In December, I decided to take a few days to paddle some of the San Juan Islands north of Orcas. I figured the remote northern islands would be deserted this time of year, especially in the middle of the week. So I dragged myself out of bed at four in the morning on a Wednesday to make the drive.
The forecast called for breezy conditions but occasional breaks in the wind, so my thought was to spend windy days on shore hiking around the islands, and use the calm days to do the crossings.
When I got to the north shore of Orcas, there was a lot more chop on the water than I’d anticipated. The five-to-fifteen-knot wind the forecast had posited was clearly much nearer the fifteen-knot end of the spectrum than the five-knot end. And this was supposed to be the calmest day of the week—conditions were set to deteriorate over the coming days.
I sat on the beach and thought about it, and eventually decided not to risk getting stuck in the northern islands for the next week or so. I am always very conservative when making the go/no-go decision.
I considered paddling around the sheltered islands south of Orcas, but they wouldn’t have the same wild feel as the northern islands. Also, I had already visited those islands earlier in the fall. Disappointed, I returned to the mainland, $35 poorer for the ferry ride to Orcas.
That’s when I hit on the idea of revisiting Baker Lake. Baker Lake is a nine-mile body of water in the North Cascades, just south of beautiful Mount Baker. I had actually driven out to Baker Lake once before over the summer but had the misfortune to arrive at the height of salmon fishing season. The whole lake had been swarming with drunken powerboaters, and every campsite has been taken. Now, in mid-December, with the snow level descending fast, I hoped the lake would be deserted.
A call to the US Forest Service confirmed that the lake was still reachable by car but that all Forest Service campsites were closed for the season. Luckily, the campsites run by Puget Sound Energy—the utility that operates the dam that created Baker Lake—were still open. Better yet, they were free, as was parking.
Route map. The west side of the lake is the more developed with roads and logging.
By the time I got up to the dam, it was too late in the day to put the boat in the water. I passed the few remaining hours of daylight walking across the dam and hiking up one of the nearby hills that overlook it.
Upper Baker Dam. 312 feet high,
The next day, I took a look at the lake itself. As I had hoped, there was not another soul out on the water. It was just me and the snow-covered mountains above. Not even the rippled wake of a duck disturbed the stillness of the water.
Puget Sound Energy boat launch. Mountain lakes are some of the most beautiful terrain in the world.
View north up Baker Lake. A smoky silence blanketed the land, broken only by the splash of my paddle.
The fingers of Mount Baker reach down to the lake. To the north, there are only mountain upon mountains.
The lake was only nine miles long from end to end and could easily be paddled in a day, but I had left Seattle with the intent of doing a four-day trip. When the bad weather in the San Juans diverted me to Baker Lake, I decided to fill the time by paddling only a few miles each day, then setting up camp and doing day hikes in the surrounding rainforest.
The Puget Sound Energy campsites were on the east side of the lake, not accessible by road. The inaccessibility of the east-side forest saved it from the loggers. The only disruption to the forest’s majesty was a narrow footpath.
At the north-eastern end of the lake, the forest consisted of vast old growth trees. There aren’t many places in Washington that still have such big old trees anymore. I counted 180 rings on one recently fallen tree, and that one was only half the size of the some of the ones still standing.
By Friday, the snow level had crept down to within fifty feet or so of the lake itself. Each morning, I could see white-capped trees closer and closer to the lake—winter literally descending over the land.
Old-growth forest on east shore. Once upon a time, the whole world looked this way.
Freezing fog descends the hillside. Winter’s coming was an actual, physical movement, not just the advance of time.
On Saturday morning, the snow finally reached me on the shore of the lake. I decided to cut the trip one day short and paddle all the way back to the car in one push rather than camp another night.
That turned out to be a good decision, as the snowfall increased by the hour over the course of the day on Saturday.
Snow falling in the woods at the north end of Baker Lake. Crawling into my tent, I felt like a bear entering its den.
Paddling down Baker Lake in a blizzard. Winter in the mountains feels like another planet altogether.
Total whiteout on Baker Lake. For the life of me, I can’t imagine why there weren’t other boaters out here enjoying themselves like I was.
Safely back at the PSE boat launch. So long as the wind is calm, precipitation need not worry a kayaker.
By the time I got back to the launch point, there was so much snow that my two-wheel-drive Camry was barely able to back up the boat ramp. The landscape that had been bright green with plant life on the drive up was now stark white with snow on the drive back down.
Baker Lake’s beauty and solitude saved the trip from turning into the disappointing fiasco it looked like becoming on Orcas. The mountains, the magnificent old trees, the stillness, and the quiet: this impromptu paddle turned into one of my very favorite trips.
—Alex Sidles