Chasing the Sun: The Eastern Shore of Virginia
It was a late Friday afternoon, and I faced the prospect of returning north to the denizens of the DC environs. Add to this dilemma the forecast for Saturday of yet another day of rain — what seemed like two weeks straight of gray, wet, rainy days — and I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I needed a plan, but what? Where?
I checked the forecast all around my position, at the time, Charlottesville: Rain to the west. Rain to the north. Rain to the south. But to the east there was hope; it was predicted to be sunny and clear down around Virginia Beach and all the way up the east coast to Baltimore. I was prepared to chase after the sun if I had to.
I felt the old, familiar urge begin to rise inside me. I’ve written about it before, not just my own wanderlust, but the freedom of escaping, even if just for a short period of time, and how such an escape can recharge you or simply consume your mind for the time you are gone; no rat race, no traffic, no honking car horns, no populace of self-absorbed masses running around with frazzled, stressed out looks on their faces, resigned to a life on the hamster wheel.
I resolved to drive southeast to Norfolk and find lodging there at one of the numerous Navy Gateway Inns in the area, overnight there, then get up early the next morning to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel over to the eastern shore of Virginia, and spend the day meandering slowly north up the coast. The forecast was for sunny skies and temperatures in the 70s.
But before I could do that, I would have to pass through Richmond and the approaches to Williamsburg along the way, during rush hour. Anyone familar with driving in Virginia on its national interstates knows what a test of patience it can be. Interstate 95 all the way north or south between DC and Richmond can become a parking lot at anytime of the day, any day of the week. Interstate 66 west and east from or to DC can also become clogged, mostly during morning and afternoon rush hour. Even I-81 which runs northeast and southwest along the western side of the state can become an adventure, because, for some strange reason, it usually has more tractor-trailer rigs on it than any other interstate I’ve ever driven, and it runs along mountainous terrain in some places where a lot of wrecks happen. The road I would drive from Charlottesville to Norfolk — Interstate 64 — was also afflicted with these types of clogs and stoppages, especially between Richmond and Norfolk. But I figured if I could just be patient and wait it all out, on a Friday afternoon/early evening when many people head south and east for the weekend to Virginia Beach and the Outer Banks, I would eventually and likely be rewarded.
Based on its close proximity to the Bay Bridge-Tunnel, I called ahead and reserved a room on board Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek, a Naval amphibious base set against the southern edge of the Atlantic/Chesapeake confluence. The minute I pulled through the gate at 8:30, I felt an oddly comforting sense of relief, as if I were home in some way. That sense of relief only heightened when I found the NEX and commissary still open and located a short walk across the parking lot from my lodging. I had 30 minutes before closing to get a late dinner and pick up some much-needed provisions for my trip the next day. As with most DoD lodging, the Navy Gateway Inn and Suites were not anything spectacular or 5-star, but it had everything I needed and was in a perfect location.
In the morning, I woke up at a leisurely hour, walked outside and observed a brilliantly sunlit Atlantic coast morning. I decided to explore the beaches on the north shore of the base. Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek has a rich history in U.S. amphibious operations, and is also the home to four SEAL Teams. I slowly made my way around the laid-back base northward to “Anzio” beach to see what the views were like.
After finishing up my short tour of the base, it was time to get moving north so I would have time in the afternoon to explore Chincoteague and Assateague Islands. To get there, I would have to leave Little Creek and head over to U.S. Highway 13, which crosses the bay along the the Chesapeake Bay-Bridge Tunnel.
The Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel runs 23 miles from Virginia Beach on the southern side of the Chesapeake/Atlantic confluence to the eastern shore of Virginia in Northampton County on the Delmarva Peninsula. The bridge–tunnel is made up of combined 12 miles of trestle, two 1-mile-long tunnels, four artificial islands, four high-level bridges, approximately 2 miles of causeway, and 5.5 miles of approach roads — crossing the Chesapeake Bay and preserving traffic on the Thimble Shoals and Chesapeake shipping channels. When it opened in 1964, it replaced vehicle ferry services that operated from South Hampton Roads and from the Virginia Peninsula from the 1930s. It remains one of only ten bridge–tunnel systems in the world, three of which are located in Hampton Roads, Virginia. It was and is a modern engineering marvel, and has been featured on the television series “Modern Marvels.”
