A light breeze rippled an azure Freshwater Bay as the three of us launched kayaks on a cloudless, balmy morning — ideal conditions along a channel often given to thick fog, gusty winds, crashing waves, tidal rips and driving rain.

“We really lucked out,” I called over to my son, Tom, and his friend, John Palmer, a fellow kayak guide. I got the impression, though, that they would have been just as happy bouncing around in confused, gale-whipped seas.

A harbor seal sunning on a rock slipped into the water as we steered within view of Canada’s Vancouver Island less than a dozen miles north. To the south, a dense canopy of evergreens spread over Washington’s Olympic National Forest; Mount Baker’s snow-capped, 10,781-foot summit rose majestically in the east; and unseen 50 miles or so west, just past Neah Bay, the Salish Sea, a network of coastal waterways that engulfs British Columbia, northwestern Washington and Puget Sound, emptied into the Pacific Ocean.

This was the Strait of Juan de Fuca, a nearly 100-mile-long waterway along the U.S-Canadian border renowned as a picturesque — though sometimes perilous — paddling destination. Named for a Greek navigator who, according to sketchy accounts, sailed there with a Spanish expedition in 1592, the strait today not only attracts kayakers and fisherman, but it also serves as a route for cargo ships heading to and from international ports.

Having kayaked on most of the major rivers and coastal areas in the Northeast, I’ve long contemplated expanding my horizons, and the strait has held a magical, almost mystical appeal. After Tom moved last year to Port Angeles, Wash., on Juan de Fuca’s shore, I finally had the perfect opportunity to fulfill a dream.

My wife, Lisa, and I flew to Washington a couple weeks ago for a visit, enjoying a series of adventures on and around the Olympic Peninsula: hiking on mile-high Hurricane and Kiahanne ridges with breathtaking views of mountain glaciers, and along the cascading Elwha River, where wild salmon circled in crystal-clear pools; and running and biking on the Olympic Discovery Trail.

Tom and I also surf-kayaked in churning Pacific Ocean waves off La Push, one of the westernmost points on the continental U.S.

For a Connecticut Yankee accustomed to the warm waters of Fishers Island and Long Island sounds in late summer, the Strait of Juan de Fuca can be a rude shock, with bone-chilling temperatures that make dry suits and spray skirts advisable.

Shooting across to Canada posed a tantalizing, potential itinerary. Both Tom and John have completed this journey, but such a trip would require an additional 10 miles of paddling to the customs office in Victoria, making it an all-day expedition. In addition, we would have had to plot a course across busy shipping lanes amid powerful tides and swirling currents, so on this more-or-less spontaneous outing we wisely chose a coastal route, steering west past Tongue Point into Crescent Bay.

“I can’t believe how clear the water is!” I exclaimed, peering at blades of bull kelp that undulated in a flooding tide. These plants that cling to bottom rocks with tube-like stems can grow up to 100 feet long.

“If you’re paddling in the Northwest, you’re paddling through kelp,” John remarked as he plowed through a dense thicket.

Nearby, another seal popped up and stared at us for an instant before diving back down. The strait is also home to orcas, minke whales, gray whales, sea lions, sea otters, dolphins and por-poises, as well as sea stars, anemones and other colorful, tidepool creatures rarely seen back home in the Nutmeg State. The bird population includes eagles, herons and falcons, along with a familiar shoreline assortment of ducks, geese and gulls.

After surfing gentle waves at Crescent Bay’s sandy shore, John, Tom and I spun around and headed back toward Freshwater Bay. I peered one final time at Vancouver Island and vowed to return one day to make the crossing.

I always like to leave something for the next adventure.