THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT 
              Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: Wednesday, August 10, 1994             TAG: 9408100410
SECTION: LOCAL                    PAGE: B1   EDITION: FINAL 
SERIES: AROUND THE BAY IN 50 DAYS
        Earl Swift is exploring the geography, history and people of the 
        Chesapeake Bay on a 50-day kayak trip that began July 1.
        
SOURCE: BY EARL SWIFT, STAFF WRITER 
                                             LENGTH: Medium:   85 lines

A THORN IN ENGLAND'S SIDE THE BAY WAS THE SCENE OF STINGING SETBACKS FOR AT LEAST TWO UNLUCKY BRITS.

Capt. John Smith had little fondness for the Rappahannock River's mouth. In 1608, while the explorer was touring the Chesapeake Bay, he speared an odd-looking fish here, and while hauling it aboard was gashed by the creature's barbed tail. Smith became so ill in the hours that followed that he ordered his crew to dig his grave on a point of land on the river's south side.

He held on, and by late in the day was well enough to eat the fish. Today the knob of land at the junction of river and Bay is still known as Stingray Point, and the primitive fish are still spotted along its shore.

Most of the sightings these days come from weekend homes at the beach and from pleasure boats that tie up by the hundreds at several marinas in Broad Creek, just to the west.

I pulled into the creek Tuesday morning after paddling across the 2.5-mile-wide Rappahannock, from the Windmill Point Marine Resort. Waiting for me was Virginia House Speaker Tom Moss and Norfolk Circuit Judge John Morrison, both of whom keep their boats on the Bay's western shore. The pair had tracked me down at Windmill Point the night before and had motored across the river with the judge's wife, Betty, and his young son to join me for dinner and swap sea stories.

Of which we all had plenty. Whether you're in a narrow kayak or a roomy sport-fisher, cruising on the Chesapeake inevitably presents dangers, most weather-related.

Moss has had waves crash over his 37-foot Sea Ray's bow, which juts six feet over the water, and Morrison white-knuckled his way through one storm that sent white spray over his flying bridge, a dozen feet up.

When they met me Tuesday, I beached the kayak and jumped into the judge's car for a tour of nearby Deltaville. We glided through fields of soy, past vegetable stands, by the tiny cluster of buildings that passes for downtown. Deltaville was called Unionville once, before the Civil War made the name unpopular, and for decades was a working fishing village. But like many such ports on the Bay's western shore, vacationers have colonized it, and work boats are barely noticed among the big fiberglass motor yachts and sailboats parked at its docks.

``Railway'' on the Middle Neck refers to a means of pulling boats from the water, rather than a form of transportation. North of town we drove by the Deagle's Marine Railway, one of the few yards left on the Bay capable of hauling and repairing large wooden vessels. One such boat, a mammoth 70-year-old river launch, was up on the rails when we arrived, undergoing a lengthy restoration.

Back on the water, I made my way around Stingray Point and across the Piankatank River to Gwynn Island, a low-lying, heavily wooded wedge of land separated from the mainland by a narrow channel called Milford Haven.

On the mainland here, omitted from all but the most detailed road maps, is a burg called Cricket Hill, named for a small earthen fort dug into the riverbank 218 years ago.

Fort Cricket Hill witnessed the end of British rule in the Virginia colony. In July 1776, the fleet of Lord Dunmore was anchored off Gwynn Island, licking its wounds after British defeat at the battle of Great Bridge. Dunmore vowed to crush any attacking Virginians ``like so many crickets.'' Colonists set up cannons on the shore, and early one morning opened fire, heavily damaging the fleet. They hit Dunmore's ship with their second volley, wounding the British leader with a flying splinter, shattering his china, and moving him to scream, ``Good God! That I should ever come to this!'' Not long afterward the Brits fled to England.

I searched unsuccessfully for signs of the fort as I headed down marina-lined Milford Haven. If any of the fort exists today, it's invisible from the water.

Then I turned south along the Mathews bayfront toward New Point Comfort. I'm close to home now: From the point, I need only cross Mobjack Bay and the York River, travel down the Peninsula, and cross Hampton Roads. MEMO: Weather permitting, Swift should arrive on Norfolk's Willoughby Spit

Friday afternoon. His next report will appear Sunday.

ILLUSTRATION: Map

STAFF

by CNB