When I began telling people I was moving to Seattle in 2011, friends who had visited Washington State began telling me stories about visits to Deception Pass. They shared stories about driving across its famed bridge, absorbing the expanse of Puget Sound, and the awe they felt experiencing this feat of engineering that connects Whidby Island to the rest of Western Washington.  

Over the past thirteen years, I have driven across the bridge countless times, doing nothing more than stealing glances of the vista outside my window. I always did so with a promise to return when the crowds weren’t so large. I wanted to fully appreciate Deception Pass State Park and the bridge that beckons people from around the world.  

On a sunny Saturday in April, Brandon and I finally answered the call. Before we began the drive, we knew that a weekend trip on a beautiful spring day would not free us from the crowds, but we had a plan to escape them.  

Beyond checking “Explore Deception Pass” off my Washington State bucket list, I was thrilled to have Brandon by my side on a hike. In the nearly 10 years that we have been together, we have only hiked together three times. Brandon is athletic, but hitting the trail is rarely at the top of his list. With a promise of a quick and moderately challenging trail away from the mass of people waiting for us, I convinced him to tag along.  

As we drove across the bridge, my suspicions were correct. A cloudless weekend brought out the crowds. As people jockeyed for sparking spots near the bridge, we continued to a parking lot closer to the beginning of the North Beach Trail. Entering the lot, we were exhilarated to find it nearly empty. Unsure if the current state of open spots would last, we quickly parked, changed shoes, threw on backpacks, and began hiking along the water’s edge. For twenty minutes or so, we dipped in and out of the tree line. We would come face to face with gentle crashing waves, and then retreat to the trees. Finally, we rounded a corner and saw what draws most people to this spot in the world.  

Standing on the beach, we stared up at the bridge. Instinctively, I snapped as many photos as possible (bridges are one of my favorite things in this world to photograph). From my vantage point, I could see the persistent flow of cars moving across the bridge. I could also see pedestrians pulling cellphones from their pockets in a feeble attempt to capture an original moment. As I watched them, I began to pity those who will only ever know the bridge. From the beach and the trail around the peninsula, there are countless breathtaking angels to be discovered that force you to fully appreciate the specialness of this place. I wished they would leave the safety of their cars for a while and explore beyond the expected.  

Thankful for the space I was occupying, I stowed my camera away. We returned to the trail. For the next ninety minutes, we inched closer to the bridge with each step. We repeated the process of photos and deep appreciation, before returning to the trail several times. As we hiked underneath the bridge and around the far side of the peninsula, I felt thankful for the moment.  

Winters in the northwest are not easy. Beginning in late October and running through April, the weather is almost consistently gloomy, overcast, and wet. For months, we walk from one indoor space to another, trying to dodge raindrops and avoid getting soaked. The weather keeps me from enjoying the outdoors as fully as I would like. This is why the first clear spring day always feels like relief. It is a savior and freeing simultaneously. As we completed our hike, I found myself thankful for the turning of the seasons and overjoyed to be back on a dusty trail.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan