Recently, I took two trips in as many days to Joseph Whidbey State Park, which, although not far from where I live, I hadn’t spent much time in the past. My husband warned: it’s wet. That turned out to be the understatement of the year.
The first time, I parked in a large gravel parking lot on the east side of the park along Crosby Road, which provides access to Moyers Loop, shown on the map as 1.2 miles long. The Official Park Map is less detailed.
I wondered whether the trails at Joseph Whidbey were long enough and passable enough for trail running. After reviewing the map, I headed to the left, planning to complete a clockwise loop. I noticed that initially, the trail was wet, grassy and flat. Things looked good for future trail running.
Soon, I entered an event wetter section that branched off of Moyers Loop (shown as 0.31 miles on the map) that was surrounded by trees. I heard two eagles calling to one another, then came upon this fire pit with a cluster of several large feathers hanging from a nearby branch.
Ivy covered the ground just past the pit.
Moss, lichen and fungi and decaying logs, branches and plants covered nearly every surface of the ground and much of the lower parts of the trees.
I’d never seen this species of white fungus? before.
There were several different types of trees, including this covered in tangled branches.
Before long I’d reached the parking lot at the main entrance to the park with signage about the hours (8:00 am to dusk), requirement of the Discover Pass and restroom.
From there, I headed towards the beach, where there is a covered picnic area.
As is the case during much of the winter, the tide was pretty high. The beach was covered in glacial till, driftwood and seaweed.
A friendly guy walking his dog answered my question about a trail just above the beach. He said that it ran about a mile or so, eventually leading on to NAS Whidbey, where walkers were allowed unless orange markers had been placed to indicate that the munitions range was in use.
I returned along the same way I came, took a few photos, and planned to try the beach walk another day.
I’d never seen this type of lichen? before.
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The next day, I returned, parked near the main entrance and followed the path marked 0.31 miles on the map towards Moyers Loop. I completed much of the loop, slogging through water and mud, then headed down to the area very appropriately marked “swamp” 0.4 miles, where I found deeper water, sloppier mud, small ponds and exactly the types of vegetation I expected.
Persons had even made an effort to build a bridge of sorts. At other locations along this and the Moyers Loop, someone had placed branches and flat boards amidst the muck to make for easier passage.
Past the swamp area, I noticed a path that led up a hill, so I followed it, later noticed it marked firm-grasp-of-the-obvious as “Hill,” which provided a nice view towards the northwest, then ended.
Returning to the loop trail, I traipsed around to the sound of weapon fire from the NAS Whidbey gun range and then continued back to the beach hoping to give the beach trail a try. With my trail shoes already sopping wet, I was willing to cross a little water. The further I walked, the deeper it got, so when I reached the other end of the first in what appeared to be a series of short narrow trail ponds, I gave up, walked towards the shore, and headed back to my vehicle. Using MapMyRun, I found the distance from its start, near the covered picnic area, to Rocky Point Road, beyond which you can’t go far, to be just over a mile one way. I concluded that during dryer conditions, Moyers Loop would be a good place for a beginner trail runner to try, but will have to wait for better weather to learn more about the beach trail.
While at the park, I spoke to a several dog walkers, all of whom sung the park’s praises in spite of all the water and mud. I plan to return some time this spring.
We watched a big group (about 20 folks) on horses heading towards us with the fog following. It looked safe enough so I tried not to sweat it.
When we got back to the start, the guides told us to halt the horses and wait for them to help us dismount, but Tator wouldn’t have it. He wanted me off asap, so instead of standing still, he continued towards the rail as I thought how wrong it would be to survived all that only to get bucked off at the end. Thankfully, I was got off before he did anything dangerous. The fact that I petted his neck several times on the way back and said, “Good Tator, Good Boy,” had no effect on his bad behavior. When JoDee and I met up afterwards, she gushed at how fun it was. Her only disappointment was at not getting the chance to canter off into the sunset with her fast-walking horse. OMG I was just happy to have survived.
