The footprints in the sand were large; those of a man, no doubt. A man in search of solitude, I deduced as my eye followed the heavy prints that trailed down the beach from the parking lot toward the pounding surf, then turned right and disappeared in the distance.
Solitude was plentiful that early-December Saturday morning on this barrier island straddling the Maryland-Virginia border. The entire strand, throbbing under the basso-profundo pounding of the Atlantic surf, was deserted, the sand disturbed only by the occasional tracks of seabirds and the swirls of wind that rode shoreward on the shoulders of the crashing combers. And by the track of the solitary sojourner.Perhaps he had come with a long-handled rake over his shoulder in search of clams (the footprints were large enough to have been made by the high boots and waders that clammers use at this time of year). Maybe he was simply getting a bit of exercise; or perhaps he came simply to enjoy that overwhelming sense of awe that comes with being in the presence of one of the most powerful forces on the planet - the Atlantic in winter.
We had come, my wife and I, on a chilly December weekend, for somewhat the same reason. For us, there is an elemental allure to an ocean beach in the off-season. In part, it is the feeling of renewal that the constant crashing of the waves provides. As each one arrives on the shore, it rears and roars with wondrous force, only to spend itself seemingly at the height of its power. And as its waters slowly recede, it is succeeded by yet another breaker, and then generations of waves stretching out all the way to that jagged line in the distance that is the confluence of ocean and sky.
This beach, near the Toms Cove Visitor Center of the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge, can be blanketed with oiled bodies and towheaded children on a summer weekend. In winter, visitors have the place pretty much to themselves. The same is true of the refuge, which envelops the entire southern end of Assateague Island.
Elizabeth and I had come here to see the famous ponies that roam free throughout the refuge, and to enjoy some off-season wandering in the town of Chincoteague on the island of the same name that sits between Assateague and the mainland of Virginia's Eastern Shore.
At this time of year, Chincoteague Island boasts a population of about 2,500. In summer, caravans of cars crossing the causeway from the mainland swell that figure to 20,000 to 25,000, according to the local Chamber of Commerce. The temporary residents come to swim from the refuge's beaches, and sail and canoe and water-ski on Chincoteague Bay, the expanse of relatively calm water separating Assateague and Chincoteague Islands from the mainland. And they come to dine on the plentiful seafood that comes from those and nearby waters (Chincoteague oysters are renowned for their succulence) - or to go crabbing and clamming for dinner themselves.
The rest of the year, the town of Chincoteague reverts to its primary identity, that of a small, essentially rural town - one you could find, say, in the middle of Iowa if Iowa had an ocean and a bay.
The main street is called Main Street. And while there are more than a few art and craft galleries that cater to the summer hordes, there is also a Ben Franklin 5 & 10 store. And Showard Bros. Hardware is the kind of place that, even just peering in through the display windows from the sidewalk, you know stocks about everything you'd ever need from such a place.
Off-season finds many of the shops and galleries closed. But the Corner Bookstore has plenty of volumes about the area and its natural attractions (as well as fiction set in the southern Eastern Shore) and the Kite Koop, in the cluster of bayfront shops called Landmark Plaza, has a full range of kites that take advantage of the winter winds along the beaches.
Chincoteague Island has seen a lot of development in recent years, some of it townhouses and condos, but much of it in single-family houses whose designs reflect the architects' creative freedom - and the owners' deep pockets. Many of these are to be found near the north end of Main Street and are well worth gawking at as examples of contemporary seashore home design. In the off-season, there is little enforcement of the "Private Road" signs, so a driving tour through the area is a snap.
Maddox Boulevard is the island's main east-west artery and leads to the bridge to Assateague Island. Just before the bridge, a traffic circle on the boulevard is home to the Chamber of Commerce visitor center, where you can pick up maps and dozens of brochures on area attractions, restaurants and hotels.
Just up the street from the visitor center is the Refuge Waterfowl Museum, a repository of some particularly fine examples of waterfowl decoy carving and painting. Although it bills itself as a museum (and charges $2.50 admission), much of what is on display is for sale, with some decoys priced as high as $750.
There are examples of other types of woodcarving as well, including a collection of carved caricatures of hunters and their dogs by artist Charles Logue of Havertown.
Other artifacts related to waterfowl hunting (the practice that decimated the waterfowl population throughout the area early in this century and, ultimately, prompted the establishment of the wildlife refuge) on display include small rowboats called gunning skiffs and many antique guns.
