Sailing the San Juans: An Orcas Island Day

The next morning took us to the Glenwood Springs Hatchery of the Long Live the Kings organization. But first, Mike O'Connell, the manager of the hatchery, had a wonderful slice of Orcas Island history to show us. On the shore, near one of the hatchery facilities, erosion had uncovered ancient tools and an extensive midden. Here, Mike is talking to us about the site.

This photo is an overview of the midden, which is ten or more feet tall and a hundred or more feet long.

 

The vast majority of the midden is shells of sea creatures, discarded after the tasty parts had been eaten.

 The midden also disgorges the occasional stone tool, bone needle, or other artifact. Mike makes a point of checking the shore and the edge of the midden after winter storms.

 

When the salmon return from the sea, they swim and jump into this holding pool. Here the staff extract the eggs and sperm from the salmon for raising the next generation.

At Glenwood Springs Hatchery the growing salmon (and some trout) inhabit outdoor ponds, where they lead much more natural lives than they would in an indoor holding tank. There are bugs to eat (with food supplements as needed), and predators, such as osprey or raccoons, to avoid. This picture is of one corner of a pond. When the time comes to release the fish, the wheel in the photo is hand-cranked to drain the pond, and the fish soon realize that it is time to go.

 Our next stop was the main building of the hatchery. Mike is bringing out a bucket of fish food for an adjacent pond.

The fish are eager for the chow.

There is art everywhere in the Pacific Northwest, and the entryway to the hatchery is not an exception.

The hatchery has an unusual origin. In short, the founder wondered if a brand-new chinook (or king) salmon run could be established by growing and releasing chinook in a watershed that had no salmon. It worked!

The building's interior has a gravel floor, because there's a lot of water splashed around when working with salmon.

Another corner of the building.

Mike explained the several kinds of equipment and the phase of raising salmon that requires each one.

All hatchery salmon are marked by clipping their adipose fin, which allows the fishermen who catch them years later to distinguish between wild and hatchery fish. Most interestingly, 15% to 20% of the salmon are injected with a coded wire tag. This allows the hatchery to determine where its fish are being caught, how much they contribute to sport and commercial fishery, and what the approximate survival rate of their salmon is. The work is all done by hand, so there are seasonal surges of labor at the hatchery followed by quieter times.

From the hatchery we drove over to Moran State Park.

We had a short break at a camping and picnic area. One of the first things we saw was a "tree cookie," a cross-section of a tree that was very old when it died.

The three markers on the tree cookie show its size when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock (1620), when George Washington was born (1732), and when Moran State Park was dedicated (1921).

Then we drove to the trailhead to see a living old-growth tree, which Melissa called "Big Bertha." This photo is looking back at a bridge on the road after we've started our gentle downhill walk to Big Bertha.

We were not alone on the trail.

It's impossible to fit all of Big Bertha into one photo.

To visualize Bertha's girth, Melissa had us form a human chain, reaching out at arm's length to the next person, encircling Big Bertha. Then we recreated the chain in open air to realize just how big she was. Being a part of the chain, I have no photo of it, but here Candy serves as a smiling model to provide scale.

After leaving Big Bertha, we returned to the road and then to the picnic ground for lunch. At the end of our repast, preparing to board the bus, we saw a young American Dipper. This is the bird that forages by walking underwater, snatching the small creatures that live on the stream bottom. This one was too young to be scared of us, as long as we didn't get too close. It is plump, so it may have left the nest only recently.

Then those who were interested were driven to the trailhead for a hike on the west bank of Mountain Lake. The trail was broad and easy to follow. We were wide-eyed at these emerging saprophytic plants, commonly called "candy stripe" or "candy stick."

Saprophytic plants have no chlorophyll, so they cannot photosynthesize; their food is decaying organic matter. These candy sticks extract their nutrients through a symbiotic relationship with fungi in the soil.

In places the trail was very close to the lake.

Mountain Lake is long and narrow; this is a view from near the northern end.

Our turnaround point was a grove of cedars just beyond the tip of the lake. The trail went on ...

We paused and sat there for a few minutes, absorbing the sights and smells.

Now, in retrospect, I wish I had taken several side-by-side vertical/portrait photos, so that I could stitch them into a forest panorama.