Just a mile or so into the drive I arrived at the first of the four man-made islands along the route, South Thimble Island. The small, five-acre island contains a fishing pier and a shop and restaurant, Virginia Originals and Chesapeake Grill. This is where the first tunnel begins and forms the southern ship passage requested by the Navy when the bridge-tunnel was built to accommodate ships home-based at Norfolk Naval Base.
I continued on underneath the southern ship passage and through the first tunnel. It was an eerie experience, knowing I was under the sea and perhaps driving beneath ships passing on the surface above. I exited at the second artificial island and continued northward along the bridge for several miles. Eventually, I reached the northern shipping passage and again passed underneath the water and through the second tunnel. Just prior to leaving the bridge, it rose high over the water at the only part of the complex which was built for boats to pass under — rather than over — the complex.
Descending off the bridge and onto the eastern shore is like being deposited into some other world, or more accurately, some other time. The bridge drops you straight into the Eastern Shore of Virginia National Wildlife Refuge, a protected wilderness bordered on each side by the Atlantic Ocean and Chesapeake Bay. I saw birds I couldn’t identify flying, and even walking, across the highway.
As I continued north past Kiptopeke State Park, I observed a sparsely populated, mainly agrarian landscape; lots of farming.The Eastern Shore, geographically removed from the rest of Virginia, has had a unique history of settlement and development influenced by agriculture, fishing, tourism, and the Pennsylvania Railroad. Indeed, the 19th and 20th century Eastern Shore was described as “a highly complex and interdependent landscape.” My trip up the coast revealed it to still be mainly agrarian, dotted with small fishing villages, and appealing to tourism. It is delightfully isolated and underdeveloped. And a well-kept secret.
For instance, off the east coast of the shore, numerous barrier islands with names like Wick, Mockhorn, Cobb, and Hog, are reachable only by boat. And to reach them, one must navigate across a myriad of little bodies of water like South Bay, Sand Shoal Inlet, Ramshorn Bay, Hog Island Bay, and Metompkin Bay. Farther north, the barrier islands and bays eventually give way to a coastline resembling what one might find in the low country of South Carolina.
Finally turning east onto state highway 175, I was presented with the strange and seemingly misplaced appearance of the Wallops Island Flight Facility, a combined Navy and NASA base dotted with aircraft hangars, runways and huge satellite dishes like something out of the move “Contact.” Arising from the otherwise undeveloped landscape, it was, to say the least, a strange and unexpected sight.
But once past Wallops Island, I neared Chincoteague Island. On the approach, the highway passed over causeways and bridges. As I circumnavigated the small island I could see in all directions the tiny, glinting masts of all sorts of sailing vessels, bobbing on the distant horizon.
I finally arrived at the Chincoteague Island National Wildlife Refuge, located between the village of Chincoteague and the terminus of the paved road on Assateague Island National Seashore. The wildlife refuge transported me back to what the New World must have looked like when the first settlers arrived at Jamestown some 400 years ago: Untouched, pristine, almost primordial, save for the roads allowing me into the area to appreciate its magnificence.
I had chased the sun and captured it. I had drunk it in all day long Saturday, and had basked in its life-giving energy and renewal. And at last, as it began to slowly sink into the western horizon, I took the park road to its end at the edge of Assateague National Seashore. I walked to the top of the barrier dunes and finally gazed out over the vast Atlantic, looking up and down the coast line that stretched to the horizons north and south of where I stood. No condos, no resorts, no buildings whatsoever; no roads, no vehicles to spoil it. It was as if I could hear a quiet voice intoning, “If you want to go deeper, then start walking.”
