Summer's last road trip to Fidalgo and Whidbey Islands

For every day of rain there’s four following it that are hot. On Friday it poured more than the previous three months combined. We got over two inches, close to a record for an August 14 day. The rain was accompanied by lightening that sparked numerous fires in the eastern part of the state. As of Sunday evening, the big fire by the mountain town of Chelan still rages. Late Friday afternoon we took off for what will be our last road trip before school starts.

Marc was determined to know where we were going. This is unusual for anyone to ask. So, I said, “We’re going north. Then we’ll cross over to Whidbey Island.” Whidbey Island will be a real island, completely surrounded by water, I explained. Being a popular place, especially with the start of hydroplane races, we had to stay on another island called Fidalgo, and the the city of Anacortes.

Anacortes is everything Port Angeles on the Olympic Peninsula wasn’t. It has a quaint downtown and a strong attachment to the sea. A harbor town where old salts go to retire and boats await new adventures or go in for repair.
We found several yards where huge yachts were in dry dock. We stopped there to photograph an oil refinery that was being illuminated by the setting sun. Don’t ask me why, but it was a stunning sight. While preparing to leave a bald eagle landed on a nearby pole.

The next morning we crossed into downtown and were charmed by the little shops and age of some of the buildings going back to 1860. Anacortes is a town built off fishing and a canning industry. Like San Diego, it wanted to be at the end of a transcontinental railroad. But that went to Seattle. A man named Amos Bowman was the driving force in the early days of the town. The name Anacortes is a Spanish rendering of his wife’s name Anna Curtis.

The island of Fidalgo is wooded with several lakes. I wanted us to swim in Cranberry Lake but it wasn’t to be. Neither did we catch the view atop Mt. Erie, the highest point at a mere 1,200 feet. We did wander a bit and came upon a large ship that had been turned into one huge planter. Trying to correct some navigational errors, we came across four deer wandering a neighborhood.

There’s two ways to drive onto Whidbey Island. One is by ferry and the other is by crossing over Deception Pass bridge which spans a quarter mile and stands 180 feet above the water. The pass itself is a water channel that separates the Puget Sound from the Straight of Juan de Fuca. Named Deception Pass by the Vancouver Expedition because a reconnaissance failed to see it and thus they didn’t realize Whidbey Island

was an island surrounded by water.
They thought it was a peninsula. The pass is narrow and breathtaking, especially when given a bird’s eye view from atop the bridge. Water rushes through the gorge like a river. This is the most photographed spot in Washington State. It also has huge madrones which are close cousin to the manzanita.

The big town on Whidbey is Oak Harbor. Little about this town would reveal its located on an island. It has every conceivable fast food restaurant and chain store imaginable. Then we saw an old salt walking, wearing a shirt with black and white horizontal stripes, black pants, a captain’s hat, with a satchel slung over his shoulder. He looked like the real thing.

At the center of the island is Penn Cove (a cove), the towns of Greenbank and Freeland, and lots of small farms, sheep, horses, and campgrounds, but nothing as quaint as we found on Fidalgo. We turn off the highway and find the tiny city of Langley on the eastern coast. It may take the

record for the smallest incorporated city I’ve been in. At its center are two-blocks of bright little antique shops, eateries, a movie house, and novelty stores. And, one excellent thrift store.

Langley makes you like island living. A woman out of the blue points to a building and proudly says, “that used to be city hall.” Nothing in this town droops from neglect. Collectively we are amongst a lot of fellow tourists. I discover a little park and count eight great blue herons in a marsh along the water’s edge.

From Langley we reach our destination which is Clinton on the far end of the island. Highway 525 terminates at the ferry terminal and we see nothing of Clinton. We’re the last car on board the ferry. The thing carries over 100 cars. After a short 15 minute trip, we’re back on the mainland and home at about 3:30 p.m.