea is even more relaxing.

Leaving Squalicum Harbor

North of Lummi Island, we turned west while the mainland became fainter and fainter behind us. The retreat was barely noticeable from one glance to the next, but after watching the sea for a few minutes, I would look back to find Mount Baker smaller than before. Even the towers of metro Vancouver lingered on the northern horizon longer than seemed possible before they, too, gradually dissolved into distance.

Giant Canadian Flag on Grouse Mountain; Towers of Metro Vancouver

In the midst of my zoning out and taking in everything around us—sea lions on the buoy, guillemots diving for fish, porpoises surfacing—Jette appeared with a tray of crab canapés, our signal to open a bottle of wine and relax further. The signs were all there for a great trip: sunny and mild weather, gentle seas, good friends, delicious eats, and great wine.

Three Cormorants and a Gull on a Nest

Jette Drew a Doodle of our Trip Last Summer

I had no expectations of where we might visit on this trip, knowing that Jon would steer for the anchorages that seemed best to him. It surprised me a bit in overhearing Jon and Andreas talking about the maybes in our trip. Last year, our itinerary seemed more fixed. This year, I really enjoyed the not knowing where we might end up.

The afternoon wore on with the Sucia Islands gradually resolving out of the horizon, becoming clearer bit by bit. This was not the view we had last year when we approached from the west, the Vancouver Island side, to anchor in Shallow Bay. The main island in the group is a horseshoe that opens to the east, As we slid between the sides of the horseshoe, a much bigger anchorage, Echo Bay, crept into view, complete with about forty other boats.

Harbor Mate: 1914 Wooden Boat "Glorybe"

As we looked on, Jon deftly maneuvered the boat to the back of the bay in a small inlet tucked up against the island, whose cinnamon-trunked madrones rose above blond sculpted honeycomb-like sandstone rock formations, both glowing in the early evening light. Once the engine shut off after backing down on the anchor, silence took over.

Another Jette Ritual: The Anchor Dance

Sucia Demands Photographs

Nearing dusk, a biplane broke that silence, buzzing the bay, impressively looping and rolling barnstormer-style, while the final boat of the evening made its way slowly into the anchorage. Jon sighed audibly. Even from a long distance away, the bridge structure of a Coast Guard 87 was unmistakable. As it neared, I could read that it was the Sea Lion, the same 87 we saw on patrol last year. The peaceful stillness of the flat waters of the bay now had a background thrum of its twin diesels. Jon explained his sigh—they have a reputation for running a loud generator all night and staying lit up like a Christmas tree. I watched them tie off to their reserved buoy and then go dark quickly thereafter. They were good neighbors, remaining dark and quiet through the night, leaving first thing the following morning.

Good Neighbors: USCGC Sea Lion

After a delightful meal of halibut, I climbed the ladder to the cockpit to take in the cool night air and the quiet of the anchorage. As the sky drifted from the final throes of pink and orange into black, I headed for a restful night's sleep.

Delicious Eats: Halibut, Orzo, and Asparagus