Chincoteague

As a child I read Misty of Chincoteague (which is on sale in every store in town for $2.99) and have always had a mental image of this place as wild, with farms dominating the landscape. The town itself is hardly worth mentioning. There are beach stores aplenty selling t-shirts and other tourist necessities, and a range of restaurants selling fairly mediocre seafood. Of course.  But the island itself, across the Assateague Channel, where the ponies graze remains open, with sandy soil, pines and plenty of birds. This area is protected as part of the national seashore. Though it is very managed, you can still get the feel that comes across in Misty. If you have not recently read the book, do—the descriptions are marvelous and the writing clean and vivid.

So, to get to it: we did see ponies, at first at a distance, in groups of four or five. Brown and white, a bit on the big bellied side (from the salt in the grass—they hold water). Then on our final day we visited Assateague on the Maryland side and there they were grazing right next to the parking lot, wandering around so close some reached out to touch them though of course there are warnings galore not to do so. They lose a bit of their wild mystique being so “tame.” And hardly elusive. The ponies are managed differently in Virginia—there is the annual auction as in Misty, while in Maryland they shoot the mares with birth control so that they bear only one foal in a lifetime. In this way the population is kept in control. The ponies, though, were not nearly as thrilling as all of the birds migrating through this beautiful landscape.

Promise, this won’t be a list. But I’ll describe the refuges we visited and some of the marvelous sightings.

 

On the drive down we stopped at what is known to birders as “Brig,” which is the Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge. This involves an 8-mile dirt road loop, where you are not supposed to leave the car. Herons, egrets galore, and then we read that someone had seen a roseate spoonbill, which would be an unusual visitor to this area.

Kyla asked: “what are we looking for?”

Mark (our very knowledgeable and generous leader): “something pink.”

“There,” she said. And sure enough, there it was. As simple as that. I’d seen one of these before in Texas, but it was glorious to see that long flat bill, a bit goofy, of this wandering bird.

In the distance a large flock of skimmers performed their the balletic dips and turns, as if someone had choreographed their moves. Their orange beaks are long and dramatic, the lower half longer than the top so that they literally skim along the surface of the water.

On the Cape May-Lewes ferry we were joined by hundreds of bikers, most Harley riders, all congregating for Bike Week. They live up to their stereotype with tattoos galore and bucket helmets with sayings like: “lick me till I scream” or “the more hair I lose the more head I get.” Terrific contrast with our group of 20 birders, all with their binoculars, sturdy walking shoes and practical clothing.

 

Our first day on Chincoteague we walked two loops, the first three and a half miles, the second a mile and a half. These were paved walkways through sand and marsh. The mosquitoes were active but not overwhelming, probably because we always had a slight breeze. That or the fact that in town, at night, a truck drives through with a spray off the back—what will come of that?  The pines here are very long leafed—loblolly pines and there is a lot of crepe myrtle in wonderful bloom—pink and purple and white. My favorite sights on these two walks were Forster terns, with their regular wing beats that then give way to a plunge into the water; black terns that seem to lope along through the air, and merlins, which are a compact, strong falcon. One sat atop a post so we could look closely through the scope. Hooked beak and spotted chest and a sense of power and pride.

On this walk there was also a range of fantastic insects—red ants and praying mantis and the most frightening spiders with webs ten feet across. Also some blue red bugs piling on to create more blue red bugs. And a wonderful assortment of butterfly including the monarch and the buckeye, which is beige with round darker bulls-eyes on their wings, and the red spotted purple, which is a deep blue-purple.

There were also squirrel boxes where two Fox squirrel poked out their heads.

In the afternoon we had time by the ocean. The waves rolled in and I had to go out and swim, the water still deliciously warm at this point. I am lucky to have many beaches in my past, my parents drawn to water for vacation. Lake Michigan, Cape Cod, the Basque Coast. So water and waves bring back my parents and those carefree perfect days of childhood. They would have loved this beach and water, would have been out there with me bobbing in the waves. They also would have enjoyed the grilled shrimp and flounder sandwich I ate at Captain Zacks in town. A few of us sat around picnic tables, shared beer and this simple food, made tastier with a few hush puppies.

 

Our second day we drove down to Kiptopeke State Park, which is at the end of this strip of land, the ocean on one side, Chesapeake Bay on the other. The drive down itself was interesting if a bit depressing. This is where our chicken dinners come from. We first pasted the Tyson factory then later Perdue. The place smells of chicken and turkey vultures circled in a kettle overhead. Long chicken coops line the road, looking an awful lot like the trailers that the workers live in. There’s a sense of just getting by in this pretty landscape. Lots of billboards telling us that Jesus is coming soon and that fireworks are for sale, along with cartons of cigarettes. The small world I live in most people no longer smoke. They do here.

At Kiptopeke there were more falcons, accipiter and buteos than I will ever see again in my life, is my guess. They circled and flapped and dove and soared, in a strong, beautiful wind. It was a clear day, with a few high clouds, and so we could see long into the distance. Mark called out what was what and helpfully pointed out what to look for—the compact body or rounded wings, the size of the bird and how they took thermals. He is a warbler man so these larger birds are not his passion and yet he knows them well. And soon we too were calling out Coopers Hawk, Sharp Shinned, Broadwing, Harrier. My sense of despair in really learning all of this washes over from time to time. The warblers bring on the greatest sense that this is impossible, but identifying a bird circling hundreds of feet in the air, where they are a mere dot is also a bit daunting.  And yet—every day brought a few more birds into sharp relief, something about the place or the color or the sound that I will remember. I’ll probably have this all well figured out just as I go into late age dementia.

