Jones Island to Westcott Bay

Remember that peaceful, postcard-perfect Jones Island from yesterday?

Well… today had other plans.

By mid-morning, as the overnight cruisers quietly slipped away from the dock, a Bayliner 4788 came rumbling in and tied up opposite OceanFlyer. Four guys climbed ashore carrying oversized drink cups — never a subtle sign aboard a cruising dock.

Within minutes they informed the very polite Ranger Tug captain nearby that more boats were coming… along with “lots of dudes.”

At that point, discretion seemed the better part of seamanship, so I retreated to the salon to work on the blog.

Not long afterward, the anchorage was treated to what can only be described as a full-contact assault on Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville. It was spectacularly terrible. Jimmy Buffett could not have rolled any faster in his grave.

Sensing that Jones Island’s peaceful chapter had officially closed, we slipped the lines and pointed OceanFlyer toward Westcott Bay.

Westcott has long been one of our favorite stops in the San Juan Islands. Overshadowed by neighboring Garrison Bay and the ever-popular English Camp, Westcott somehow remains calmer, quieter, and wonderfully understated.

That’s exactly why we like it.

From our anchorage, it’s only a short dinghy ride to English Camp and even closer to Westcott Bay Shellfish Co., home to the freshest oysters we’ve ever eaten.

Now, Karen and I are not exactly oyster people.

Or at least we weren’t.

But these oysters are so impossibly fresh — and prepared so well — that somehow we keep returning year after year. Pacific Northwest cruising has a way of changing your standards.

This year, Westcott also served as our rendezvous point with our friends aboard Navigator, a beautiful Kadey-Krogen 48.

Over the next couple of days we traded dinners aboard each other’s boats, wandered the grounds of English Camp, and took on one of the most difficult puzzles I have ever encountered. Cruisers will understand: somehow a thousand-piece puzzle becomes a subtle competitive event untill your brain melts and eyes water.

Good friends, calm water, and shared meals aboard — hard to improve on that.

DID I MENTION THAT THE WEATHER WAS PERFECT IN WESTCOTT BAY

Next stop: the Puget Sound Grand Banks Owners Association 25th Anniversary Rendezvous in Roche Harbor.

Bellingham to Jones Island — A Surprisingly Quiet Gem

With a flawless forecast stretching out in front of us, we cast off from Bellingham and pointed the bow toward Jones Island State Park.

The dock-talk crowd thought we were nuts.

“On a day like this? Jones will be packed.”
“Don’t even bother—no chance at dock space.”

They weren’t wrong—on paper. Bluebird skies in the San Juans usually mean every cruiser within range descends on Jones. We fully expected to get skunked.

The Arrival Surprise

As we eased into the east cove, we scanned the dock…

• One cruising boat on the east side

• Three small boats on the west

• No obvious space for OceanFlyer

We idled off the dock, waiting it out. Then, a bit of quiet choreography:

A group returned from shore, hopped into their 18-foot runabout, and headed out. Almost immediately, another small boat shifted position—just enough.

That was our opening.

Making Room

We slid in and tied up, leaving the forward third of OceanFlyer hanging past the end of the dock to maximize space for whoever came next.

jones island is always a favorite

And then came the real surprise:

Even the mooring balls were empty.

On a day that should’ve been standing-room-only, Jones Island felt… almost private.

Luck? Maybe.
Or maybe the fleet had other plans.

A Walk Worth Slowing Down For

One of the joys of Jones is its shoreline trail, especially along the south side.

• Sweeping views of passing boats

• Quiet coves and weathered rock

• That unmistakable San Juan mix of wind, water, and evergreens

with settled weather, the north cove was full

another adventurer taking advantage of the calm seas

The short loop is just over a mile—but we took our time. About an hour, unhurried, stopping often. Around here, you don’t rush scenery.

There’s also the “difficult” trail up the island’s northwest lobe. The switchbacks on the way up will get your attention, but the descent? Worth every step.

Why So Quiet?

If you had to guess, the answer was blowing right at us:

A steady northerly.

That wind pushes a bit of fetch into the north cove, making things lumpy until it settles. On days like that, many cruisers opt for the south anchorage instead—more protected, but it comes with a tradeoff:

• Two mooring balls (this season)

• Dinghy ride ashore

• Beach landing required

For some, that’s enough to tip the scales.

Final Thought

Jones Island on a perfect-weather weekend—with open dock space and empty moorings—feels a bit like magic.