But the piece de resistance of the collection may well be the painstakingly restored hunting buggy, once used for quail hunting on Virginia's Eastern Shore. According to a sign, the highly lacquered, leather-upholstered buggy was restored by Abner Lapp of Lapp Coach Works in Intercourse, Pa., and was "done in a shop completely without electricity, in keeping with the Amish tradition."
During our Saturday morning visit to the beach, we learned from a sign near the entrance to the wildlife refuge that the 3-1/4-mile Wildlife Loop road is closed to auto traffic each day until 3 p.m. (you're free to hike or bike it before then). So, after our museum visit, we crossed the bridge from Chincoteague and entered the refuge.
The Wildlife Loop begins and ends near the visitor center, where a raft of information on the refuge and its flora and fauna is available, along with schedules of wildlife lectures and guided hikes.
On an early December Saturday afternoon, there was not much going on in the way of organized activities, so we simply drove the loop at a leisurely pace, passing a birder here, a photographer there as they set up their tripods to observe or record the scene, and stopping whenever we spotted a pony or two in the distance.
In truth, the pony sightings were so few and far between that I was a bit disappointed. I had hopes of seeing lots of the famed small horses - and at closer range.
No one is sure exactly how the ponies arrived on Assateague, but the conventional wisdom is that they swam to shore from ships wrecked nearby in the 18th or 19th century. More historically accurate information points to their being placed there as early as the late 17th century by owners unwilling to fence their lands or to avoid paying taxes on the ponies.
Today, there are two herds on the island: The 150-odd ponies that are allowed to graze in the wildlife refuge and the herd that roams the northern end of Assateague, the part that lies in Maryland and is part of the Assateague Island National Seashore. (A fence at the state line keeps the herds separated.)
Federal officials limit the size of the herds to protect the island's environment. The population of the northern herd is controlled by contraceptive vaccines administered by dart guns. The southern herd, which is owned by the Chincoteague Volunteer Fire Department, is kept to about 150 animals by selling some at auction each year.
The department's annual pony-penning festival takes place on the last Wednesday and Thursday of July. The ponies are rounded up and they swim from Assateague to Chincoteague, where the year's foals are sold at auction at the Firemen's Carnival Grounds.
My disappointment at the paucity of pony sightings was assuaged when Elizabeth, who had been there before, assured we would see many more the next day when we visited the northern end of Assateague.
On that note, we left the wildlife refuge and headed back to The Garden and The Sea Inn, the small hostelry on the Virginia mainland run by Sara and Tom Baker where we had checked in on Friday night.
The Garden and The Sea is a delightful six-guestroom inn that the Bakers have decorated with exquisite taste and operate with a professionalism worthy of a major hotel. Tom, a professionally schooled chef, handles the restaurant (it's open to the public for dinner), while Sara directs the rest of the inn's operations.
The Garden and The Sea closes each year in early December, reopening in early spring (March 21 next year), and we were among the last guests of the season. In fact, we were the only guests for dinner that night, but our candlelight meal showcased Tom Baker's culinary skills.
Since a visit to the northern end of Assateague would be more or less on our way home, we pointed the car north on Route 13.
At Pocomoke City, Md., we picked up Route 113, following it about 30 miles to Berlin and then heading back toward the shore on Route 376. We turned onto Route 611, went over the causeway to the northern end of Assateague Island, and arrived at the entrance to the National Seashore lands.
We made a quick stop at the entrance station to pay the $4 fee (good for seven days) and then set off in search of ponies. We didn't have to travel far. As we drove south on Bayberry Road, we came upon a couple of cars parked on the shoulder, their occupants engaged in a close pony encounter.
There are signs everywhere on this part of the island reading: "Wild ponies bite and kick. Keep your distance. Do not feed." Despite this, everywhere we went we saw visitors feeding and petting the animals. The ponies may be wild in the sense that they fend for themselves, foraging among marsh and beach grasses for sustenance, but they aren't dumb. They've learned that humans have food and are more than willing to share it, no matter what the signs say.
Mindful of the signs (and lacking a ready supply of carrots or oats or anything else a pony might eat), I was satisfied simply to get within camera distance of the beasts.
Cold and deserted in early December, the beaches are certainly lovely enough to warrant a return during the summer months - a warming thought as we ended our weekend and headed home.