American work life being what it is, my friend James and I had not yet found an opportunity this year to go kayak-camping together with our daughters, Chelsea and Maya. Here it was the middle of September already. Soon the weather would turn too cold for the girls.
A year earlier, Maya had caught her first look at Cypress Island during a three-day trip she and I took to nearby Strawberry Island. Ever since, she had been full of questions about the large, mysterious Cypress Island.
I had long promised to take her, but always the weather was against us, or the tides were flowing the wrong way, or we had two-year-old Leon with us, who was too little to make the five-mile (8 km) paddle to Cypress. What with one thing or another, it was nearly a full year before I made good on my promise to take Maya kayak-camping on Cypress Island. By good luck, James and Chelsea were available to join us for the weekend.
Route map. The launch beach is an easy carry from the day-use parking lot.
Cypress Head, on the east side of Cypress Island, is one of the most easily accessible campsites in the San Juan Islands. The San Juans are something of a maze. Tidal currents wend through at high speeds and in various directions. Most campsites require careful consideration of the changes in the directions of the currents at various times throughout the day.
The route to Cypress Head is more straightforward. On a flood, the current pushes the kayaker east up Guemes Channel and then north up Bellingham Channel to the campsite. On an ebb, the current runs south down Bellingham, then west down Guemes, carrying the kayaker back to the launch beach at Washington Park. Unlike most places in the San Juans, there is no need to catch a particular current at a particular turn.
Maya and Alex on launch beach. We used our two large folding kayaks, a Feathercraft Klondike and a Long Haul Mark II.
Chelsea and James kayaking off Washington Park, James Island in the background. It took us an hour and forty-five minutes to paddle from the launch beach to Cypress Head.
Maya and Alex kayaking off Cypress Island. During the crossing, we observed rhinoceros auklets, common murres, and marbled murrelets, but no pigeon guillemots.
Kayaking into Cypress Head. The headland (right) is joined to the main body of Cypress Island (left) by a low, gravel tombolo (center).
Conditions were mild in the beginning, but shortly before we reached Cypress Head, a north wind began blowing at about fifteen knots. The wind did not relent for the rest of the weekend. We had hoped to camp on the gravel tombolo that ties Cypress Head to Cypress Island, but there would have been no shelter from the wind. Instead, we camped in the forest atop Cypress Head, where the trees afforded a modicum of protection.
The campsites atop Cypress Head are too small to accommodate two tents. Fortunately, no other campers were on the island this weekend, so James and Chelsea were able to take one site while Maya and I chose another. James was in charge of food, so his site served as our gathering place.
Maya was mostly interested in playing with her stuffed dogs, including the “Chips Game,” so named for the most mischievous member of the dog pack. Chips would hide in various places on the beach, where we all took turns looking for him.
Cypress Island is one of the premier hiking islands in the San Juans, but the girls were still too little to take full advantage. We spent almost all our time at the campsites or down at the beach.
Maya ascending Cypress Head. The girls scouted ahead of the grownups and were responsible for selecting our campsites.
James making lunch on Cypress Head. Eggs, nut bars, popcorn, bacon, sausages, macaroni, and sandwiches of various kinds—what a feast!
Chelsea and James drawing. Before or after these trips, Chelsea always mails Maya a hand-drawn card.
Chelsea running up the beach, Cypress Island. She has terrible news: Chips has gone missing again!
Maya transporting her dogs to camp. The notorious Chips is the dark brown dog in the middle of the pack.
Maya herself took this photo of Rose kayaking with all necessary paraphernalia, including compass, waterproof camera, goggles, and life jacket. Rose used to be Chelsea’s dog, but Chelsea gave Rose to Maya when she saw how much Maya loved Rose.
In the morning, Maya and I went for a hike to the south end of Cypress Head. Along the way, Maya made all kinds of field observations, including a precise, layer-by-layer inventory of the bark of the Pacific madrone. We even found a few seaside juniper, the species which George Vancouver mistook for cypress trees when he named the island. I must admit, “Cypress Island” is a more colorful name than “Juniper Island” would have been.
Fall migration was underway, and we encountered several unusual bird species during our hike. Right in our campsite was a Lincoln’s sparrow poking around in the bushes. At the south end of Cypress Head, we spotted a Townsend’s solitaire, a relative of the bluebird. This was an exciting find, because the Townsend’s solitaire is usually a high-altitude species. Only rarely, mostly during migration, do some individuals descend to sea level.
Sunrise over Guemes Island, seen from Cypress Head. From this vantage, James spotted harbor porpoises in Bellingham Channel, our only sighting of porpoises this trip.
Maya hiking at the south end of Cypress Head. From here, I took the measure of the chop in Bellingham and Guemes Channels and decided it would be safe to proceed, fifteen-knot wind notwithstanding.
Seaside juniper with berries, Cypress Head. Our familiar seaside juniper (Juniperus maritima) is a cryptospecies. Prior to 2007, it was thought to be a member of the Rocky Mountain juniper (J. scopulorum), but DNA and terpenoid analyses reveal it is actually a totally separate species.
Townsend’s solitaire, Cypress Head. Seattle Audubon’s very credible Birdweb does not record this species in the Puget Trough during September, so this was quite a good find.
View from Cypress Head north up Bellingham Channel. From left to right, Cypress Island, the Cone Islands, Sinclair Island, Lummi Island, Eliza Island, Guemes Island.
In a stroke of good luck, the fifteen-knot north wind finally abated just as we entered the most exposed waters. Instead of two-foot whitecaps washing across our decks, we faced little one-footers that, at worst, merely slopped a few cups of water aboard. With the wind at our backs and the currents in our favor, we made nearly effortless progress back to the launch beach.
Who could ask for anything more than good food, good friends, and the two greatest little girls on the planet, all served up on a lovely island all to ourselves? My only complaint is that the weekend was only two days long instead of two hundred.
—Alex Sidles