This sites purpose and why I write about the San Juan Islands

Before ever going boating in the San Juans, 

I thought about it a lot.

Before I ever set foot on a boat in the San Juan Islands, I spent countless hours imagining it. The excitement, the adventure—but also the uncertainty.

What was the right boat for these waters? Where would we launch? Where would we park? Where could we safely spend the night, fuel up, or navigate the infamous currents?

And then, there was Deception Pass. A swirling cauldron of water that had claimed more than its fair share of unsuspecting mariners. What about the whirlpools, the unpredictable weather? Was this a reckless idea? Was I endangering my family with some romanticized dream of island cruising?

The list of doubts and questions felt endless. And yet, at some point, the only way forward was to take that first, scary step.

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Our first trip was, in hindsight, nothing short of a disaster when compared with what we do today.  We launched in Olympia—because, well, that’s where we thought people launched for a trip to Victoria and the San Juans. Turns out, that was just mistake number one.

Then came the fog. Not the gentle mist that adds a touch of mystery to the morning. No, this was an impenetrable wall that swallowed our little boat whole as we blindly ventured across the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

We were completely unaware of the monster we were sailing into: a massive flood tide, a battlefield of fifteen to twenty-foot waves that tossed us like a toy in a bathtub. And Tacoma Narrows? We nearly lost everything under that bridge when the fuel ran dry, the current dragging us toward a barge with no mercy.

We had prepaid reservations at Roche and Friday Harbor, only to abandon them when our plans unraveled. We burned through fuel at an agonizing rate, averaging under 10 mph at barely 3 mpg. Every stop at a fuel dock felt like highway robbery.

On paper, it sounds like a nightmare. And, to be fair, there were moments when it truly was. But if you ask each member of that first crew (my family), you’ll hear different stories. Some might shake their heads and say we were lucky to survive. Others, like myself, will tell you that despite it all, it was one of the greatest adventures of our lives.

My kids? Some have moved on to other adventures. Others have carried the torch, returning to the San Juans by boat, by car, by bicycle or on foot—finding their own way to these magical islands.

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It wasn’t long before I realized something: For first-time boaters and those traveling from out of the area, reliable information was shockingly hard to find.

That’s why we launched in Olympia that first trip—because we simply didn’t know any better. The marina at Swantown said we could park for free, so we did. We thought it was close enough to the San Juans. After all, wasn’t Puget Sound, the San Juans, Juan de Fuca, and Hood Canal all one big interconnected body of water?

And Deception Pass? We saw it as a dangerous roadblock to be avoided at all costs. We had never heard of the Swinomish Channel or Squalicum Harbor. Had no clue that wonderful little Jones Island even existed.

So, for my own enjoyment—and hopefully to help others—I began writing about the places we visited and the lessons we learned and this website, Sailingthesanjuans was born.

I don’t claim to be an expert, even if I occasionally sound like one. My advice is just that—my opinion, formed through trial and error. If you’re a budget-conscious trailer boater navigating these waters with family in tow, maybe some of what I’ve shared will help you avoid the mistakes we made.

Over time, I’ve also come to realize that many—perhaps most—of my readers may never actually set foot or boat in the San Juans. So, I do my best to make these stories entertaining, adding photos where I can, hoping that in some small way, I can bring a piece of these islands to anyone who dreams of them.

Whether you sail them, drive them, or simply imagine them—the San Juans are worth dreaming about.

 

Sucia Island, look closely, you can see boats anchored in every favorite hole. There is always room for one more.