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| Bowman Bay Pier |
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| Bowman Bay |
Pulling into the Bowman Bay campground after dark with the
light of the full moon streaming through the trees, we discovered that
Deception Pass had been appropriately named: on the Washington State Parks
reservations website, our campsite had been portrayed as secluded, nestled
among the bushes and trees-a great distance from any neighbors. In reality, our
tent site was exposed and crowded beside similar sites, each occupied by a
hulking motorhome, their windows shedding baleful light that overwhelmed the
comforting moon glow. So tired were we from our 5 hour drive (which included
the rigors of the Puget Sound rush hour), that we barely grumbled about our
surroundings, and collapsed quickly into our sleeping bags.
Dawn brought with it a new world, one filled with the song
of a thousand birds; the cries of gulls, geese, and oyster catchers mingled with
that of forest dwelling wrens, robins and nuthatches. I rose early to catch the
sunrise, which glowed a faint orange before being swallowed by fog. The peace
lasted until precisely 8 AM, when our neighbors started up their generator, and
its hellish humming shattered the still air. We fled to the nearest hiking
trail, heading out of camp to Rosario Head, described in multiple guidebooks as
one of the best trails in the park. |
| A cloudy day at Rosario Head |
We quickly ascended
above cliffs overlooking Bowman bay. The trail winds through open forest, the
trees distorted by the elements into fantastic shapes. Though the chill air
still had the snap of winter, the carpets of new ferns, with jeweled accents of
bright flowers belied the arrival of spring. There were orchids, Oregon Grape,
and in more open areas Camas, and even Glacier Lilies. Rosario Head itself was
spectacular, with views encompassing Puget Sound, the San Juan Islands, and
British Columbia. It is also extremely popular, and even at this early hour of
the day, the small, meadow topped headland overlooking the tide pools was
swarming with visitors, including a folk musician recording a music video!
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| Glacier Lillies |
When we returned,
with some reticence, to the campground, we were blessed by a miracle: the group
occupying the most attractive and secluded campsite had canceled their
reservation for the following night. We
swooped in to occupy the abandoned site, which had views out across the bay to
the Olympics, direct access to the beach, and was set away from the other
campers. We were tempted to linger there, in what now seemed like luxury
accommodations, but there was too much we wanted to see. Deception Pass State Park has over 40 miles of
hiking trails leading to beaches, headlands, mountain-top meadows, and ancient
forests. The question was; what to do first?
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| Camas on Pass Island |
We set out for
Deception Pass itself, and nothing could have prepared us for the experience.
Pushing our way through the crowds swarming the walkways on both sides of the
bridge, we slowly crossed over to Pass Island, trying not to stare downwards at
the roaring ocean pouring like a monstrous river through the strait. Not being
very good with heights, we stood on jelly legs at the end of the bridge,
watching the reactions of the tourists to the astonishing height of the bridge.
Some clung in terror to the railings, walking fearfully ahead to the safety of
the island. Others leaned with bravado against the railing, taking selfies, and
laughing at the acrophobic crowds trembling as they passed.
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| Deception Pass |
With only a few steps into the woods at the south end of the
pass, we left the crowds and the dizzying drops behind as we climbed to the
bald, meadow capped top of Goose Rock. We napped in the spring heat on the sun-soaked
and glacier scarred slabs of granite that cap the hill. We were hoping to see
whales, since from Goose Rock from we had a spectacular view out over the
sound. Unfortunately no whales put in an
appearance during our time at Deception Pass, and we had to satisfy ourselves
with watching bald eagles instead. We could feel the weight of the passing
time, and headed off for our next destination.
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| Hoypus Hill Old Growth |
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| Fungi growing on a tree |
We were lured toward
Cornet Bay by the promise of the ancient forest that cloaks Hoypus Hill, which
is described so vividly in Footsore #4, part of a series of hiking
guides to the lowlands surrounding Puget Sound, by acclaimed outdoor author
Harvey Manning. The Cornet bay boat launch doubles as a trailhead for the
Hoypus Hill Forest Reserve. The initial hike was not what we expected. A long,
paved road leading through second growth forest brought mutters of discontent from
the rest of the family, so to avoid a mutiny, we detoured to the rocky beach
that parallels the road. My sister waded the frigid waters, which were amazingly
calm now after the torrential tide had ebbed. We peered at shells and mysterious
bits of rickrack, until suddenly we noticed that the trees overhanging the
beach had grown decidedly larger. Entering the forest once again, we traveled a
mossy, abandoned fire road through a forest every bit as magnificent as Manning’s
book had promised.
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| Stunning view from Mt. Erie |
With siblings anxious to return to camp, I was able to coax
one more side trip out of them. As we drove northward back through the park, it
became apparent that the southbound lane resembled I-5 in Seattle at rush hour.
Returning to camp was obviously going to be an epic ordeal. However, we persevered,
driving towards the imposing mass of Mt. Erie. I do not have the best
reputation as a navigator in the family; in fact, whenever I am giving
directions, my every word is followed by groans and sarcastic remarks about my
mental competency. Therefore my instructions of “it should be only 5 miles”,
and “I think we might need to take the last turnoff,” or “I think the mountain
is somewhere over there,” did not inspire much confidence. Mutters of mutiny
drifted from the back seats. The mutters grew to a grumbling when we turned off
onto a one lane forest road that wasted no time in rocketing skyward in a
series of blind, hairpin turns. By the time we reached the summit, the
grumblings had changed to a frightened, whining screech-similar to that emitted
by the Nazgul in The Lord of the Rings. Rubber legged, we stumbled from the
car, my siblings so frazzled that they were barely able to stutter sarcastic
remarks about me. The views were spectacular though, and extended from the icy
peaks of British Columbia, the Olympic Mountains and the North Cascades south
across Puget Sound to the hazy lump that was Mt. St. Helens. This panorama
almost made up for the dagger-like glares directed at the back of my skull by
my disgruntled brothers. Too soon for me we had to leave, and with the smell of
evaporating brakes, we made our way cautiously back down the mountain. Our ordeal was not over.
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| Bonsai tree with moon, Rosario Head |
Since we had no desire to join the
conga line of chaos leading back towards our camp, we elected to take a
theoretical shortcut. Despite the skepticism of my brothers, it turned out to
indeed be a shortcut that led us back to camp. It is a funny sight to see ones
siblings leap from a vehicle and kiss the solid earth at the end of a journey.
However, I can say from personal experience that it is not wise to laugh at
them while they are in the process of kissing said earth, as you are liable to
be thrown bodily into bay.
We spent the
remainder of the afternoon relaxing on the sandy beach below our camp. Once we
had feasted on hot dogs roasted over a blazing fire, I grabbed my camera and
made a mad dash to catch the sunset from Rosario head. The spectacle of the sun
sinking into the rolling mountains of the San Juan Islands was more than worth
the long trek through the twilit woods back to camp.
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| Oyster catcher at Rosario Head |
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| Pier at Bowman Bay |
Our final morning in camp brought with it a clear sky, with
the Olympics hanging like great blue clouds on the horizon. Hiking out to
Lighthouse Point, we crossed the Tombolo (a bridge of sand connecting an island
to the mainland) and entered a magical, isolated woodland. The trail weaves
between huge old fire-scarred trees, occasionally rounding meadowed headlands
with views ranging from the bridge arcing across deception pass to the wide
expanse of Puget Sound, the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Olympic Mountains. Black
sand beaches filled the quiet coves between the rocky headlands, and in the
bays bordering these beaches the water was calm and clear; while the sea beyond
frothed with the mad rush of the incoming tide. The afternoon found
us traveling down the long spine of Fidalgo Island, where the landscape
alternates between quiet farmland and bustling, tourist-filled towns.
While waiting
for the ferry that would carry us to Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula, we
explored historic Fort Casey - one of the few forts in Washington to still
display historic canons atop its concrete walls. The lighthouse adjacent to the
fort is one of the few where they not only allow visitors to climb the tower,
but is also free!
We almost didn't make the ferry, for we had not known
beforehand that the ferry accepted reservations. After an hour long wait at the
dock, the ferry arrived. With tensions high, we counted the cars streaming from
the cavernous hold, and nervously compared their numbers to the line ahead of
us-would we make it? The drivers in cars
ahead of us cheered as they were ushered on board, and our hopes of making it
onto the boat began to sink. Surely, the ferry could never hold that many cars!
Miraculously, we were signaled to go on - one of the last 4 cars to board. With
the Cascade Mountains receding behind us, and the Olympic Range rising to greet
us, we sailed towards Port Townsend, and the road home.
