PNT Section 8: Whidbey Island

Anacortes

I left early from Marc’s house, hoping to beat any heat on the exposed road-walk ahead. But fortunately for me, it stayed overcast all morning as I passed through country roads toward the ocean. I caught glimpses of the small city I approached through the trees and across the bay. 

I enjoyed ambling along a nice bike path, in no hurry to get to the impending road-walk on highway 20. The sounds of seagulls and far-off barge horns filled the briny air. This was so different than any part of the trail so far. Every sea shell was exciting, every splash in the water a promise of seeing nautical wildlife. 

The human influence was also impossible to ignore. I passed fields of potatoes in bloom. Though not in the same category as wildflowers, there was still a certain charm to them. When I reached the highway, I ducked inside a nearby gas station. As I tried to comfort myself with a fountain drink and mini doughnuts, I noticed on my navigation app a possible alternative to part of the highway. 

Desperate to avoiding walking next to four lanes of traffic, I cut across the ditch to the railroad corridor, and followed the tracks until they reached an industrial area. From there, I was able to cut back toward the highway using the remnants of an abandoned maintenance track. 

Just as the FarOut comments had promised, this path took me right back to where the pedestrian walk began on highway 20. I’m not sure if I trespassed to avoid walking on the shoulder, but can’t say I regret my choice. The barrier between myself and the traffic was much appreciated.

The rest of the walk to Anacortes was a pleasant stroll along backroads and walking paths full of locals. With my huge backpack and oddly colorful clothing, I got more than a few second-takes. I passed throngs of docked ships, steaming refineries, and interesting drift wood art. 

Once in town, I enjoyed a late lunch of Thai curry, which I’d been craving for weeks. I explored downtown Anacortes, charmed by the decorated pianos available for public use. But I was also admittedly a little overwhelmed to be in the semi-urban area. After over a month only rural locations, the sounds of traffic and people were difficult to tolerate. I found myself craving the silent haven of a night alone in the wilderness. 

I arrived at the cheapest hotel option in town to get a room for the night. The owner informed me that they were fully booked, but offered to rent me a room at his second property for the same rate. He informed me that he only offered this option to people who “look like they won’t make trouble”- with my grungy clothes, colorful hair, and general crazy-eyed look, I silently wondered how on earth I’d made the cut! I was taken to a two-story craftsman home a few blocks away, and shown to a quirky room cut out of what likely used to be the main living area. 

As I began to make plans for the next section of trail, it became evident that camping opportunities would be sparse. Those that did exist would be in crowded state park campgrounds, or hidden on private land near a military base. I’ve always been particularly sensitive to noise, and was not confident I would get any semblance of sleep. Instead, I hatched a plan to return to the same hotel room each night, using public transportation. This slack-packing method had the added benefit of allowing me to cover more miles each day, not weighed down by my full sleep setup. 

Reuniting with a Friend

The next morning, I set out with only the basics, planning to complete a quick 13-mile section before returning to my hotel via bus. I was surprised by an email from Nick, the Australian hiker I’d met in Glacier. He was also in town, we decided to get breakfast and hike out together. It felt like no time had passed since we met almost 1000 miles ago. 

After winding through a mixture of walking trails and city streets, we reached Deception Pass. This narrow strait connects the Skagit Bay to the rest of the Pacific, and serves as an underwater thoroughfare for nautical creatures. A traffic and pedestrian bridge crosses it, linking Whidbey Island to the mainland. 

We enjoyed the views as we crossed, getting an even better vantage point of the cliffs and water than the traffic that crawled by. Hundreds of fisherman in boats and on shore surrounded the mouth of the strait, evidencing the abundance of sea life that must reside just below the surface. 

I caught glimpses of a seal far below, as it dove and rose, hunting for it’s lunch. On the other side of the bridge, Nick and I took a snack break before parting ways. I had to end here for the day, as no more bus stops bordered the trail for at least 20 miles. I wished Nick well on his quest for a steal-camping spot, and he gave me some friendly grief about my slack-packing plan. Watching him walk off, I almost regretted my choice. But having a fancy sushi dinner in Anacortes soon fixed that. 

Beach Walking

I caught the earliest bus available the next morning, The walking consisted mostly of flat, uneventful road-walking in a mix of residential and rural neighborhoods. Deafening fighter jets from the nearby military base intermittently soared above. I passed the time with podcasts and spotting interesting lawn decorations.

Solar-powered little library

I hit the 15 mile mark just after noon, which made me confident about my trajectory. However, I didn’t anticipate how much slower walking on sand would be. 

The angle of the beach combined with loose, wet, gravel-like sand made the afternoon slow going. But the novelty of my first beach walk of the hike kept my spirits up. 

I took in the sights, including flocks of seagulls floating on the waves like adventurous ducks, and intricately-built driftwood structures. 

I used my trekking poles to form a thousand mile marker out of seaweed. I thought back to reaching the same point two years earlier on my PCT hike, and was struck by how different the circumstances were. On the PCT, I hit this milestone surrounded by other hikers, in the backcountry of the Sierra Nevada; now, I was celebrating alone, surrounded by locals walking their dogs. 

After putting in a good amount of miles, I managed to find a walking path that took me almost all the way back to the main road, where I was able to flag down the bus at an unofficial stop. 

Coupeville Ferry

I set out the next morning with all my gear, already feeling the familiar ache returning to my feet and joints. I quickly covered the last few miles of beach walking to the ferry. I noticed that the sand was now significantly firmer after the tide receded overnight. 

I boarded the ferry along with a few other pedestrians, and dozens of cars, fascinated by the system the crew clearly had for loading everyone as efficiently as possible. I ran into Lentil again, who was decidedly less enthralled by the boat than I was. The trip felt like it was over as soon as it began, and we de-boarded into the cute town of Port Townsend. 

Lentil informed me he was planning to spend the night in town, as he needed a rest after putting in bigger miles the days before. He joined me for lunch, and we took some take-out to a brewery situated on the water. The beer I order helped numb the pain just enough to get me through the firm-packed trail out of town. 

Following the water was nice, but I was eager to get back into the relative peace and quiet of the wilderness area ahead. 

After an especially unpleasant walk along the ditch of highway 20, I finally entered what felt like wilderness. I passed through an area deemed a “bushwhack” by the PNT, but found it relatively navigable compared to previous ones. But the abundant mosquitoes, mug, and nettles ensured that I didn’t have it too easy. 

The rest of the day was spent in the familiar landscape of forest services roads climbing through an inactive logging area. I camped near an abandoned van that felt very out-of-place in the remote location. I still had cell service, and spent the evening on the phone with an Olympic National Park ranger, getting the needed permits for the coast. They informed me that my timeline was particularly unideal for tides. While I tried to write it off as the ranger being overly-cautious and underestimating a solo female hiker, their alarmed tone left me with some anxiety. But I had the entire Olympic peninsula to cross before worrying about that.