A last blast of summer sun in September brought crystal clear skies, some sailing, navigating in fog, with harbor porpoises and a submarine crossing Whisper's bow. View the photo gallery here. Three short videos are embedded in the story so you can experience some of the journey.
Day 1: Allyn to McMicken Island
With a north wind behind me, I pilot Whisper away from the Allyn launch ramp, staying to the eastern side of Case Inlet to avoid shoals. Lining the shores are sporadic clusters of houses and cottages, and occasionally a larger house slides by.
Allyn is as far south in Puget Sound as I can launch my 19-foot West Wight Potter.
I pass Stretch Point State Park where I had thought to spend the night. With the north wind blowing down on the buoys and whitecaps around me, I know it will be a bumpy night, so I continue southward. If the wind isn't going to let up, I'll turn into Pickering Passage and stay at Jarrell Cove State Park. If it looks like the wind may calm, I'll take a buoy or anchor out at McMicken Island State Park.
I guess that the wind will abate in the evening, and sail Whisper wing-on-wing to McMicken Island State Park, taking just three hours to sail nine nautical miles. What a delight to start this journey with a day of sailing instead of motoring!
Day 2: McMicken Island to Gig Harbor and Des Moines
Monday morning dawns bright and clear, and also sans wind. I motor with the falling tide, averaging 5.4 knots as Whisper covers 32.2 nautical miles to reach Gig Harbor. Along the way I am treated to views of Mount Rainier, a few porpoises, seals sunning on Eagle Island, a close cruise past the McNeil Island Penitentiary, and an easy transit under the two Tacoma Narrows bridges.
I thought I would spend the night in Gig Harbor, but find the public restroom out of order, and the dock seems awfully loud and busy after a silent night at McMicken Island. With plenty of daylight left, I grab a late lunch, buy a few supplies, and head out of Gig Harbor for Des Moines.
Crossing the south end of Colvos Passage, I feel the tidal current pulling and twisting Whisper. There is a moment when I think of turning northward and heading straight to Blake Island, but I can see whitecaps forming, and it's been a while since I visited Des Moines.
During the 3.2-hour jaunt to Des Moines, Whisper gets blasted with westerly gusts along the eastern side of Maury Island. I tuck in close to shore to get out of the worst of the wind, but Whisper still rocks as gusts strike my little ship. I cover another 12.3 nautical miles, making Monday a 44.5-nautical mile day!
My plan to escape the noise at Gig Harbor is foiled, however, as I end up moored next to a cuddy cabin cruiser whose crew stays up until at least midnight. By then I am so tired I fall asleep despite the noise.
Day 3: Des Moines to Blake Island
Not a breath of wind greets me as I climb out of the cabin on Tuesday morning. The day dawns warm, and just gets warmer and warmer with sun glinting off glassy seas.
With only 13.4 nautical miles to cover to get to Blake Island, I leave the Des Moines Marina with the motor set just above idle. As Whisper quietly motors past the Des Moines fishing pier, I look down and see the bottom 20 feet down, like looking through aquamarine-colored glass.
The mirror-like water and stifling heat give the morning a surreal feeling. A couple of days into this week of solo sailing, and I am thinking of some lyrics from Elton John's "Rocket Man" -- I miss the earth so much I miss my wife...It's lonely out in space...On such a timeless flight!
Turning north, I steer Whisper along the eastern shoreline, past Normandy Park and Fauntleroy. The variety of ways landowners have tried to stop bank erosion is interesting, and I wonder at the cumulative impact of so much hardening at the interface of land and water. Past Three Tree Point, I turn westward and cross the traffic lanes, arriving at Blake Island State Park after 4.1 hours of travel.
It is mid-afternoon and hot. I dig out my lawn chair, pack a bag of drinks, snacks and a book, and sit near the beach in the shade, watching boat traffic pass between Blake island and the Seattle shore.
Day 4: Blake Island to Poulsbo
I'm not sure where to go today. I have no plan. NOAA weather radio is telling me of expected north winds to ten knots, but as I motor away from Blake Island on a falling tide, I feel on my cheek a gentle south breeze pushing up the Sound.
I raise all sail and begin sailing dead downwind. As the wind curls around the lee side of Blake Island, it shifts and Whisper finds herself pointing directly toward Rich Passage. The decision made for me by the wind, I work against the current to enter Rich Passage, a narrow, winding saltwater river that sees much boat traffic.
What a great decision. Sea lions resting on one of the channel buoys bark as I sail by, and ferries glide by, moving quckly.
I'm listening to VHF channel 14 to learn if any large vessels are going to be transiting Rich Passage, and I hear a U.S. Navy vessel will be escorted out by two US Coast Guard vessels. I circle near Manchester State Park, buying some time as the current wanes and the vessel traffic passes. Surprise! It is a submarine, escorted by two U.S. Coast Guard cutters!
After 6.9 nautical miles in 3.3 hours, Whisper exits Rich Passage, still under sail, but soon the wind fades away. With no schedule to keep, and multiple destinations ahead, I idle the motor and Whisper glides up Port Orchard at 3.8 knots, reaching Poulsbo 9.1 nautical miles later.
Day 5: Poulsbo to Kingston
Fog rules the day on Thursday. I wake up to it, I motor through it, and I end up at Kingston in it.
Leaving Liberty Bay, I can see about one-half mile ahead, under a very low layer of fog. Out in Port Orchard, visibility is a little better, with a brighter sky above. I can see into Agate Passage, but Port Madison looks like it is quite foggy.
Sure enough, as I idle through narrow Agate Passage at 6.5 knots on the falling tide, I can't see across Port Madison. After clearing Agate Passage, I push the tiller hard over and tighten the tiller tamer. Whisper cuts circle after circle as I assemble the radar reflector and raise it up the portside shround with the jib halyard.
As I'm raising the radar reflector, I hear breathing. Harbor porpoises are feeding, probably on herring. I end up seeing at least 50 porpoises, all in small groups or solitary. I also see a few small, juvenile dorsal fins. The porps surface and submerge so quickly I can't get a photo, despite several attempts.
Commercial and private fishers work the shoals south and west of Point Jefferson. I stay relatively near shore, in the fog, and work my way around Point Jefferson, turning northward toward Kingston. Still listening to channel 14, I hear of a tug towing a barge loaded with logs at eight knots, and a container vessel approaching at 20 knots -- in the fog! Several cruisers cut across the traffic lanes in the fog, and soon after disappearing from view, a few wisely return. I hear the engine sounds of the larger vessels, and their fog horns blow every minute or so.
After turning into Apple Tree Cove, the fog descends right to water level, and I find myself seemingly alone, not able to see any shoreline or vessels. Picking an arbitrary heading of 300 degrees magnetic (and peeking at the chart to confirm that's the correct general direction!), I slowly motor Whisper forward, listening intently. I can hear the ferry engines at idle off the starboard bow, so I know I am still pointed toward the Kingston Marina breakwater. With only a few hundred feet of visibility, the breakwater soon looms as a slightly darker zone in the mist, at the limit of what I can see. I'm about a hundred feet offline to gain the narrow entrance, so I correct my line, blow my horn as I enter the narrow entrance, and find an empty slip near the fuel dock.
After refueling and recording my distance traveled of 14.6 nautical miles in 4.5 hours, I take a nap. My phone soon rings to inform me of an emergency at work that can't be resolved remotely. Jan drives up to Kingston in the evening, we pull the boat and get home around midnight.
Ship's Log 