Our return walk and the evening's dinner completed an excellent day. Melissa promised us a surprise for tomorrow morning, creating some suspense.

Sailing the San Juans: Cypress and Orcas Islands

The next morning brought rain and drizzle, but that's not unusual for the Pacific Northwest. Melissa had chartered the Gato Verde for today's sailing to Cypress Island and then Orcas Island.

The Gato Verde is a "green" catamaran ("Gato Verde" is Spanish for green cat), which can sail under wind power, or a bio-diesel fed engine, or, for silent cruising, up to two hours on batteries. The captain/owner, Todd Schuster, also uses open source software for his GPS mapping, which endeared him to me even more. Here we are gathered in the stern for a briefing from Todd. We're still at the Bellingham dock.

The rain gradually let up over the morning hours. Here several of us are practicing our deck-walk from the stern to the bow and back.

After the precipitation ended the first adventurous souls relaxed on the net on the bow between the two hulls.

There is a (very small) bathroom in either hull. In the bathroom is a window, with the ocean rushing by a foot or two below. There is an admonition posted on the window, "Do not open this window while the vessel is under way." Yessir!

Our first destination, Cypress Island, is the last largely undeveloped island in the San Juan group. Over 90% of the island is managed by the Washington Department of Natural Resources; the population is about 40. The island was named by the explorer George Vancouver, who misidentified its juniper trees as cypress.

We took the opportunity to hike across the northern neck of the island, commuting to and from the beach by zodiac.

From the zodiac we could finally see the complete lines of the Gato Verde.

For those who preferred not to wander through the wet vegetation, that is, not to take the hike, the beach offered its own opportunities.

Almost immediately we encountered our first banana slug. Now I knew we were truly in the Pacific Northwest.

These creatures come in plain green, green with dark spots, green with dark stripes, or sometimes with a brown background, and sometimes even black. It became quite ordinary to see one after the first hour, but still we kept an eye out for them, lest we coat our boots with squished slug.

Cypress Island was certainly green. Even though the San Juan Islands are in the rain shadow of the Olympic Mountains and, to a lesser extent, Vancouver Island, and generally get half the annual rainfall of Seattle, the wetness varies widely from island to island, and even from one point to another in the larger islands.

Flowers also loved the weather.

Our halfway point was Duck Lake, which is slowly turning into a marshy wetland as it fills with eroding soil and dead vegetation.

We began to descend down the eastern side of the island towards Eagle Harbor, where the Gato Verde and its zodiac awaited us. This side of the island was less choked with low vegetation; whether it is due a difference in the microclimate or the history of the island I cannot say.

After reboarding the Gato Verde we sailed through Obstruction Pass and started up the East Sound of Orcas Island, which was named for a viceroy of Mexico, not for the marine mammals (orcas, or killer whales). It looks in outline like two islands glued together, or perhaps like an island that had been gouged by the claws of a monster.

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Todd tried valiantly to sail up the sound with the wind -- the Gato Verde can sail in breezes as low as four knots -- but we were moving too slowly for the schedule, and the engine was turned on. We were approaching the docks next to the Rosario Resort & Spa, halfway up the East Sound, where we would say goodbye to Todd and the Green Cat.

The back steps are built into the catamaran.

The story of the Rosario is a familiar one. An industrial baron of the Gilded Age, in this case Robert Moran, who arrived in Seattle in 1875 with only one dime and became a shipbuilding magnate, bought 7,000 acres and built himself a mansion. The industrialist eventually died and the property passed through several hands, its purchase price declining each time, until it opened as the Rosario Resort and Spa in 1960. The expense of maintaining an century-old property is considerable.

We arrived at the end of a Saturday organ concert, and had time for a quick visit in the main building before the next event, a wedding. Here is view of the concert room from the balcony.

The organ keyboard must require dexterity and practice.

Part of the waiting room next to the restaurant.

The mansion is also known for its stained glass; here, a Tiffany chandelier and window.

The nautical theme of this window is appropriate for Robert Moran.

It was quickly time to reboard our bus and check into our accommodations, the Outlook Inn, located in town on the neck of land connecting the eastern and western parts of Orcas Island.

We had a spacious room and a small balcony with a view of the water.

Tomorrow we would explore more of Orcas Island.