The fog began to move seaward and we were able to see the whole length of San Juan Island, all the way down to the bluffs above Cattle Point. To the south, the Olympic Mountains began to peek out from behind the fog. It was going to be a hot, sunny day on the Olympic Peninsula, a great day for hiking deep into those valleys. On days like this,the marine layer blankets the lowland forest keeping you cool as you hike higher into alpine meadows where the sky is clear and the air is warm and dry, but because of the elevation, you’re not too hot. I was fortunate to go on such a trip earlier this summer with my good friend Gregory Reinemer. We did a three day backpacking trip into Royal Basin on the northeast corner of the peninsula. Now I was on the opposite side of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, journeying through this inland sea in a kayak, looking back at the mountain range and its rugged, snow capped peaks. I love the Pacific Northwest.
The fog continued to lift, and once we could see Lopez Island on the other side of the pass, we launched the kayaks and paddled offshore to get into the main flow of the channel. It was right after noon and the currents were increasing. We could feel the water grab hold of the boats as we wheeled around the point and headed northward into the pass. Large, swirling eddies a hundred feet across bubbled and churned as the water flowed between San Juan Island to the west and Lopez Island to the east. We navigated around these twisting currents, aiming for the northward jets and avoiding the southward ones. We readied ourselves for the rollercoaster ride that lay ahead and the steep waves that would carry us into Griffin Bay. But they never materialized. The current was certainly fast enough – according to the GPS we were traveling at well over six miles an hour – but the flow was smooth, what the scientists call “laminar”. It was more like being in a broad, rain-swollen river than a rapid-filled mountain stream. I turned back to look at Giovannina and her expression said, “You were worried about this?”
After about thirty minutes, we spotted Tim and Angela in the distance, entering the beach from a small trail in the forest. At the sight of her parents, Giovannina began paddling hard and hooted and hollered. They waved their arms overhead and her dad hooted back. We pulled up to meet them right around 1:00 pm, a long paddle behind us but still a lot of daylight ahead. We had gone almost eighteen miles (17.64 miles to be exact) and were eager to share our stories with loved ones.
We landed the boats, exchanged warm, but tentative, Covid-era hugs (with masks on). We loaded our gear into the car and then strapped the kayaks to the roof rack. We would spend the next few days with Tim and Angela at a lovely little apartment in the heart of Friday Harbor. I was excited to be in Friday Harbor and soak up the energy of a bustling little town. It’s a totally different kind of high than you get from being in nature, but it’s enriching just the same. I also knew we had plenty to do over the next few days. There was gear to be cleaned and repaired, groceries to be shopped for, and a whole pile of emails we had to respond to. Ironically, our “down days” in town were always busier and more stressful than our days paddling. But still, hot showers, restaurant food and cold beers awaited us and that put a smile on my face.