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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.