Four Septembers ago, just after I started trail running weekly with a group of gals, I asked if any of them might be interested in running 
The following year I agonized over the dilemma of who to ask back. I wanted to invite some novices who I thought would enjoy the challenge, but I knew that a number of the past year’s participants wanted to run it again. Fortunately, things worked out. The second year’s team, Intrepid Bipeds (another learning experience, trying to choose a name that everyone can live with) consisted of six gals from the 2013 team and six new gals, which was perfect. A former van mate “offered” to “take Van 1,” that is, be the Van 1 Captain, which wasn’t exactly doing me, Van 2 Captain, any favors. As you can see from the chart I created after last year’s race that compared Van 1 versus Van 2 distance and climb.
As the captain, I knew I needed to act like it and agreed to captain Van 2 for a second year, which was even more fun the second time around. Although Van 2 covers a little more distance, a lot more climb, runs more legs in the dark has a shorter sleep break at an inopportune time, Van 1 runners must be up at the crack of dawn on race day to get to the start and, if the team sets that rule, must kill several hours after finishing their legs in order to meet their teammates at the finish. Unfortunately, we’d forgotten to get window paint, so we had to make due with the only window markers we could find at a local drug store.
I’d labeled the lids of the water bottles so that we could keep track of them. This turned out to be entertaining. At the end, we were left only with the frowny-face. Nobody wanted anyone to get stuck with it, so we just switched out the lids.
Running at night, before you’ve done it, sounds scary, but it turns out that almost everyone who does so ends up liking that leg the most. Once Runners 7 through 12 had completed their legs and we’d handed off the wrist slap band to Van 1 at Oak Harbor High School, we headed to my place for another round of Eat.Sleep. It’s hard to sleep when you know you’ll be running again in only a few hours. In 2013, this bothered me (and I slept only about half an hour). In 2014, I didn’t even try, just rested for awhile before eating breakfast, checking on the Van 1 Runners’ progress, packing up the van and heading to Coupeville.
At this point, Van 1 was done, but we’d agreed that they would meet us at the finish line in Langley so that we could all cross it together as a team. Thirty and a half hours after Runner 1 crossed the start, we all joined Runner 12 as she crossed the finish line. Each finisher receives a medal and each van receives a free pizza, which teammates take to a table in the beer garden for some post-race refreshment and rehashing of the race.
Although on this particular day (Christmas Eve), I didn’t catch any keepers, I was excited to have trapped this female Dungeness crab with eggs. I always try to return the less-than-legal sized crab pretty far from my or others’ pots (because they tend to come right back). And I do so carefully so that I don’t damage the crab’s shell as it hits the water.
I asked a Park Ranger about the rule requiring crabbers to “retain the shell from the field,” and learned that technically, crabbers must retain the crab shell until they arrive home with their crab. In practice, at least this enforcement officer said that crabbers must retain crabs’ shells until they leave the dock. You may then clean your crab near the shore and leave the shell in the water. Seagulls will be happy to take care of the guts for you.
Although crabbing at Cornet Bay can be frustrating (more often than not, I come home empty handed), it’s always fun. Even if you don’t catch any keepers, you’ll likely trap at lot of crab. And dock crabbers tend to be really friendly, so if you have any questions, just ask another crabber.
Lastly, there’s lots to do at Cornet Bay and other places within Deception Pass State Park while you wait for crab to enter your trap. Just look in the water to see eel grass (which is where crab tend to hang out), sometimes with stuff on it (like these brooding anemones), bull kelp and, sometimes, crab.
On any given day (at specific times, which I’ve yet to figure out), you’ll find “the regulars” fishing for herring and smelt along the right-hand-side of the dock at the bottom of the ramp. You can do this too. Check out the 
Along the perimeter of the dock (you’ll have to kneel down and look over the edge), you can find tube worms and anemones (plumrose I think) and low tide exposes creatures on the pilings like anemones and barnacles. This past week when the presence of more than normal jellyfish were being found in the Puget Sound was in the news, I saw Fried egg jellyfish (Phacellophora camtschatica) several times in the water near the dock.
Take a boat ride around Cornet Bay, through Deception Pass and over to the Rosario and Bowman Bay areas by way of 
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