![]() T’was a grey autumn day. The clouds hung low and heavy over the islands. Rain threatened but only a light mist fell like a veil over the forested shore. A cool breeze caught at my collar as I passed through the gate. The road was littered with twigs and dry leaves that cackled underfoot like the laugh of some old crone. The weathered rail fence stood solid and silent as a skeleton with trailing vines crawling over, under and through it, reaching toward the path. An old couple came and went, murmuring quietly as they passed. Hunched over, they kept moving with only a quick sideways glance in my direction. Then I was alone. No birds sang. No squirrels scolded. I crested a hill, golden with the leaves of autumn, framed by tall, dark firs. The sound of water drew me to a bench just off the road, turned toward the forest, with a view of swooping cedar branches like the arms of a sorcerer’s cloak. I sat to listen and imagined seeing a waterfall, as the sound was clear enough, but the cascade was invisible to the eye. There was a steep drop there, down through the branches still clinging to their whithered yellow leaves. I imagined the beach fifty feet below with wet rocks and sand where small fish swam feeding salmon, feeding heron, feeding otter in the shelter of the overhanging cliff. Then an eagle called so close it made me jump. Its surreal cry, like a squeaky door opening on rusty hinges, but again, it remained unseen. I walked on. At an opening between the trees, I found a small window framed by branches with a view out over the passage. An island in the distance seemed to rise out of the mist and hover, slate grey, above the water. No light shone there. No boats, no houses, only a dark forest rose above the silver shore. At the end of the road, a gate, with a sign that read, “We are watching you”. I looked around. There was no sign of anyone nearby, or the couple that had gone before. I turned back wondering. The grey had deepened and twilight approached. I noticed the trees around me, maple, cedar, alder and fir, were trapped in a web of vines, like a giant spider’s web, or the long fingers of some phantom reaching and holding its prey. Some trees, wounded by the fall of others, had distorted features, like open mouths, as if they would cry out if they could. The road led down where logs were inhabited by a cluster of fungus, looking like a village for the wee people that must dwell in this damp ravine. A full moon climbed the evergreens limb by limb. I turned and climbed the hill back toward the gate. Hearing voices behind me, I quickened my pace. The vines reached out toward me as the voices grew louder. Just as I reached my car, the couple emerged from the forest. Where they had disappeared to, I did not want to know. I was only glad to be going home before dark, to a warm fire and a mug of cider, and leave this wild wood behind. Happy Halloween! Maribeth Directions: From Highway 525 on South Whidbey, next to Ken's Korner Shopping Plaza, turn north and drive down Surface Road for a mile. At the T turn left and go around the corner to the entrance to the Waterman Shoreline Preserve. From the Clinton Ferry, drive up the hill about a half mile. At the Dairy Queen turn north on Bob Galbreath Road. Continue for 2.2 miles .
By Bus and Bike: Island Transit Route 1 bus will take you to the Dairy Queen or Ken's Korner near Clinton. From there it's a short bike ride or a good walk to the Preserve. See the bus schedule here. Two bikes fit on a bus bike rack. The road to the Preserve is quiet but there is not much shoulder. Wear something bright and use lights when riding a bike or walking along the road, especially this time of year. Leaves on the Preserve trail can make it slippery for cyclists. Mobility: The Waterman Preserve trail is on an old, paved road, though it is covered with leaves in the fall and can be slippery when wet. There are some steep hills, but the road is less than a mile long. There are gates at either end to prevent vehicles from entering but should allow for wheelchairs to pass.
