{"id":3951,"date":"2013-10-18T11:00:16","date_gmt":"2013-10-18T18:00:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com-2\/?p=3951"},"modified":"2017-10-16T19:57:14","modified_gmt":"2017-10-17T02:57:14","slug":"night-day-kayaking-the-san-juans","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2013\/10\/18\/night-day-kayaking-the-san-juans\/","title":{"rendered":"Night and Day: Kayaking the San Juans"},"content":{"rendered":"

I can just make out the faint purple illumination from the glow-sticks attached to the other five kayaks’ sterns. We’re far enough away from the campsite that it’s finally quiet\u2014we’ve left the boisterous youth group and angry mostly-in-the-bag motorboater behind. The air and sea are still. My eyes have adjusted to the blackness enough that I can relax in the cockpit without fear of being knocked over by its inkiness. I plant my blade, and the water underneath me explodes into a surreal and swirling barrage of blue electricity. As quickly as the light ignites at the end of my paddle, it fades away. I add to the stillness by becoming speechless.<\/p>\n

Somehow, in my 35 years of existence I’d failed to learn\u2014and no one had mentioned\u2014that paddling in the cold, dark, northern waters of the San Juans at night produced magic. I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. Now I’m not sure I need to.<\/p>\n

Our guide, Andrew, whispered that should I flick some water onto my sprayskirt. I do, and for a moment it looks like I’ve cracked open one of his glow-sticks. Curious, I paddle hard to add speed to the equation, and I’m led by twin bioluminescent rails emanating from the bow wave, and trailed by deep pocketed vortexes of blue behind; I’m a Tron character without the need of the arcade.<\/p>\n

Around the corner and out of the small bay, it’s quieter and darker. I float motionless, looking down into the water, and I’m transported to my east coast childhood with its fields and forests alighted with thousands of fireflies. I wonder when they learned to swim.<\/p>\n

Sitting there, staring into bioluminescent fairy dust, I thought about how I’d almost talked myself out of the night paddle. I had the same reasons to sit out as the others in the group: It was late and cold. I was tired. My gear was wet and who wants to put wet, cold gear back on? Fortunately, I chose to fear regret more than the chill. We paddle and play and experiment for about an hour before returning to our warm campfire. It’s well past midnight, but I’m wide awake and in awe of the show we’ve earned from nature.<\/p>\n

\n

<\/p>\n

Just like the night paddle, I’d almost talked myself out of this entire trip. Four days paddling with Alder Creek on a guided trip in Washington’s San Juan Islands<\/a> isn’t the biggest, grandest, or most logistically challenging adventure in the world, but I had the usual complement of reasons for being tempted to bail: There were projects at work that could use my attention. That chunk of our tax return would be better served in our savings account. Guilt over leaving the kids for days. Et cetera and so forth. Thankfully, I’m starting to learn to interpret those nagging thoughts telling me not to do something new as confirmation that something fun is on the horizon. Plus, my wife and I could really use the time away; with three rugrats, four recent house moves over two states, and one mortgage, we needed more than just dinner and a show. Kayaking the San Juans it was.<\/p>\n

The ferry ride from Anacortes allowed me to relax, breathe in the salty air, and proudly replace my harried breadwinner cap with my touron1<\/a><\/sup> tuque. Landing on Orcas Island felt like I’d swapped New World for Old. The slight island-induced claustrophobia I felt in my chest was a good reminder of just how long it’d been since I’d been anywhere new and outside my element. Arriving well after dark and trying to dodge raindrops, Christina and I threw our tent together on a patch of grass at West Beach Resort and called it a day.<\/p>\n

(An aside: If there’s a place on this planet that’s a better stand-in for Camp Runamuck than the West Beach Resort, I wouldn’t know where to find it. Right up until the appointed quiet time, bands of unaccompanied and roving kids played, families huddled around the bonfire, and the office\/store\/unofficial-town-square handed out free popcorn.)<\/p>\n

We met the remainder of our paddling companions, as well as the Alder Creek guides Andrew, Steve, and Dennis, the next morning down by the shore. It became quickly apparent that, as a group of humans that didn’t know each other, we’d get on just fine. Gear was stowed, boats were assigned and (over-)loaded, and cars were shuffled. After a simple lunch, we pushed off for a drizzly six mile paddle to Jones Island,\u00a0a tiny island that’s 100% state park and served as our base camp.<\/p>\n