{"id":36449,"date":"2026-11-02T16:11:10","date_gmt":"2026-11-02T21:11:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/world.dan.org\/?post_type=dan_alert_diver&p=36449"},"modified":"2026-11-02T16:11:11","modified_gmt":"2026-11-02T21:11:11","slug":"puget-sound","status":"publish","type":"dan_alert_diver","link":"https:\/\/world.dan.org\/fr\/alert-diver\/article\/puget-sound\/","title":{"rendered":"Puget Sound"},"content":{"rendered":"

Spectral light dances on the water from across Puget Sound as the Seattle skyline glitters on the horizon. It\u2019s the end of February, and a storm front is moving into Washington state, scheming to thwart our efforts to dive this evening. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Serious squalls have been rolling through all day, with light rain between, and the wind remains brisk. But the mountainous topography surrounding the greater Seattle metropolitan area has created a lee shore. The water is smooth here at Alki Cove<\/strong>, where we intend to dive. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We unload Nirupam Nigam\u2019s SUV, stacking scuba tanks, fins, lead weight harnesses, and camera kits onto a picnic bench. I shake my head in disbelief that we are actually going to make a night dive off a small stretch of sandy beach across the sound from downtown Seattle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We are here because nasty weather dashed our original plans to dive Vancouver Island\u2019s winter Pacific herring run, which brings a mother lode of hungry sea lions to feast on the bounty. I was aware that this Seattle trip was at risk before I flew from my home in Orlando, Florida, and I would have been comfortable canceling had it not been for Nigam\u2019s insistence that I come anyway and shore dive locally in the cold Puget Sound waters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter if it\u2019s windy or rainy,\u201d he said. \u201cWe always have a lee shore to dive in Puget Sound, so you should come.\u201d So here I am, huddling under the SUV\u2019s rear hatch with him and his buddy, Daniel Pio, as we wrestle into our drysuits before the rain begins to fall in earnest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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A rockfish poses next to a plumose anemone at Sund Rock, a famous Puget Sound dive site. <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Shooters can choose either wide angle or macro at Keystone Jetty. I chose macro and was rewarded with this beautiful sea clown nudibranch.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

Totaling about 95 miles (153 kilometers) long from northwest to southeast, Puget Sound is a large estuary connected to the Pacific Ocean via the Juan de Fuca Strait, which separates Canada and the United States. There is always a lee shore somewhere in the sound because it has more than 1,330 miles (2,140 km) of shoreline. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many capillary-like waterways flow between numerous islands and peninsulas, which form lee shorelines regardless of wind direction. The lack of wind dampens the waves, and the weak winter sun inhibits plankton growth, often creating excellent visibility. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

With the diversity and accessibility of dive sites across Puget Sound, it is not surprising that there is a large, local coldwater dive community. But weather and tides matter in the sound, so Eric Askilsrud created PNWDiving.com<\/em> to provide real-time dive conditions and dive site predictions based on weather forecasts and observations from the dive community. This tool enables Nigam to steer us to diveable sites in the face of adverse conditions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s kind of late in the season, but last night a diver at Alki Cove found a Pacific lumpsucker at 60 feet\u201d (18 meters), Nigam tells us as we don our gear. I\u2019m shooting macro and hoping to see one of these critters, which is a prize find for Pacific Northwest photographers. Honestly, I\u2019m thrilled to be here making my first beach night dive in Puget Sound. Any images I capture are a bonus.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We submerge into 46\u00b0F (7.8\u00b0C) water and slowly work our way down the gentle, sandy slope to around 15 feet (4.6 m), where sand gives way to a silty seafloor and a steeper drop. The visibility is good, probably 40 to 50 feet (12 to 15 m), as we split up and work our way to 60 feet (18 m) and, hopefully, a Pacific lumpsucker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I found this tiny squid on the sea floor at 60 feet (18 m) during a night dive at Alki Cove.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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A male lingcod guards an egg mass the female released after spawning. He and the egg mass were under a ledge at Sund Rock at 65 feet (20 m). <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