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We had just spent six days on the road, camping along most of the Oregon Coast. We came home tired and road weary, with great memories of our ocean beach explorations, but sore butts from the hundreds of miles of rain-slickened winding highways. On this recovery day, we didn’t want to go anywhere by car. Then we read the headlines from the week that we had been off-grid. Thousands of innocent humans slaughtered among two nations, creating maybe a million refugees; a 6-year-old Illinois boy dead because of his parent’s beliefs; chaos instead of cooperation in our nation’s capital; and the continuing effects of the ongoing slaughter of our home planet. My heart ached, and wept. Where to go? The wind was howling out of the south, rain coming down in sheets, with more on the way. Still, we had to get outside, to stretch our legs, give our posteriors some actual movement, and our spirits new hope. Ship Harbor is just over the hill from our place. And it’s protected from southerly storms. And the tide was low. We walked onto the beach. There … was … peace. Waves gently lapped at our feet as we walked the sandy shores. Trees overhung the water’s edge here, their summer leaves falling gently into the sea as breezes blew overhead. I wanted to hike quickly, get some exercise, walk away the blues, but instead I stood mesmerized by the quiet beauty, the familiarity of our home beach; nowhere to go except to be still, to be here, now. We threw a ball for Murphy, only to see it bounce into the water, the offshore wind pushing it farther from reach. Murph stood there watching helplessly. I went wading. The cool waters of the Salish Sea felt like a welcoming baptism as I retrieved the errant ball. Others joined our beach meanderings. The owner of “Boo”, a young schnauzer the owner had rescued years ago on Halloween day, chatted dog-talk with us. A young family, with three hours to fill waiting for a ferry, came up to us, their 18-month old saying “Gog, gog!”, her word for dog. She petted Murphy for a minute, and then we hiked on. We could hear her in the distance as we walked away, “Gog!” The rain held off. The clouds lightened a little. The bare branches of trees waved their arms celebrating the pause in the storm. Finches flitted among the shoreside bushes, posing until I aimed my lens at them to photograph their tail feathers heading for the next shrub. A heron stood patiently on a piling, then flew over my head to check out the view from the tree behind me. A ferry slipped into its dock. Beyond, Cypress Island brooded in darkness, the water reflecting the black-green of the island’s October forests and the cold steel-gray of the skies above. We strolled the beach, then onto the boardwalk to return, savoring each new sight, smell, and sound. All around the world today, humans seek life, and love, and happiness. Wildlife looks for food, and safety, and another day tomorrow to do the same. The maples, the roses, the sea lettuce, they all dance their lives under the rising and falling of the sun. We walked through a collage of fallen golden leaves filling a bend of the trail as we headed home. When despair for the world grows in me … in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go … where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things … I come into the presence of still water … For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. - Wendell Berry jack "When the power of love replaces the love of power, the world will know peace."
Directions: In Anacortes take 12th Street west which becomes Oakes Avenue. Turn right at the roundabout and then left on Edwards Way. Follow that down to the beach. Or wait for a ferry to the San Juans and drop down to the beach from where you are waiting. By Transit: Take the Skagit 410 bus to the Washington State Ferry Terminal By bike: see directions above. 12th Street and Oakes Avenue are busy highways, 30 mph, with a minimal shoulder in places, minor hills. Mobility: The trail at Ship Harbor is packed gravel and boardwalk, with one short hill at the beginning. The pathway in the opposite direction is paved for a mile of views along the water. ![]() They said it was the last gasp of summer, the last sunny, warm weekend we’d have for some time. So I picked my apples and pears, weeded the garden and mowed the grass. Then I went to join others who were doing the same at the Freeland Wetland Preserve. When I arrived Bob was patching holes in the driveway, Lee was mowing grass, and Jeremy was almost finished blowing leaves off the barn roof. I grabbed my gloves, rake and clippers and walked down to join the crew. At the barn I met Kelly, the new executive director of the Whidbey Watershed Stewards. She introduced me to her son Oliver, a handsome 3 year old proudly wearing his Carharts, ready to take part in the work party. Nearing the trailhead I met Barbara, pulling and clipping blackberry vines, and down the trail I met Marie doing the same. She called the web of trailing blackberries “Devils shoelaces”. They had crept in and crawled over everything, threatening to catch our shoelaces if we didn’t pull the vines out first. A little further along there was Blaine and young Ainsley, clipping and raking around a big cedar tree. They were happy to take a break and pose for my camera. I continued on through the cedar grove. The tall, dark trees spread their trunks wide. Their feathery branches swept the many layered canopy from top to bottom. Bare ground between these monoliths held a shady, silence, like entering a cathedral. I slowed my step and walked on in awe. Moving downslope toward the wetland, cedars gave way to alders and maples. I heard kinglets, chickadees and a nuthatch, high in the tree tops. With binoculars I watched one turn topsy turvy going after bugs among the bright colored maple leaves. A towhee called to my left. A Pacific wren called from my right near the forest floor. I stepped toward the wetland and looked across to cattails and drought dried lilies. A marsh wren sang and flew from the salmonberries. Red legged frogs leapt across the path as I continued on the loop passing dead snags and fallen logs. One still stood though it had been deeply gutted with woodpecker holes. Just then I heard the tap, tap, tap high on an alder. A Hairy Woodpecker worked its way up, up, up, drilling and dining toward the top. Finishing the loop, I put away my camera and put on my gloves. Pulling blackberries and visiting with the crew, we cleared the trail, raking and clipping. Oliver and Ainsley watched over the rain barrels as Bob took buckets of water to the rhododendrons by the road. When the rain barrels were empty he cleaned them out and set them up again before the next rain. Jeremy took our piles of blackberries and loaded them into his truck for his lucky goats. We gathered at the barn for drinks from the cooler and a choice of cookies. Talk turned to efforts toward a recent acquisition. The parcels by the road were up for sale, including the parking lot and barn. Without them the trail could be inaccessible. Whidbey Watershed Stewards members applied for a Conservation Futures Fund grant to purchase the property. It looks hopeful that with a few more signatures, the property will be theirs and the trailhead will remain open, and well maintained, for us all! Whidbey Watershed Stewards also manages the Outdoor Classroom on Maxwelton Road, and other watershed habitat. They focus on watershed education, restoration and research. For more info about them, and how to help at the Outdoor Classroom or join the next work party, click here. Maribeth Directions: Take Highway 525 to Freeland. At the stoplight turn north onto Main Street. Go straight at both stop signs and turn left onto Newman Road by the espresso stand. Look for the entrance sign on the right within 100 yards (across from Maple Ridge Assisted Living).