The landscape at Kiptopeke is overrun with wild fennel, but also graced with purple passion flowers and a few beauty bush with their glowing purple seeds.

There was a hawk watch underway nearby and we stood on the wooden lookout in silence with the counters who did not speak to us. And I realized how I am spoiled by Mark’s generosity in what he knows, in that he enjoys infecting others with his passion for birds. These hawk watch people were secretive or perhaps just so focused they didn’t have room to explain what they saw, so I wandered off, down to the beach. This was on the Chesapeake Bay, the water warm and calm.  The salt water floating me gently along and as I bobbed, head above water, I felt grateful for all of this beautiful land and the luck of moving in and through it.

The unexpected event of the weekend was that NASA, which has a base on Wallops Island (just before Chincoteague) had a schedule launch. Honestly, I didn’t expect much. But we ordered out food from Captain Zacks (more hushpuppies and a crab cake sandwich, which was ok but not great), and headed to the beach to watch.

We witnessed a startling sunset, and then waited in the dark. Without announcing itself, an orange ball zipped into the sky, hesitated a moment as darkness took over and then what looked like hundreds of yards but was probably hundreds of miles above, the orange-white streak continued on. Minutes later an enormous boom—sonic boom—and then it vanished. Shortly after, a cloud, like a bulbous milky way, appeared. We stood stunned by this display.

On the way home we stopped on the causeway to look for rails, which make a distinctive noise, like two rocks being tapped rapidly together. No luck.

So on Sunday morning several of us got up early to seek rails yet again. We’d heard them, even from the deck of our hotel. We drove out the causeway toward Wallops Island, and heard more rails, and fleetingly one flapped by (honestly, I can’t say I saw it).

Later, as a whole group, we headed north into Assateague on the Maryland side. There, we hiked three short trails, seeing brown pelicans and a Caspian tern (great orange beak), pine warbler, black and white warbler. Right, I said this would not be a list. But this was our one warbler day as we were in the woods, and the strong breeze from the day before made for a good warbler day. Some sika elk—little tiny elk grazed in the woods near us. One mother, with a band around her neck had a baby, which nursed a bit. Rather magical.

After these walks we headed to the wide, smooth beach to bodysurf. Six of us plunged into the warm water, rolling with the waves. I saw Denise on shore in her suit. 83 years old and from the Pas de Calais, we had had lovely conversations in French about everything from the lousy food to her home country. She retreated to her towel. But I thought: if she is at all like my little French mother, she wants to get in the water. Indeed, with my help she was game. So hand in hand we braced ourselves against the breaking waves. Steve came in to take her other hand and the three of us floated further out, bouncing in the waves.  This simple happy moment in the water, treading to stay afloat, Denise’s hand in mine . . . a delight.

 

As we left the parking lot of the hotel in the morning a duck was taking his time crossing the road. Ducks are everywhere, honking early in the morning, and in general ruling the town. There is an ordinance that forbids feeding them and I understand why—for food they could become quite aggressive. So we let the duck cross, but a white pickup coming in the other direction, barreled on through, tossing the duck into the air and tumbling it under the body of the truck. Of course this didn’t kill the duck, only left it flopping helplessly in the middle of the road. There was something so violent, and quick and careless about this that I couldn’t help tearing up. Mark braced himself, got out of the van and carried the duck to the side of the road. After that, I could not look.

Heading north, we made one final stop at the Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge, a rich ecosystem, which has more nesting bald eagle along the east coast, except Florida. And, they have tons of turtles. They cooperated by sunning near the roadway—Eastern Painted turtles, a Snapper, a large Northern Redbelly and Red Eared Sliders.

I have never been on an organized trip and there is no question that moving with 20 is not a speedy or flexible affair. Just getting everyone in and out of the two vans took time. But there are also huge advantages of a group—I did not have to plan a thing or make a single decision. Our hotel, a Hampton Inn, was comfortable and served a good enough breakfast. Through these fives days, I have floated along, going off to swim when I needed the water. Above all, there was the incredible expertise of all of these birders.  Mark DeDea, who runs the Forsythe Nature Center in Kingston, has a supernatural ability to see and hear everything, even while driving. Most of the group was made up of women, mostly retired (I’m jealous of this), though there was Carol who is an organist and Roberta who runs the 64 acre Green Heron farm where she has more than twenty horses (Morgans). Her humor came at me sideways, as did her kindness. Lin Fagin, president of the John Burroughs Society (we called her “president”) was along, with her quiet years of observation and her vast knowledge. Along with Mark was his girlfriend Kyla to told us of their home life with their Eastern Screech owl. Julie and Steve Noble were our other leaders, two young environmental educators who work for the city of Kingston. They run programs in the schools and locally, day and night and weekends—the city is lucky to have their goodness and hard work. They are both also great bodysurfers. All of our leaders had infinite patience with this group as we asked to stop:  for restrooms, and birds, for turtles and a glimpse of Misty’s descendants. 

 

Comments

[Rebecca Rogers]

Beautiful description even for someone who remains relatively impervious to the charms of bird life; dots in the sky--you go it ! It's those ponies we want to hear more about...