During the weekend, I pointed the Jeep north before sunrise, strapped the sea kayak to the roof, and headed for the San Juan Islands. Some places never lose their sense of adventure, and every time I paddle here, I’m reminded why it’s one of my favorite corners of the Pacific Northwest. The moment the kayak slipped into the water, the pace of the world changed.
The only sounds were my paddle cutting through the calm sea, gulls calling overhead, and the occasional splash somewhere in the distance. It didn’t take long before bald eagles appeared above the shoreline, keeping watch from towering evergreens while harbor seals surfaced nearby, curious enough to investigate before disappearing beneath the water again.
One of the things I love most about sea kayaking is that it encourages you to slow down. You notice the changing color of the water, the rhythm of the tides, and the quiet coves that most people never get to experience. I drifted along rocky shorelines, passed hidden beaches, and paused more than once simply to take it all in. Out there, the only schedule that matters belongs to the tide.
As a writer, weekends like this always leave me with more than great memories. They leave me with ideas. A line of dialogue. A new setting. A character who suddenly feels a little more real. By the time I loaded the kayak back onto the Jeep, I was tired in the best possible way. Salt on my skin. Sun on my face. A notebook that somehow felt fuller than when I arrived. I couldn’t ask for much more than that.
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