Not seeing any, we don\u2019t invest much more time looking for them. There is much more to photograph at 40 feet (12 m) around the wooden pilings of an old, collapsed pier. The pilings are festooned with orange and white Metridium<\/em> anemones and are better suited for a wide-angle lens, but I find plenty of squids, sculpins, gobies, and shrimp to shoot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The storm winds shifted the next morning, making last night\u2019s lee shore this morning\u2019s windward side. Nigam determines that Sund Rock on Hood Canal is the only option for today. \u201cWith all of this rain, the visibility above 30 feet at Sund Rock is going to stink,\u201d he tells us, \u201cbut the vis is really good below that, according to several reports.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sund Rock<\/strong> is a small, popular dive site on private property, so we quickly pay our diver fee to reserve parking and dive spots. The wind and rain seem relentless, and it feels a bit gloomy when we arrive. The site is protected in today\u2019s lee, however, and the sound is pancake flat. We quickly gear up under the shelter provided for divers and make our way to the rocky entry point. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The visibility is 2 feet (0.6 m) at best on the surface, as Nigam predicted, and it\u2019s spooky descending through the cold, murky layer. But at 30 feet (9 m), the visibility goes from near zero to more than 40 feet (12 m), leaving us in the ethereal, green gloaming at midday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A school of rockfish immediately grabs my attention before Nigam points out a pair of wolf-eels in a rocky den at the base of the slope. Sund Rock is impressive, and the anemones against the rocky backdrop provide an otherworldly vertical relief to our images. The sight is magical and well worth the price of admission, even as the wind and rain make every attempt to dampen the mood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Orange plumose anemones glow in the flash of my strobes against the ethereal, emerald-colored background at Sund Rock.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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A pair of wolf-eels occupy a home under a ledge at Sund Rock.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

On the third day we expect fair but windy conditions everywhere except Keystone Jetty<\/strong> on the west side of Whidbey Island, which sits nicely in today\u2019s lee. It\u2019s a longer haul, including a ferry ride from Olympia, Washington, but a fleeting look at sunshine makes the trip worthwhile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While Keystone can be an excellent wide-angle site, we opt to shoot macro along the rocks, which drop to 60 feet (18 m) at the end of the jetty. I find nudibranchs, greenlings, and even a curious, photogenic sculpin taking refuge in a large barnacle shell. The visibility is not as good as that at Alki Cove or Sund Rock, but the sloping jetty rocks provide a point of reference, allowing us to split up and pursue our own image agendas. We compare notes after the dive, and I learn that the curious sculpin I saw has been a resident in the same barnacle shell for at least seven years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On our final diving day the weather once again changed for the worse. \u201cIt\u2019s not usually this nasty,\u201d Nigam says as he searches for another sheltered site. The only place we might find a lee shore is Sekiu Rocks<\/strong>, halfway between the Pacific Ocean and Whidbey Island, on the south shore of Juan de Fuca Strait. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The site is definitely tide-governed, and the four-hour drive might end without a dive, but Nigam tells us that the drive through Olympic National Park is beautiful, even in the rain. We will have a one-hour window at low tide. If Nigam is right, the conditions will be perfect for a single dive before the tide changes. \u201cSince the wind is coming directly from the south, it should flatten out any swell in the strait,\u201d he surmises.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We arrive at Sekiu Rocks in a steady rain. With no place to shelter, we scramble to put on our waterproof kits. Nigam\u2019s prediction was spot on. The strait is smooth, the current is dead slack, and the kelp forest 120 feet (37 m) offshore beckons.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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This aerial drone image shows Keystone Jetty, one of many popular dive sites in Puget Sound.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

The visibility is excellent, and the vibe is more coastal, with the luxurious kelp fronds adding a different dimension to the site. This place is quintessential for wide-angle shooters, with anemones, urchins, and invertebrates covering boulders among the forestlike kelp. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The water is unusually blue compared with the inner sound\u2019s green hue. Pio searches for the rare kelp greenling in the shallows, while Nigam and I occupy ourselves photographing each other between the rocks and kelp fronds on the deep side of the reef. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s a magical hour, and despite the clouds and rain, the conditions are as good as Nigam has ever witnessed at Sekiu Rocks. We wrap up our trip by scoring another victory on the final day of Puget Sound shore diving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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En savoir plus<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Submerged Passages of Puget Sound<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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