Whidbey Island: Washington, Part I

What I love about travel is that every trip can be so very different. Washington is just a state away from Oregon, but the feeling of the trip, the intention, felt worlds away. Our first stop in Washington was the scenic island of Whidbey. This was a quiet soul journey, a time with friends, a time to make the most of a week in another state. There was no fanfare of something beyond my comfort zone, the solo wander. This was the kind of travel where you can let your guard down and be cared for by friends, seeing coffee shops and expansive views and cityscapes like a tourist. It felt luxurious and comfortable.

Whidbey was a little slice of heaven, wild and gray with all the foggy ambience of the Pacific Northwest. We hiked along a ridge, above a steep, hilly drop. Below was the the ocean. Between the hill and the beach there was a briny basin of water that rippled like the scales of a fish, and beyond that, a kind of natural wall that separated the sand and the sea. The ocean was like a plate of steel going out to the mainland. The sun held off until the end, but the mountains were flashy details on the horizon for the entire day. I cannot imagine a place more beautiful. There was something of the Lake District in this walk: a damp and bulbous landscape with the rise of earth on one side and a narrow cut of a path through the grass. We saw three bald eagles, barely twenty feet to our left, and they circled up and over our heads making strange, screeching calls. I am fairly superstitious when it comes to bald eagles, and felt the luck and the gratitude for the rest of the day, seeping into the week like a promise. 

And besides all the scenery and the wildlife, there was something else that made the hike memorable. I was surprised, when I thought about it, how long it had been since I’d gone out to see the world as part of a group. The trip had been planned around seeing some college friends who were also a part of the Quest backpacking program that I led as an undergrad (read more here). It was great fun being among this squad again. Hiking together, sharing the breathtaking awe of this view, I felt happy to be back among my people, with those who appreciate the trail and the dirt and the natural wonders. There was no question about wanting to climb higher or stopping to pick up stones, and I could appreciate, with absolute honesty, the things I was delighted by: the mountains, the ocean, the eagles. The community of this program and of the trail in general was something I hadn’t realized how much I had missed. It made me long for a tent and an overnight, perhaps even some mud or snow to commiserate over. There is nothing better than the trail shared with friends, and a reminder is always appreciated. 

Aside from being perfectly picturesque, Whidbey reminded me of an old film. There was something about the little seaside villages with the mountains towering nearby that made me think of a Wes Anderson movie. Down every road, the mountains were waiting, and I found myself looking for them like symbols or giants beyond this world. I don’t know what was so appealing about those mountains, I suppose it’s something none of us can truly know. For so many people, the call of the wild is strong, and the mountains feel like a distant, not altogether forgotten, home. Once again, I am called to reflect on this, on the community of people, all over the world, that seeks the mountains. We are a people of great strength, and no matter where we are from or how we get there, we belong in the mountains, or by the sea, or even in a small grove or a grassy hillside. We belong to the natural world, and grow restless in the city. We long for dirty palms and sore feet. There is a community, even among those who have never met before, a clan of outdoor kinsmen. For every one person like this I have met, there are thousands more, and I am thrilled by the prospect of meeting my kind, of communing over the thrills of the trail and the power of the peaks.  

It was this view that backdropped the entirety of our wanderings. Through the towns of Langley and Coupeville, up through the clouds to a viewpoint above the mist, even at my friend’s home, where the expanse rested beyond a tiered set of fields, yards, and houses. I tried and failed to imagine having something like this in my backyard. To me, it felt like the stuff of fantasy, but I enjoyed it whilst I remained in that dream. 

We spent our time busily roving over the island, peeking inside shops, tasting the local flavor, experimenting with which bookstore we liked the best, which coffee shop. I love sampling one thing in every new place I visit, comparing my findings between destinations. Lately it has been bookstores and cafes. Whidbey had the most delightful bookstores, and I couldn’t help but sample their wares. Seattle, of course, took the cake for best coffeeshops. 

One of the days, we went thrifting, bringing in a haul of second hand style. I have to say that the Washington thrift stores I visited are some of the best I’ve ever been to, and it was a real challenge fitting my new things into the tiny carry-on backpack I’d packed in. Later, sitting outside in a rare patch of sunlight, we had some of the best ice cream I’d ever tried, and then soup to warm ourselves in the misty chill that slowly crept back in.

Aside from our hike along the coast, one of my absolute favorite moments of the trip was our drive up to a lookout on a particularly foggy day. There had been a tsunami warning issued due to an underwater volcano that had erupted the night before, so the day had been a somewhat strange. The mist was heavy, hazy, almost like smoke, and we all had a theory that it had been caused by the eruption. Doubting our chances of getting a view, we went up anyway, driving a long winding road, much like the one I had explored in Oregon months before. At the top, the haze began to break and golden rays of light shone in pockets through the clouds. It was incredible to see, and we spent time sitting on a rocky ledge, just taking in the mountains and the mist. It looked like a sea, spreading out so thick and almost tide-like in the cloud’s formations.

These days are like sweet, colorful snapshots now. The island has left its mark on me, and I can imagine it still, so clearly in my mind. There is the smell of the water and the fog. The air is clear, fresh with so much natural space, and the clouds are low, but often cut by buttery rays of light that sneak through the mist. There are brilliant sunsets, expansive views, and shops that feel warm and smell like the binding of a book. There is the close comfort of friendship, and the wild freedom of a trail. There are muddied boots, satisfied evenings, and quiet mornings when the world is gentle and filled with time. 

Authentically yours,

Caroline