Richmond Beach hides in plain sight between Edmonds and Shoreline, a neighborhood strand where the Burlington Northern tracks run so close you can smell diesel exhaust mingling with kelp. The beach spreads wide at low tide, revealing barnacle-crusted rocks and tide pools studded with purple sea stars, while high tide pushes you back against the driftwood barrier where locals perch with thermoses and dogs.
“One of the few Puget Sound beaches where active railroad tracks run mere feet from the tide line, creating a surreal juxtaposition of industrial grit and coastal beauty.”
Credit: FlickrSpotted Sandpiper
The staircase deposits you onto a crescent of sand and gravel bookended by sandstone bluffs that crumble a little more each winter. Ferries slide across the water toward Kingston, their wakes arriving minutes later to slap the shore. In January, you might spot harbor seals bobbing offshore; in July, families claim the logs for picnic tables while great blue herons stalk the shallows with samurai patience.
This is not a beach for swimming—the water stays in the fifties year-round, and the drop-off is abrupt. Instead, you come for the walking, the beachcombing, the way the Olympics turn lavender at dusk. A small saltwater park crowns the bluff above, with picnic tables facing west and a playground where children's voices carry down through the alders. The beach feels lived-in rather than curated, a place where the city's edge meets the Sound without apology.