By Bike and Bus: Island Transit Route 1 passes the espresso stand on the corner of Newman Road. Look for the bus shelters on both sides of Main Street within 200 yards of the Freeland Wetland Preserve. For a schedule click here. Main Street and Newman Road have slow traffic. Main Street is busy and steep at the west end around the post office and Payless shopping center, but quiet and flat on the east end. Newman Road is quiet but has no shoulder. Please wear something bright if walking or riding a bike along the road. Mobility: The trail is short, narrow, with a hill on the far side. There are benches near the wetland. “I want to hike somewhere long and challenging today, with great views.” “How about Hoypus Point?” (Dead silence.) “So … what’s wrong with Hoypus Point?” “Well, it’s flat, not very long, and paved the whole way. I was hoping for more of a real hike.” “Ah, but what if we hike the beach?” We headed to Cornet Bay and then began walking east on the beach below the road. Low tide had turned into a strong current flooding in through the Pass. We had a wide-open seashore ahead of us. This beach appeals to all my senses, especially on this sunny, warmish day. There is the scent of the briny, muddy, lively edge of the sea, coupled with the tang of spruce and maple, tempered with a musty driftwood, sea lettuce, and detritus odor. The sounds of eagles, herons, gulls, kingfishers, even a western grebe drifted over the water and forests, along with the white noise of the racing current, splashing waves, and light winds of autumn. I could taste the salty air, sun-warmed skin, and a chocolate snack I brought as a treat. Okay, that last one doesn’t really count. Or does it? The tactile sensation of slipping on slimy cobbles at the start gets your attention. The beach has little current in Cornet Bay, so the smallish rocks are slippery and slidy underfoot. Be careful. We held hands in places to help each other stay upright. And the visuals. I won’t describe them. Check out the images below. Or better yet, hike the beach out to Hoypus Point! Further on, the beach segues into small rocks coated with barnacles, sea lettuce and rockweed. Add to that an obstacle course of huge tree trunks extending from the uplands all the way to the tide line. These we had to climb over or duck under. It was a workout! Nearing the point, the beach becomes soft and soothing grainy sand. We found a mom and son setting up hammocks between tree branches. A fisherman, framed by the bridge beyond, cast his line into the swift current. At the renovated shoreline at Hoypus Point, we gave Murphy a treat and some water, and looked back over the beach we had hiked. “So how do you feel about hiking Hoypus Point this way?” “Okay, that was a real hike! And well worth it.” Few people walk the mile-long beach to the point, but on this hike you can explore a rare northwest environment: an old-growth forest draping itself over a lively saltwater beach, critical habitat for forage fish and other wildlife. And you can get a workout too! We walked the closed-off roadway back to Cornet Bay, passing dozens of hikers doing the same on this sunny Saturday. Monster trees rose above us. A heron landed on top of one right above us. Peek-a-boo views of the Pass poked through the entire way. Sunlight sparkled through golden maple leaves and off the churning blue water. The afternoon sun felt good. Smiles filled our faces. It’s a good hike. jack Directions: From Highway 20 at Cornet Bay Road, go east to the end of the road at the boat launch. Find an appropriate parking place (not easy to do when the fishing or crabbing seasons are open) then take the beach or the gated road. Valid parking pass required. Road may be open if parking fills the lot. To walk the beach, choose an appropriate tide; there is no beach at high tide.
By bus: Island Transit has a stop at the Highway 20/ Cornet Bay Road intersection. By bike: Highway 20 is narrow, hilly, busy, and high speed. Cornet Bay Road is gentle, not as busy, a slower speed limit, but also limited shoulder. Mobility: The beach requires agility, and all four limbs in a handful of places. The road is wide, gentle, closed to vehicles except on the busiest of days, and mostly firm pavement, with great views. |
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Maribeth Crandell has been a hiking guide in the Pacific NW for over 20 years. She's lived on Whidbey and Fidalgo Island for decades. As a frequent bus rider she easily makes connections between trails and transit. Archives by date
February 2025
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