I first sailed through Washington’s San Juan Islands in 1973, when I was 13 years old. To put that in historical perspective, in 1973 Nixon was in the White House, a gallon of gasoline set you back all of 38 cents, and most of us kids in the Greater Seattle area were still trying to figure out why our beloved Seattle Pilots had decided to become the Milwaukee Brewers. Trust me, if you weren’t there, you can only imagine the pre-teen angst most of us went through, still oblivious to the financial realities of the world.
Fortunately for me, I had a diversion. Dad had built a Piver-designed 31-foot plywood trimaran in the backyard of our suburban Seattle home, and as soon as it was done (or more accurately, “done enough”) we started spending weekends and vacations sailing on Puget Sound.
The place that Mom and Dad most wanted to take us, though, was the San Juans. So when Pop was able to take a couple weeks away from his project manager gig at Boeing, we were off.
We left our home marina in Des Moines and headed north. After an overnight stop in Port Ludlow (ironically now my home), our first stop in the islands was at Massacre Bay in West Sound, Orcas Island. That beautiful anchorage was followed by Stuart Island, Deer Harbor, Westcott Bay, and other coves and bays too numerous for my 66-year-old brain to recall. What I do remember was being absolutely taken aback by the beauty and serenity of this incredible archipelago.
I never miss an opportunity to return to these islands, so when some friends recently suggested that we cruise the San Juans aboard Legacy, our Catalina 36, I didn’t need much convincing. Jeff and Jessica had never visited the islands via private boat, and it had been a couple years since my Ever-Patient WifeTM and I had sailed in those waters. So after a few discussions on dates, not to mention transferring more than a few provisioning dollars into the local economy, we cast off from Port Ludlow Marina, turned left at Admiralty Inlet, and headed north for our planned first night’s anchorage, Spencer Spit on Lopez Island. But as John Lennon once sang, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
Somewhere partway up Rosario Strait, my wife came topside and announced that, while everything else intended for the galley had been packed, the entire coffee supply was sitting on the kitchen counter back in Port Ludlow. After considering options that may or may not have included keelhauling, we decided that our best bet was to make for Blind Bay on Shaw Island where, in addition to being one of the best anchorages in the islands, the Shaw Island General Store had a healthy supply of provisions, including the aforementioned and egregiously absent java.
Truth be told, Blind Bay is one of my favorite anchorages. There’s more than enough room to spread out, the holding is outstanding, and the sunrises and sunsets remind us why we throw so many boat bucks into these beautiful, floating money pits.
The next day, following a morning cup of that hard-won coffee, it was time to work our way up to our next anchorage, Shallow Bay on Sucia Island. Sucia is a place that seems stuck in time. It’s virtually the same as I remember it from that first cruise back in ‘73, with the exception of a few more boats, of course. Getting into Shallow Bay can be tough due to its limited space, but for whatever reason, this year we didn’t run into the usual crowds. Anchorages weren’t choked with boats. Marinas were lively but not crazy-busy. Stretches of waterways had traffic, but considerably less than we’ve seen in recent years. Whether it was due to the current state of fuel costs or simply dumb luck, it felt more like the cruises we took when I was still a few years shy of being able to get a driver’s license.
Even places that have changed a lot (Roche Harbor, I’m looking at you) there was still a strange but comforting sense of yesteryear. Roche may be several times larger than it was when we steamed in there in my youth, but there’s still enough that hasn’t changed to give that lovely little hamlet a sense of…I don’t know… Tradition? Continuity? Service? Or maybe it was just the Vesper Martini I enjoyed for happy hour at McMillin’s on our second night there.
Whatever the reason, the islands felt like they did years and years ago. For me, there wasn’t a better example of this time-freeze than when we pulled into Reid Harbor on Stuart Island. I hadn’t sailed into that anchorage since both my parents were still around. And yet, I could still pick out the exact spot where we had anchored all those years ago. This time, we worked our way up reasonably close to the state park dock, picked up a mooring buoy, and enjoyed what is certainly one of the best anchorages in all the islands.
The following morning, someone in the crew decided it would be a good idea to go to shore and hike the trail out to the Turn Point lighthouse. The last time I’d made that 7.5 mile round-trip hike was 15 years ago when we’d chartered a 52-foot Jeanneau and anchored over in Prevost Harbor. Those additional years of mileage on these legs of mine… talk about something that has changed over the years. Nevertheless, we made the full trek, which did wonders for the refreshing quality of the beers waiting for us on board Legacy when we made it back to her.
Eventually, the requirements of adulthood forced us to head back home to Port Ludlow. After bucking a flood tide in Cattle Pass and some lovely beam seas in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, we headed south down Admiralty Inlet and made Ludlow by 4:30 p.m. Just enough time to raise one last cold beverage to each other and a wonderful trip in the cockpit before buttoning up the boat and heading to our respective homes.
I was melancholy that the cruise was over, but grateful that we’d made it to my favorite cruising grounds once again, and especially that we’d shared the islands with Jeff and Jessica, seeing everything through their fresh perspective. Basically, it was nice to visit those old friends of the islands with two newer friends (new by comparison, anyway).
I guess the poet was right: “With old friends, every meeting feels like no time has passed.”
Eric Rouzee has sailed Puget Sound, the Gulf Islands, the west and east coasts, Mexico and the Caribbean (and probably a few other places he’s forgotten about). He lives in Port Ludlow, Washington with his Ever-Patient Wife™ and a group of friends who take over the local winery once a week.
