Around the County 2025
Every November, when most sailors have already put their boats to bed for winter, the Pacific Northwest comes alive for one last great adventure: the annual Round the County Race. Part regatta, part seasonal pilgrimage, and part community celebration, the event draws more than 100 boats northward for a two-day lap around the San Juan Islands. The combination of rugged scenery, challenging currents, unpredictable weather, and a genuinely welcoming sailing culture makes Round the County feel less like a traditional regatta and more like a gathering of the tribe.
The weekend began on Friday, November 6, 2025 with sailors scattering into all the nooks and coves throughout the San Juans. Many crews made their way to the host yacht club on Orcas Island; just as many chose Anacortes, which offers easier access, no ferry schedules, and ample moorage for a gathering fleet. Cabins, rented houses, marina docks, and yacht club decks became temporary homes for crews reconnecting with teammates and friends. Conversations picked up where they left off months earlier, grocery bags and duffels piled high on docks, and the unmistakable energy of a season-ending tradition filled the air. Round the County sets a tone before the first horn sounds: Show up ready to race, but also ready to enjoy the company of the entire Northwest sailing community.
Saturday dawned quietly as boats motored toward Lydia Shoal for the first start. The breeze was barely there—just enough to get sails drawing—and the race committee began the day with a mis-timed opening sequence, a restart, and a general recall. With well over 100 boats across several divisions, including high-octane programs in the final start, it took patience to get everyone cleanly underway.
The course ran north and then west on this year’s counterclockwise lap. Early pressure let boats weave through Peapod Rocks and along the Orcas Island shoreline, but by late morning the breeze evaporated. The day settled into a full-length, light-air march, with boats switching constantly between headsails, drifters, and spinnakers in search of any scrap of momentum.
In the early afternoon, a thin ribbon of northerly pressure swept across the course, and only a handful of boats were positioned to reach it. The TP52 Glory broke through first, slipping past the Patos Island halfway mark just before 1500 hours. Close behind, Rosebud, Setri, Maelstrom, Bandit, Scatteraction, and Smoke latched onto the same breeze and escaped while the majority of the fleet remained parked miles astern in near-glass conditions.
Despite hours of coaxing the boats forward, only two teams—Glory and Scatteraction—managed to reach the finish off Battleship Rock before the 1800 hours cutoff. The rest of the fleet drifted in the fading evening light, many heartbreakingly close, with the finish line in sight but the current refusing to allow the final push. With fewer than five boats finishing in any division, Saturday did not count toward the overall standings. Still, the day captured what people love about Round the County: camaraderie, persistence, and the quiet beauty of sailing through one of the most striking island chains in the world.
If Saturday felt like a test of patience, the evening at Roche Harbor was the reward. As boats made their way into the marina—rafting two, three, and four deep—the atmosphere shifted to something part yacht-club gathering, part summer camp. A tent on the dock hosted BBQ and live music that drifted across the harbor. Everywhere you looked, someone was greeting an old friend, wandering between boats with a drink in hand, swapping stories about the day’s dead stops, drifting duels, and the creative interpretations of “forward progress” required in two knots of current. It’s one of the purest expressions of why this race remains beloved: Hundreds of sailors sharing a night together in a setting that feels outside of time.
Sunday began with far more promise. A healthy breeze filled the starting area outside Roche Harbor, and all three divisions launched under spinnaker in what felt like the first real pressure of the weekend. Within a mile, the breeze eased into the light and shifty range again, but it held together along the shoreline. Boats that stayed tight to the rocks made steady progress south, while offshore gambles in search of a forecasted northerly never paid off. By the time the fleet funneled toward the southern end of San Juan Island, the leaders had already reeled in most of the early starters.
The lead group stretched and compressed along the shallows toward Cattle Pass, sailing in and out of puffs, catching brief lifts, and threading forward in narrow lanes of pressure. Gains came slowly, but the consistent shoreline breeze kept the front of the pack moving. By late morning, the leaders rounded Iceberg Point, crossing the halfway gate around 1100 hours and beginning what looked like a quick final push to the finish.
However, almost immediately after rounding Iceberg Point, the dependable shoreline breeze dissolved into a familiar patchwork of holes, shifts, and negative current. Boats surged ahead in tiny bursts of pressure only to stall seconds later. Spinnakers filled and collapsed as crews scrambled to stay in anything resembling a lane. The lead pack compressed dramatically, and boats that had been minutes apart at Iceberg suddenly found themselves bow-to-bow in a slow-motion tactical battle.
The leaders began the delicate crawl toward the finish line off Lydia Shoal on the backside of Blakely Island, sailing in and out of micro-puffs and doing everything possible to maintain forward progress. Meanwhile, the first of the 130 boats behind them began to round the corner and loom larger—an ominous reminder that any mistake could mean being swallowed by the pack.
This tension produced the defining moment of the weekend for the line honors battle. In what looked from a distance like divine intervention, the TP52 Mist found a single, perfectly aligned band of breeze and rode it almost uninterrupted to the finish. While the rest of the leaders fought for inches in the swirling air, Mist lifted away cleanly, crossed the line with a loud cheer, and sealed one of the more memorable finishes in recent Round the County races.
Behind them, the rest of the fleet funneled into an enormous parking lot just shy of the line. Social media lit up instantly with videos of boats finishing six and seven across, weaving through narrow gaps, fending off with boat hooks, and scrapping for every foot in the dying breeze. Despite the chaos, the atmosphere remained unmistakably Round the County—competitive, close-quarters, and undeniably fun.
When the final results were tallied, Setri emerged as the overall winner for the weekend, with the Bellingham locals Rosebud and a newly revitalized M32 Maelstrom rounding out the top three. But as always, the standings tell only part of the story. What sailors will carry with them is the feeling of the weekend: the quiet anticipation of Friday night, the drifting duels of Saturday, the shifting puzzle of Sunday, and the simple joy of sharing one last big race with good people in a beautiful place.
Round the County succeeds year after year because it strikes a rare balance between competition and celebration. It brings sailors together not just to race, but to reconnect, reflect on the season, and enjoy the remarkable waters of the San Juan Islands. And whether you finished first, last, or somewhere in between, you left the weekend with a full heart and at least one story worth telling.
