San Juan Circle

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San Juan Circle

10/25/07 - 10/28/07

I didn't get on the water until 1:30 in the afternoon. Traffic through Seattle had been a mess and instead of pushing off the beach at Washington Park at noon, as planned, I wasn't going to be able to ride the current running through Rosario Strait for as long as I'd hoped. It would shorten the first day's mileage, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

My plan was to circumnavigate the San Juan Islands, an overall distance of about 70 miles, in the next three days. Or four. Or even five, if the weather was uncooperative. I had planned on riding the incoming tide from Anacortes north to Sucia Island this first day, a distance of about 25 miles.

The weather was sunny and easy, and the forecast called for the situation to get even better over the next few days. I packed the kayak and got underway, sidling west until I caught the main current stream that carried me north past Cypress Island and tiny Strawberry Island. I wanted to stop on Strawberry (there's a bottle of wine stashed there that I was interested in harvesting), but because I was already behind schedule, I kept going.

Visibility was excellent and I took a bead on Discovery Point, on the southeastern corner of Orcas Island, when I was still mid-channel, seven or eight miles away. The current had peaked, but it still gave some assistance and I rounded Orcas and made landfall on Clark Island after just over three hours of paddling. 13 miles would be it for that first day; I set up camp and started chopping kindling as the sun began to set. A luscious full moon was rising and bathing Mt. Baker in white light as I watched the stars come out.

The night was cold and the ground was soaked with a heavy dew when I got up the next morning at about six. I broke camp and got on the water just after sun-up, setting a course through the northern tier of the San Juans: Matia, Sucia, and ending up on Patos Island, at the northerly tip of the archipelago. The water was glass and I traveled with the current once more which, although not real strong, still gave me a bit of an edge.

I got to Patos at 11 in the morning, just as the current changed directions. The tables called for a vigorous flood, which meant that it wouldn't make sense for me to leave Patos at that point, and I decided to call it a day at lunch time, figuring I'd spend a little time exploring the island on foot. I'd catch the ebb in the early morning hours which would be a much better scenario than trying to fight against the power of the tides.

From Patos Island to Stuart Island is an open-water distance of about ten miles and the currents that flow through the surrounding area are among some of the strongest in the San Juans. I got ready to go early the next morning and was on the water by six, just as the tide turned and the current became favorable. There was no way I was going to be finished with the trip today, but I had gone as far north as I planned to go at this point, and every mile that was made from this point on was taking me closer to the finish, not farther away. The water again was calm and flat, and the sunrise was one of the most brilliant and beautiful that I'd ever witnessed. I was about two miles west of Waldron Island when the first rays hit me and I could feel the temperature begin to rise almost immediately.

I cut through a few of the passages that split the waters around Stuart Island, passed Speiden Island and crossed Speiden Channel, paddling into the resort community of Roche Harbor in time for an early lunch. I ate quickly, since there were still a couple more hours of favorable current out in Haro Strait and I wanted to make it to San Juan County Park before the tide turned once more.

I got to the park at 1pm and unpacked a few things, but I didn't really set up camp. My current plan called for me to stay here for about ten hours or so, then ride the back half of the ebb down to the bottom of Lopez in time to catch the morning flood up Rosario Strait and back to my starting spot. I claimed a corner of a picnic shelter that overlooked the waters of Haro Strait and the lights of Vancouver Island off in the distance.

I slept a little, not nearly enough, and was packed and on the water again just after midnight. The current wasn't as strong as I had figured it would be and consequently, my paddle down the outside coast of San Juan Island took longer than I had expected. In fact, the tide had already turned by the time I got to Cattle Pass, the narrow opening that separates San Juan and Lopez Islands.

I was at least a mile off shore, but in a matter of a few short minutes, I was swept into the confused jumble of rips and eddies that typify Cattle Pass at flood. Multiple hard eddy lines and hundreds of disorienting whirlpools make this area a challenge at any time, but when you can't see what's coming, it gets even more puckery. I could hear the throaty rumbles of sea lions on the rocks in mid-channel and I hoped they weren't too curious about me, but in over the course of a few seconds, I had other, more pressing concerns.

I was being swept into the mouth of the pass at a high rate of speed (current was running at over five knots), and if I got pushed into Griffin Bay instead of making it past the channel mouth, it would make it more difficult to finish the trip that day as I still hoped to do. I paddled hard toward shore, watching the shore zip by in the night as I continued to be pulled northward. I passed through huge wave trains that I couldn't see coming; I could hear the sound of the rushing water, but the light was poor and made for an interesting white-knuckle ride.

I landed on the last beach before the entrance to the pass. It was 5am and I was exhausted. I pulled my sleeping bag out of the hatch and curled up just above the high tide line as the sky began to get light.

Back on the water at about 10am, although I wouldn't say I was rested, I still felt better than I had earlier that morning. I cut through the bay at the bottom of Lopez Island, rounded Iceberg Point and paddled past the rocky cliffs and islets that make up the area, one of the least kayaked spots in the San Juans. At about 2pm, after a break on a beach near the entrance to Rosario Strait, the current switched directions again and I got ready to make my last crossing, a 5-mile push up the strait toward Washington Park. There was significant boat traffic in the strait: tugs and barges, fishing and pleasure craft, as well as a huge tanker heading south. The smallest thing on the water, I kept both eyes peeled and negotiated a safe crossing that got me back to my start point at exactly 4pm. Done.

Except for the drive back home.