It happens… just not often.

And when it does, you take it, tie up, and go for a long walk.

Blunden Harbour to Muirhead Islands

After a calm night, morning broke glassy and silver, the sea looking more like molten metal than water. Perfect conditions for running south.

MarineTraffic showed a phalanx of boats stacked up behind us, all making their Cape Caution dash in today’s rare calm. We, however, pressed toward the Broughtons, seeing almost no traffic until Wells Passage. With a wet, windy forecast ahead, everyone seemed to be seeking a snug anchorage. For us, that meant the Muirhead Islands at the end of Drury Inlet—a longtime favorite.

Through Stuart Narrows

Drury Inlet is guarded by Stuart Narrows, best tackled at slack. We arrived 45 minutes before low slack, referencing the Stuart Narrows tide station, and pushed against two knots of current. Swirls marked the final pinch between the two rocks, but nothing OceanFlyer couldn’t handle. For boats or crews less certain, slack water is the way to go.

One-Boat Hole (or Two)

Our prize was the little “One Boat Hole” on the northeast side of the islets. It’s a coveted spot, and you never know if someone’s already claimed it. AIS showed nothing, but three kayakers nearby gave us pause. You have to nose right in before you can tell if a boat is tucked into the southeast corner.

This time, fortune smiled—the cove was empty. We dropped anchor in 25 feet at a 2.5-foot low tide, perfectly centered in the “hole.” Moments later, our friends on Spellbound arrived and rafted alongside, turning the One Boat Hole into a Two Boat Hole. We hadn’t seen them since our April shakedown, and the reunion was a welcome one.

Waiting Out the Weather

Now settled in, we’ll see if the forecasted southeasterly gale can reach this deep into Drury. For the moment, OceanFlyer and Spellbound are snug and steady, ready to share stories and ride out whatever comes.

Pruth Bay to Blunden Harbour

Our plan had been straightforward: run to Millbrook Cove, tuck in for the night, and cross Cape Caution tomorrow under “better” weather. But as so often happens, the ocean had other ideas.

Approaching Millbrook, Egg Island was reporting 25 knots and 5-foot moderate seas—hardly encouraging. Yet looking out the pilothouse windows, what we saw told a different story. Conditions were far gentler: winds mostly under 10 knots, long-period swells of just 2–3 feet. With the sea serving up a gift, we adjusted on the fly—why wait? We turned OceanFlyer toward Cape Caution.

The rounding was as kind as we’ve ever seen. Once around the Cape, the swell and wind swung onto our stern, producing a little yaw and wallow as we surfed down the rollers, but OceanFlyer handled it with her usual steadiness. Enjoying the push, we passed by Miles Inlet and carried on to Blunden Harbour, setting ourselves up for a shorter run tomorrow into the Broughtons where we’ll rendezvous with friends.

Out there it felt like we had the world to ourselves. We saw more whales than boats, a sure sign we were between “waves” of southbound cruisers—yesterday’s pack already gone, tomorrow’s yet to come. OceanFlyer, as always, keeps her own rhythm.

Blunden Harbour was empty on arrival, but true to form it offered its usual quirk: stronger winds inside than out. Whitecaps greeted us in this so-called “shelter,” blowing 20 knots inside while it was calmer in Queen Charlotte Strait. By dinnertime, though, the breeze eased to a manageable 10 knots.

We marked the safe rounding of Cape Caution in fitting style: pizza and beer aboard, with a small toast to Neptune. Another milestone passage behind us, and another peaceful night ahead.

Pruth Bay Lay Day

We woke to a very different scene this morning—yesterday’s sun traded for a blanket of fog. Still, that didn’t stop us from heading back to West Beach at low tide, our favorite time to explore. With the water pulled back, the beach stretched wide and we were able to slip past the rocks on the south end to poke around tidepools, crevices, and hidden corners normally underwater.

The fog shrouded the view seaward, giving everything a hushed, almost otherworldly feel. Mussels clung in clusters, sea stars sprawled across rocks, and a host of unnamable critters and plants made the shoreline its own aquarium.

Back aboard OceanFlyer, the rest of the day was practical—boat projects, cleaning, a bit of paying work, and time spent catching up on this very blog. The forecast is still our main focus as we plan our southbound jump across Cape Caution. Tomorrow we’ll move to Millbrook Cove in Smith Inlet to set up for an early departure and Thursday’s crossing.