I slept awfully well, as I always seem to do when rocked to sleep aboard Rowan, only waking up a couple of times in the night as rain squalls passed through. But the new Rocna really seems to be an excellent anchor, and it didn't seem to budge an inch despite a couple of tide changes and those squalls. It was quiet and peaceful when I woke up for reals in the morning, though very grey, with a promise of more rain any time now.
So I just put on my drysuit and my neoprene cap first thing while I stowed my kit and got breakfast under way. Who doesn't like a little rain in their morning coffee, anyways?
And the skies which had started gray, simply got grayer, and rain spitted down for hours, endlessly. But they did bring along with them an unexpected easterly, which swept me along in a one-reef beam-reach down Saratoga Passage nearly three-quarters of the length of Camano Island by lunchtime. I'll take a little rain in exchange for a bonus beam-reach instead of the expected all-day headwind. It's a bargain!
I didn't love the fog all that much, though. I came ashore at Camano State Park to use the shore facilities and eat some lunch under a less sodden shelter. A few fisherman looked at me with the usual astonishment when they found out I had come all that way without even bringing a fishing rod. Why on earth would I be out in that weather if I wasn't even going to fish? Crazy gringo.
By mid-afternoon, the fog and the rain blew away, and I was able to take off my drysuit again. It took the wind with it too, though, so it was back to the oars, and I pulled across from Camano to the Whidbey side to look for my next anchorage. Much of the soil of Whidbey Island is composed of a fairly loose glacial till, and it's not particularly stable. You'll see disturbances in the growth of the trees on the hillsides now and then and occasionally something even bigger. I'm not sure how recent this slide was, but it looks fairly recent at least.
Well, there was really nothing for it, but to just pull a couple of miles more to reach the town of Langley for the night. Milepoint 53.4 Of course I left the campstove in its bag this night and walked up the hill to Mo's Pub and eatery for a pint and fish'n'chips. I put in my dues eating breakfast and lunch in the rain already. I don't have to rough it all the time.
Anchored just inshore of the mooring buoys, where it's too shallow for real boats to tread. Little boats do have some big advantages, you know.
Great bronze sculpture in Langley, just above the path that leads to the beach access. I love this sculpture. Support your public arts!
DAY THREE
The morning dawned absolutely glassy, and I just knew it was going to be a rowing day. I made an extra strong pot of coffee, put on my gloves, and got to work.
The Whidbey shore of Possession Sound has some lovely and wild sections of it. There's some delightful, shallow, sandy beaches all along the side for quite a while.
Utterly windless.
More unstable soil here. Uh-oh, this looks much more serious. Better row over closer and check it out.
Yikes! I dearly hope no one was home at the time. Plus, the neighbors can't be too happy either. "Get yer house outta my yard, dammit!"
And on and on we pull. Past the Whidbey-side landing of the Mukilteo-Clinton ferry. Neither the wind nor the tide are doing anything for me at all. On and on and on.
Finally out of Possession Sound and at the northern end of Puget Sound, I considered my options. If I had gotten any boost from the wind at all, I would have likely made it all the way south to Kingston where my brother lives. But that was going to be just too much of a slog, especially since down around the south tip of Whidbey my favorable tides were going to switch to the ebbs, not the floods. So instead I rowed over to a place on the mainland side I had seen from the window of my Amtrak train to Seattle called Norma Beach, where I thought I could get decent enough holding ground for my lil' boat. Plus it was time to take my medicine. Milepost 71.3
I never actually bothered to row to shore that night. I was comfortable enough right where I was. And I knew I needed to get started before dawn the next morning, to catch every bit as much of the ebb tide as I could. Now I almost always set my mizzen while tented up, as that way I can usually leave the back flaps mostly open for great ventilation, and as I settled down to sleep as darkness fell, I felt Rowan start to stream to a more southerly, or even a southeasterly breeze. "That'll be useful tomorrow, if it lasts," I thought.
DAY FOUR
Good Morning! Today we're off towards Mats Mats. But what's it look like inside that tent, you say? Why it's tremendously cozy and comfortable actually. I pile all my gear and drybags and such off to port, while I stretch out on the starboard side. The sidebenches make handy little shelves to sort and stack and re-organize as I go, and as stores get used up and new batches of clean laundry are employed. I did purposely make it look much messier and disorganized in this shot, of course, so it wouldn't seem too intimidating.
