We wanted to be on the water by 10am August 2nd. That was low tide and I guess we wanted to haul all our gear as far as possible to load our boats. The crossing to Blake Island, our first destination is only about ninety minutes. The weather forecast was excellent all day. We could have waited longer to launch but after a month of preparation we wanted to start paddling. So Giovannina’s folks picked us up at 8:45 for the drive to Lowman Beach and we aimed to be on the water by 10am.
Unbeknownst to me, about a dozen of our friends were going to be there for our send off. When they all showed up, I was speechless, kind of choked up. I felt like a buffoon as these people I love so much offered us words of encouragement, helped us carry gear and even brought us food for the occasion. I had been thinking about this trip as a solo affair; just Giovannina and I making our way from West Seattle to the San Juan Islands. I was naive. As has been true of so much of our life, there were others there as well to lend a hand, to look out for us, and support us in our crazy adventures.
After wrestling to fit a mountain of gear into our kayaks and then all of the socially distanced hugs, kisses and well wishes we were on the water by 10:30 am. The weather was ideal – about 75F, no wind – and no freighter traffic. It was an easy crossing to Blake Island, though we did feel that current pushing north out of Colvos Passage. Ive heard it referred to as a “perma-current” because regardless of the tide it always flows northward. You can see it deflect our track in the image above. But it was more a curiosity than a nuisance and after a short lunch break, consisting of leftover salad rolls, we were at our campsite by 1pm.
The great thing about Blake Island is its close proximity to Seattle. The awful thing about Blake Island is its close proximity to Seattle. The place was a zoo. About fifty motorboats and sailboats, ranging from ten foot little put-puts, to fifty foot cabin cruisers, crammed in the small cove on the island’s west side, and about two hundred people were milling around the campsites, the beach and playing in the water. Amazingly, we spotted a threatened Marbled Murrelet, as we paddled to the beach. Trying to forage and thrive amongst this press of humanity, it’s no wonder these birds are at risk of extinction.
The campsite was fine. We opted to pay more for a site with some shade and trees to hang our hammock from. The campers on either side of us were pleasant enough, mostly keeping to themselves. Being a Sunday, the crowds dissipated with a darkening western sky, and by sunset there were only a handful groups left. We had been warned about the fearless raccoons and so were relieved to find metal lock boxes to store our food. And we did see more than one raccoon just wandering up and down the trail, checking out the day’s pickings. They didn’t seem intimidated by us in the least. Each had an imperious air, almost like a kitchen manager coming to check on his cooks to make sure the meals were on schedule and had the proper garnish.
Thankfully we slept well that first night in preparation for a longer paddle the next day to Fay Bainbridge Park.