By the middle of March, spring was roaring into town here in western Washington. The signs were all around. The pigeon guillemots, rhinoceros auklets, and pelagic cormorants were all in their high breeding plumages. The ancient murrelets had departed for their northern range, as had the loons and most of the scoters. The oceanspray were leafing out, the Oregon grape were popping out their Oregon grapes, and the daffodils were in bloom.
But spring had not yet fully arrived. Many of our winter birds were still here. All three merganser species were still flocking, as were the buffleheads and common goldeneyes. The buffles and goldeneyes were doing their mating dances, craning their necks back and forth to impress females (as one does), but spring wouldn’t properly be here until these species headed north. The harlequin ducks were still on salt water, too; they hadn’t yet left for their breeding grounds in the mountain streams.
Most tellingly of all, the spring species had not yet arrived. The only warbler I saw was a yellow-rumped, which is a year-round species. I saw no swallows or flycatchers, either. Spring might have been looming on the horizon, but we had a few weeks yet before she really took over around here.
Route map. Parking at Roche Harbor would have been closer, but parking at Reuben Tarte was free.
With the moon in its quarter phase, I didn’t have to worry about timing the tides in Spieden Channel, which I consider to be the most difficult body of water in the San Juans. Close to Spieden Island, it can be impossible to move due to unpredictable tidal conversions. On this trip, however, I stayed close to San Juan Island and encountered no troubles.
I had beautiful Posey Island all to myself, my first time being here without other people on the island.
Posey is so small you have to make reservations during the season—the only Cascadia Marine Trail campsite in the San Juans where that is the case—but this time of year, there was no need. In fact, judging by the pristine state of the outhouse, I was probably the first person to overnight on Posey this year. Two day paddlers out of Roche Harbor approached but did not land on Sunday. On Monday and Tuesday, I was totally alone.
Looking across Spieden Channel. I call Spieden Island Jurassic Park, because it is owned by a strange billionaire who has populated the island with exotic animals.
Kayaking westbound down Spieden Channel. Beautiful, rising cumulus clouds announce the arrival of cold but clear weather.
Some people might get bored spending 48 hours alone on an island so small you can round the circumference in two minutes’ walking, but I was too busy to get bored. Between watching birds, practicing photography, reading science fictions novels, and working a bit on my own writing, I barely had enough time in the day to do everything I wanted.
Campsite on Posey Island. Most of the trees here are seaside juniper, an uncommon species in western Washington.
Yellow-rumped warbler on Posey Island. In Washington, there is overlap between the ranges of the western Audubon’s subspecies (S. c. auduboni) (pictured), which has a yellow throat, and the northern and eastern myrtle subspecies (S. c. coronata), which has a white throat.
Oregon grape on Posey Island. Sour grapes, for sure.
Alex on Posey Island. The entire south shore of the island appears to be an ancient shell midden.
Kayaking back to Reuben Tarte. There’s nothing more inviting than a cloud-draped channel in the San Juan Islands.
I ended the trip with only 40 bird species, a testament to the departure of many winter species and the general ecological poverty of Posey Island. The only mammals I saw, discounting the African imports on Spieden, were harbor seals and a single river otter. Sometimes there are Steller sea lions hauled out on the east end of Spieden, but I didn’t see them this time. Either they have left for the spring, too, or they were out foraging when I went past.
On the way home, the ebb was running against me but so gently I hardly cared. For ease of access and simple, plain coziness, Posey Island would be tough to beat.
—Alex Sidles