Winter on Whidbey: How to find a cozy cottage for your island getaway

The driftwood was strewn about like Tinker Toys, and enough jellyfish had washed ashore that it felt like strolling through a grove of liquid pink sunflowers.

So far today, I'd sipped coffee at my beachside cabin while watching the sun glint off the Olympics. I'd picked up a new novel at an independent bookstore so particular it stocked high-brow lit alongside a book of dog photographs called "101 Salivations." And I'd wolfed down a tasty vegetable quiche at a cafe that specialized in pies but was found inside a winery that's inside a barn.

Now, on one of the coldest, grayest, wettest mornings of the year for the rest of the Northwest, here I was walking along a cloudless, sun-filled stretch of tideland known as Double Bluff Beach, watching a stranger chase his yellow Lab in and out of the surf as if it were mid-September. It seemed a world away from Seattle — yet close enough I could be back, if I wanted, in time for lunch.

For Seattle-area residents looking for a winter weekend getaway they can reach without actually going far, it's hard to top Whidbey Island, especially if they long for a rustic not-quite-home-away-from-home where they can fry up their own hashbrowns without having to sneak a hot plate into Motel 6.

I'd set out on short notice to have a quick, solitary escape — and, ideally, a little outdoor adventure. And this 55-mile-long stretch of country a mere hour from Seattle offered a startling array of options — from artist cottages on out-of-the-way farms to in-town home rentals within walking distance of clam chowder to a wooded retreat actually fronting on a lagoon.

With its wooded south end, open rural central section and the suburban feel of Oak Harbor to the north, Whidbey is home to perhaps 100 rentable cottages, homes, cabins and bungalows, many popular all year. And no wonder: Tucked inside the rain shadow of the Olympics, Whidbey Island can seem like a veritable desert oasis in winter, noticeably warmer and brighter, even, than towns just 20 miles away.

What rain?

Those longing for recreation options of summer while suffering through a sunless January might be surprised by what a difference those miles can make, but it's also best to recognize that everyone defines recreation differently.

"On a day when it was snowing north of Seattle, we had five hours of brilliant sunshine," said Rita Kuller, executive director for the Central Whidbey Island Chamber of Commerce. "My mom, who is in her 80s and doesn't like to be outside when it's below 65 degrees, was out walking. The average rainfall at the center of the island is less than 18 inches a year."

I'd called Kuller to pick her brain about choosing a cabin on Whidbey. After more than a dozen years on the island, she seemed almost to know them all, from the quiet place in Coupeville, a quarter-block from downtown, to the authentic log cabin with the hottub and picture window that frames Mount Baker like a painting.

"Some people want to know that if they need a snack, or an aspirin at 9 p.m. at night, they're not going to have to drive 15 miles to get it," she said. "Others truly want an escape for the weekend. We usually listen to what you want, and then try to list three or four to match your dream, or tell you your dream is impossible but you might consider these other options."

Welcome to Maxwelton

I noted her advice, but decided to see how I'd fare on my own, with a $150-a-night price ceiling and a surprising ignorance of Whidbey. After just a few hours on the Internet (where I learned renting a cabin can in many cases require several days advance notice, more cash than I had budgeted, and a two-night minimum stay), I settled on Sunset Cottage in Maxwelton. It's an area that was settled by a Scottish family that originally farmed cattle and sheep. Located near the island's southern tip, it promised sunset views of the Olympic Mountains and a private beach. And the owners were accommodating, promising to leave the key on the kitchen table and allowing me to check in at 7 a.m.

While I'd learned over the years to do my homework and keep expectations low, Sunset Cottage was a pleasant surprise. The rooms were carpeted and wood paneled, with a 1960s feel. The online pictures were a good representation — which isn't always the case. There were mountain views from the kitchen and the bedroom, and the beach was 10 feet from the door. The owners had left a long note suggesting everything from restaurants to a nearby golf course that charged $7 for nine holes. The closet was stocked with rubber boots for shell collecting and slippers for the evenings.

After picking up groceries in Whidbey's artist town, Langley, I drove around the island looking for adventure. Ten miles to the north, trees lining the highway parted to reveal a rural treasure: Greenbank Farm. Amid an open field of flowering grasses sat a red-and-white refurbished barn the size of a horse stable — a building colossal enough to be rented out for wedding receptions, which it often is. Alongside it was a duck pond, Volkswagen-sized oak wine casks, and a walkway that led to an adjacent cafe.

The 100-year-old farm, originally a dairy, by the mid-1940s grew to be the country's largest producer of loganberries, a reddish bramble fruit. Berries grown here were long ago used to make wine for Pomerelle, an ancestor of Chateau Ste. Michelle and, more recently, to make Whidbeys Loganberry Liqueur. In the mid-1990s, the farm was put up for sale, and saved from subdivision by community activists who persuaded Island County and other conservationists to buy and preserve it.

Today, loganberries still grow here, though in smaller quantity, and the farm buildings house Whidbey Pies Cafe, a tiny cafe specializing in loganberry pie, beside a winery that still specializes in loganberry wines, now under the Greenbank Farm label. (The winery shop also carries other wines from around the region.)

The cafe's coffee was excellent, and the conversation friendly (a handful of locals, taking a break from a nearby house-painting job, were grousing about internal politics of the Port of Coupeville).

A hike in the park

After a leisurely breakfast of quiche, I meandered to South Whidbey State Park on a clear afternoon that remained crisp enough that I could see my breath. With nearly a mile of Admiralty Inlet shoreline, the 347-acre park is a wooded retreat tucked among beachside homes on Smugglers Cove Road.

Starting high above the surf on a bluff lined with old-growth trees as wide as a queen-sized bed, the park includes a shallow beach that looks out on a nearby spit to the south and the Olympic Mountains to the west.

With only 3.5 miles of hiking trails, I set out to hike them all. One traversed the ridge where brilliant sunlight cut through stands of Douglas fir, spruce and hemlock a few hundred feet above the beach, warming the frozen, dew-encrusted trail that crunched underfoot. Another wound down a wooded embankment to Admiralty Inlet, ending at a disappointing wooden platform that kept me off the beach.

But on such a bright dead-calm day it was pleasant just soaking in the rays, and watching the light bounce off the few boats in the bay.

By midafternoon, I was poking around shops in tiny Freeland, and eventually headed back to watch the sunset from the comfort of my living room, then read myself to sleep.

In the morning I returned to Langley, finally landing at Moonraker Books, an independent bookseller as good as any you'd find in Seattle. From there I went to Clinton and, upon the advice of the quiet man who sold chocolates from behind the counter in the Hallmark Store, found myself wandering among the tidepools on Double Bluff Beach, soon coming to understand a truism about South Whidbey Island that I'd heard expressed by the bookshop owner.

"It's a very tranquil place," said Josh Hauser. "If you're looking for excitement, it's not the right place. But if you're looking to curl up and watch the water it's the only place."

Craig Welch: 206-464-2093 or cwelch@seattletimes.com