When work took me to Whidbey Island one afternoon, I took the opportunity to make a day-trip that had long been on my list: a visit to Baby Island, just offshore of Whidbey.
Baby Island first popped up on my radar in 2018, when I was writing reviews of the all the sea kayaking guidebooks that cover the Pacific Northwest. One of the guidebook authors, Robert Miller, lists Baby Island as a possible campsite.
I was intrigued. I’ve visited almost all the formally designated kayak-campsites in Washington State, but I had never heard of Baby Island. Online research revealed the island has been privately owned for many decades, the most recent owner being the Tulalip Tribes, who bought the island in 1993.
It seemed unlikely the Tulalip would allow public camping on their private island. Could Robert Miller have made a mistake in his guidebook? I paddled out to investigate.
Route map. I launched from the public beach off the road-end of Wonn Road.
On satellite imagery, the main body of Baby Island appears to be covered in dense greenery. I expected a mostly forested island. Instead, I discovered that Baby Island consists of a fringing reef composed of stones and mussels; a long, white shell beach extending far offshore; and a flat-topped interior covered in shrubs. There are no substantial trees.
It reminded me of a miniature version of a seabird nesting island, such as Smith Island or Alexander Island. If Baby Island were a little larger and a little farther offshore, it would likely be an attractive habitat for alcids. As it stands, however, Baby Island’s banks are not high enough to accommodate burrows, and terrestrial predators can reach the island from the mainland during extreme low tides. Seabirds can’t nest under these conditions.
According to an article in the South Whidbey Record, the Tulalip Tribes allow day visitors—or at least, they did back in 2000, when the article was published. Sure enough, when I landed, signage on Baby Island did not prohibit trespassing. It only warned visitors not to disturb molting elephant seals or their pups.
Baby Island with Cascade Mountains in the background. From left to right: Jumbo Mountain, Three Fingers, and Big Bear Mountain.
Mount Baker peeks over the top of Camano Island. Mount Baker is the second-tallest of our state’s five active volcanoes, and one of the prettiest.
White shell beach on Baby Island. The sunlight reflecting off the shells kept me warm on an otherwise chilly March day.
Surfbird on Baby Island. This individual has nearly completed its transition into breeding plumage and will shortly be departing for its breeding grounds in Alaska.
Black turnstone, Baby Island. This species often flocks with the surfbird.
Alex on Baby Island. The flat top of the bluff is mostly overgrown, but there are a few tent-sized patches of grass.
I emailed the Tulalip Tribes the question that originally piqued my interest in Baby Island: is kayak-camping allowed here? The Tulalip did not respond.
Under Washington law, it is a defense to trespass that “[t]he premises were at the time open to members of the public and the actor complied with all lawful conditions imposed on access to or remaining in the premises; or [t]he actor reasonably believed that the owner of the premises, or other person empowered to license access thereto, would have licensed him or her to enter or remain.” Here, the Tulalip have posted signs warning visitors not to harass elephant seals, which, to my mind, indicates that members of the public who don’t harass seals will be tolerated. I hesitate to conclude that members of the public may also camp on the island, but if the signs don’t say not to camp, then a camping visitor would seem to be in compliance with “all lawful conditions imposed on access to or remaining in the premises.” Surprising though it is to me that camping would be allowed on a privately owned island, I think Robert Miller may have gotten it right in his guidebook.
If the Tulalip do, indeed, welcome kayak-campers, then I am grateful. Baby Island is an unusual and scenic spot, perfect for a quiet, slow-moving kayaker to stop for an evening.
—Alex Sidles