COVID-Safe Travel to Orcas Island
By Regina Winkle-Bryan
As we sat down for dinner at the picnic table in the meadow, the deer arrived. I locked my dog in the cabin so the deer wouldn’t spook, then admired them as they made graceful loops across the long grass. I counted ten, then fifteen.
The deer were in the field every morning and at dusk. There was one with white haunches, sort of like a pinto horse. He was the boldest of the herd, and came near to my table, so close I could see the velvet fuzz on his green antlers. He had been acquainted with humans and human cuisine. I gave him some blueberries, tossing them like confetti, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
There are deer everywhere on Orcas. It should be called Doe Island, really. But instead, it’s called Orcas — not after the whales, but after a Spanish viceroy who sent an expedition to the island in 1791.
I spent ten days on Orcas Island in a self-contained cabin with few people around. More deer than people, as it turned out. I felt safe there in COVID times because I didn’t interact with many residents or visitors, and I brought all my own food, which I cooked in my own cabin. All the activities I participated in were outside, and while I wanted to go whale watching, I decided that it wasn’t a good bet with the pandemic afoot, so I skipped it. Next time, when we can all safely be in a boat together, I’ll do the whale watching tour.
I love Orcas. Since moving to Seattle a little over a year ago, I’ve been to the island three times, but this was my longest stay. There is something about Orcas that speaks to me. It’s the madrone trees — yes — and the quality of the light. It’s the many hikes and lakes on what is really a small swath of land — just 57.3 square miles. It’s even the journey. It takes a certain amount of determination, between the ferry and the drive, to get to Orcas. Those who put in the effort are rewarded with the secluded coves of Obstruction Pass State Park and the sweeping Salish Sea views from Turtleback Mountain.
While I was there, I imagined what my life would be like if I packed up everything and joined the 5,500 residents of Orcas to live there full-time. Would it be peaceful bliss, or would I be bored? Maybe a bit of both? I’ve never lived on an island, but Orcas tempts me (as does Hawaii).
For now, let me share a bit about where you could go if you venture to Orcas on your own this year. Orcas is welcoming visitors as long as they follow some COVID safety guidelines. For starters, you want to book a place where you are as self-contained as possible, for the sake of both your own health and that of the islanders. Doe Bay Resort and West Beach Resort both rent fully equipped cabins.
Mask and sanitizing gel in hand, there is much to explore around the island. If the weather is good, go for a swim or kayak in Cascade Lake, the centerpiece of Moran State Park. (You can also camp in Moran). Or walk the perimeter of the lake, an easy three miles with lots of beaches and bluffs where you might eat your lunch and watch a bald eagle cruise for fish.
From Mount Constitution, you can spot many of the islands dotting the Salish Sea and, on a clear day, the peaks of both Garibaldi and Rainier, gleaming like two white teeth. It’s possible to drive to the Mount Constitution lookout from Moran State Park, or you can hike from the Little Summit parking lot to feel the forest around you and get a bit of cardio. I did the hike, which was a gentle five miles and worth it, though it was not the prettiest hike I undertook — that would be Turtleback Mountain Summit. Turtleback was harder but more secluded, with a better lunch spot, and views that are just as breathtaking as those at Mount Constitution. Just down the road from the Turtleback trailhead is the Orcas Island Winery, which offers tastings and snacks at socially-distanced tables in a garden.
There is a myriad of beaches on the island where you can toss yourself into the frigid salt water and scream while scrambling out and back onto dry land. Doe Bay has a private beach, as does West Beach Resort, but my true love is Obstruction Pass State Park, with madrone-lined coves accessed via a half-mile path through the woods. This terrain reminds me of the Costa Brava in Catalonia, one of my favorite places on the planet. As you walk, deer peek at you through the brush. Osprey dive and swoop. A sarong and a beach chair, maybe some cold drinks. Life is good.
After ten days on Orcas, I felt recharged. My creativity was back. I was rested. I felt I had been immersed in a magical place, and that magic had rubbed off on me. I sat on a bench after checking out of my cabin and scanned the water. The sun was high, the breeze was gentle. I was blissing out, feeling lucky. Then I heard people yelling and a sort of whooshing noise. I looked around but couldn’t figure out what was happening. Then again, a potent “whoosh” followed by the blade of a black fin cutting the surface of the water, and then another, and another. A pod of orcas, young ones, followed by larger adults. A gift from the island to all her admirers, and a little something to carry with me until I return again.
