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29 April – 1 May 2016
Spring begins in February in western Washington, and that means a new camping season. It’s possible to camp out all twelve months of the year around here, but there’s no denying that spring camping is more pleasant than winter.
For my first trip of 2016, I paddled out to Hope Island in south Puget Sound.
The whole island is a state park, so there is no development other than a restored cabin from pioneer days.
Route map. South Puget Sound is often overlooked in favor of the more famous San Juan Islands, but the south sound offers kayaking just as good.
The crossing from Boston Harbor was smooth and calm. The sky had its usual late-February character: overcast grays, puffy cumulous clouds, and occasional drizzles. The weather was just gloomy enough to keep most boats off the water, but not so much that it turned the trip into a goretex-clad misery huddle.
These are my favorite conditions for kayaking. I like having the water to myself, and I like watching all the gray clouds blow past. The Pacific Northwest is supposed to look gray. It feels natural.
There were a few day trippers on the island who arrived by sailboat and kayak. For the most part, though, Hope Island was mine alone. I spent the afternoon reading on the beach and wandering the miles of trails.
In the early 1900s, the homesteaders installed a windmill to pump water. Today, the Parks Department has built a working replica.
The pioneers’ orchard is still standing, too, and their old plows and other farm equipment are all still here, rusting away in place.
Launch at Boston Harbor. Supposedly, the name “Boston Harbor” comes from a sleazy real estate promotion in the early 1900s.
Dofflemyer Point lighthouse, the southernmost lighthouse in Puget Sound, est. 1934. Unfortunately, the beach in front of the lighthouse is private property—the scourge of the sound.
Paddling up Squaxin Passage. Currents here are generally mild.
Cabin and daffodils on Hope Island. The caretaker here has a pretty sweet gig.
As I was walking through the woods, I heard the thunk-thunk-thunk of a pileated woodpecker hammering on a tree trunk nearby.
Eager to see the bird, I walked in the direction of the sound. No sooner did I start walking than I heard the hammering coming from behind me now. Thinking my ears were playing tricks on me—for the bird could not have flown past me unnoticed—I walked back to my starting point, only to hear the hammering coming from the original direction to my front. Where on earth was this woodpecker?
With a loud crash, a huge piece of bark fell from above and landed right next to me, nearly striking me on the head. I looked straight up, and there was the pileated directly above me, tearing off hunks of bark in his pursuit of insects. The sound of his hammering had seemed to change location because I’d been walking past him each time I changed direction.
I pressed my ear against the bole of the alder tree to listen to the woodpecker hammer. With my ear in contact with the wood, the entire tree turned into a giant, deep drum, and the sound of the hammers resounded with a boom-boom-boom. The whole tree vibrated with the force of his blows.
I could only imagine what it must be like to be a tiny little weevil in the bark, listening to that enormous noise. It must sound like Thor’s own hammer, pounding its way remorselessly toward you.
Heading back to Boston Harbor. Rain and clouds are the norm here, not the exception.
Sunday was much rainier, so I ended up in goretex after all. After a few turns through the orchard, a nice salmon cream cheese lunch, and an afternoon nap, I paddled back to Boston Harbor in the drizzle. Rafts of harbor seals greeted me along the way, and I found myself wishing I could bob along on these waters with them forever.
The seals were the only mammals I saw this trip, other than people’s pet dogs on the mainland. There were raccoon tracks, but the raccoons never showed themselves. A loud chorus of tree frogs started up just as the sun was going down, and they sang me to sleep in my tent, a very pleasant lullaby.
Hope Island was a great overnighter, a real highlight of south Puget Sound. For trip-planning purposes, take care not to confuse this Hope Island State Park with the Hope Island State Park up north near Deception Pass. Two different islands, both state parks, both named Hope. Perhaps we could rename one of them Desire Island? Optimism Island? Anticipation Island? I would definitely paddle to Anticipation Island, especially in the fall, when the apples in that pioneer orchard would be ripe.
I had such a good time on Hope Island in February, I returned to the island at the end of April with my wife, Rachel. The weather was gorgeous, and we spent hours hiking around the forest and reading on the beach.
Loading up at Boston Harbor. A Washington State Discover Pass is required for parking at the marina.
Kayaking up Squaxin Passage. Partially overcast days are the most pleasant for paddling.
Approaching Hope Island. The individual campsites are east of the main landing area, the single group campsite to the west.
Cooking breakfast on Hope Island. Banana pancakes with maple syrup!
Rachel and Alex reading on the beach. Though the grass may look inviting, do not be fooled—it is mostly submerged at high tide.
Hope Island was chock-full of interesting native plants. We brought an ID book with us and taught ourselves to recognize all sorts of species.
The new ones we learned were vanilla-leaf, Pacific ninebark, Pacific crabapple, saskatoon, cleavers, broad-leafed starflower, and highbush cranberry.
We also encountered many old favorites, include evergreen huckleberry, which was absolutely everywhere, Scouler’s willow, lady, bracken, and sword ferns, and the ubiquitous salal.
Many of the shrubs were in bloom, which made identification much easier than it would have been back in February.
Most of the seabirds had already left the south sound to head up to their breeding grounds. We only saw a few pigeon guillemots, a couple pairs of surf scoters, and a few common mergansers.
The lack of seabirds was made up for by the abundance of spring migrants on land. The island was crawling with Pacific-slope flycatchers, the first of the season. We also encountered a beautiful singing Wilson’s warbler.
Rachel and I spent an enjoyable last morning wandering through the red alder groves looking for more of these insect-eating songbirds.
Rachel on Hope Island. Our daughter, Maya, was born a few months after this trip. Years later, Maya made her own first visit to Hope Island. Later still, Maya’s younger brother, Leon, also visited.
Campsite on Hope Island. The campsites here are close together but well screened by vegetation.
Folding kayaks on Hope Island. Feathercraft Klondike and Folbot Yukon, both companies now defunct.
Rachel departing Hope Island. An ebbing tide is favorable for a southbound return down Squaxin Passage, but the ebb becomes slightly unfavorable in the vicinity of Boston Harbor.
Rachel and Mount Rainier near Boston Harbor. Mount Rainier is even more prominent here in the south sound than it is farther north in Seattle.
Olympic Mountains over Puget Sound. The Olympics are our state’s most picturesque mountains, and most are protected as a national park.
Back at the launch point in Boston Harbor, I stopped to take a few pictures of the purple martin colony there. Residents had put out nest box to attract these large swallows, which love to nest in holes over water.
The boxes were a big success. I estimate there were about thirty purple martins swooping around, hunting bugs, chasing each other, and fighting over females.
The males are deep purple, and the females are lovely shades of brown. They were all singing their musical, liquid songs as they whipped around the sky.
Native rhododendrons at Boston Harbor. The blossoming is brief but spectacular.
Purple martin boxes at Boston Harbor. Female above, male below.
Battling male purple martins at Boston Harbor. The ferocity of these creatures is awesome to behold.
There wasn’t actually a whole lot of kayaking on this kayaking trip, and that’s how we like it. We spent most of the time enjoying each other’s company in the beautiful, serene landscape of Hope Island. The brief paddles across the flat, gentle waters to and from the island served as pleasant bookends to a beautiful couple of days. Hope Island is a genuine treasure, but the real treasure was each other.
—Alex Sidles