And the ol' JetBoil stove is a supremely convenient tool for the small boat camper. With the way the pot locks to the stove so that it can't slide off, the auto-igniter, and the super-efficient heat-exchanger built right in, you can whip up that pot of coffee in no time flat.
And the wind was still exactly where I wanted it. Seattle Traffic Control on the VHF reported no imminent commercial traffic coming down the pike, so I tucked in the first reef to be prudent, lashed my LED lantern to the mizzen mast, hauled anchor, and sailed out into the dark.
This was great! A broad reach, the tide behind me, and a straight line towards my destination, and all while most everybody else was still in bed. What a delight!
After the sky had lightened a bit and I felt secure enough to do so, I shook out that reef and carried on. Not another boat to be seen in any direction. I had all of north Puget Sound all to myself. And on a broad reach, at hullspeed, with every single inch of travel contributing to CMG to boot. The only thing that could have made this any better is if I spotted a whale or someth--Hah! There's a spout! And another! Grey whales for breakfast. What a fine morning, indeed!!!
It was too perfect. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Foulweather Bluff ahead. It's not named that for nothing, you know. The area where Hood Canal intersects the Sound is prone to all sorts of nasty weather and tidal current effects. Better be ready. . .
But nothing. I was on a beeline straight for the entrance to Mats Mats Bay. I'd already come further than I had after scrabbling all day long for it yesterday. I'd travelled 17.5 miles on a single tack before lunchtime. Remarkable. That's not what Puget Sound is really known for.
Look at these lazy chumps, lying around slug-a-bed all morning when they could have been doing something productive. Glad I was upwind of 'em, anyways.
The entrance to Mats Mats is awfully scenic, a mere slash in the cragged rocks, with a narrow, 90° bend in it so you can't even see there's a bay back there until you've gone down the channel. The way it looks, it reminds me of places much further north, somehow.
And to the public dock at the south end, where I hoped to meet up with Tim! Milepost 90.4
The tide had to go way, way out first, though. I had gotten here hours earlier than I had dreamed possible. But I had brought a book. And my camp chair. And more Guinness. No problems.
And eventually, look what the tide brought in! Hello, Tim. Hello, Haverchuck. Nice to see you both!
I had gotten to see this lovely vessel pretty much all along the way as she was being built, so it was awfully satisfying to see her afloat at last. And she's fantastic. An excellent boat! She and Rowan are probably going to be spending an awful lot of time together. . .and I'm okay with that.
DAY FIVE
Port Townsend Canal was our next gate, and as there was no chance of bucking the tide to get through until later, there was no need to get up at the crack of dawn this time. And Mats Mats is an awfully quiet and serene little hidey-hole of an anchorage. Easy to find an excuse to sleep in a bit.
But soon enough it was time to get out there and watch Haverchuck strut her stuff. Not much breeze yet, but enough for some good pics.
The canal is at the other end of Oak Bay there, night at the notch. There was barely enough wind to get there, and some unfavorable currents to boot, but mostly just enough wind to ghost along at about a mile an hour over the bottom. But then again, we had no particular reason to get there right away anyways, as there would be no bucking the current through the cut until it changed. A long, lazy, slow sail doesn't suck too bad when the weather is nice, as it was. I pretty much just wrapped the sheet around my big toe and had a nice nap.
Through the cut and under the bridge.
Indian Island is owned by the US Navy, and therefore is not all covered with condos and stuff. Nice! This is just to the north of the canal, opposite Hadlock.
That is a fine-looking boat!
Port Townsend is down at the end there, straight ahead, but it was much too early to go right there. We were a whole day ahead of our deadline. Plus, there were rumors that Eric might meet up with us, so we dodged in through the pass behind Rat Island into Kilisut Harbor for the run down to Mystery Bay.
Rat Island. That ain't driftwood.
Marrowstone Island in the background.
And sure enough, Eric Hvalsoe was there at Mystery Bay, having sailed down earlier. We sailed round for a bit until the wind died off, and then rowed to the Nordland General Store to replenish our supply of cold beer before returning to the beach at the State Park to make dinner on shore.
Anacortes to Port Townsend by Sail & Oar--the long way around
