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.