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LOCAL
DIVING
34
|
SPRING 2016
KEYSTONE JETTY, WASHINGTON
Text and photos by Brandon Cole
W
ashington state has a wealth of great local dive
sites, and among the standouts is Keystone Jetty
in Fort Casey State Park. After a short ferry
ride from Seattle to Whidbey Island and a
10-yard stroll down a cobble beach, you’re
in the water and surrounded by critters.
When I first dived here more than 25 years ago, I was skeptical. Shore
dives, foreign and domestic, rarely seemed to deliver the abundance
of interesting marine life that has always been my primary
motivator for submersion. But Keystone was an exception and
still pleasantly surprises today. From obscure little species that
will light up the eyes of fish geeks to the big-name Pacific
Northwest celebrity with eight tentacles, it’s extraordinary
what you might bump into.
There are two different dive sites here. The most
frequently explored is “the jetty” — a 75-yard-long
sloping boulder pile stretching from the waterline
out to 60 feet deep that is a manmade breakwater
for the Coupeville (Keystone)–Port Townsend
ferry terminal in the harbor to the west.
Scuba divers should stay on the east side
of the rocks, well away from the
ferry’s pathway. About 250
yards to the east of the
jetty is the second
dive site: an abandoned
wharf 10 yards offshore with
a jungle gym of pier pilings.
We begin our creature quest
in the lee of the jetty in just a few feet
of water. I’m in hot pursuit of pencil-sized
gunnels — eellike beasties in red or camo green that
slither among iridescent algae — when I stumble upon
a decorated warbonnet sporting a spikey hairdo and pouty lips.
It’s definitely one of the coolest characters in this emerald sea. I manage
to get a portrait before it disappears. I could gladly devote an entire dive to this
species, but my buddy shakes her head and points toward deeper water. I obey. I guess
some people feel an hourlong dive in 5 feet of water is not an impressive logbook entry.
The tumbling boulders at 20 to 30 feet are painted pink by coralline algae and orange by
colonies of tunicates. Sculpins, greenlings and surfperch flit about like scaled tropical birds. We
find opalescent nudibranchs, a clown dorid and a lovely alabaster sea slug. The nooks and crannies
are absolutely crawling with crabs — sharpnose, decorators and hermits along with juvenile Puget
Sound kings, kelps and even cryptic hairy heart crabs. Dozens of scallops lie about, smiling at us,
until I move too close for a shot and launch them into a swimming fit. Clapping madly to jerkily jet
in random directions like maniacal sets of flying false teeth, the scallops are a hilarious sight.