THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 21, 1996 TAG: 9607200047
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY MARY BURNHAM, TRAVEL CORRESPONDENT
LENGTH: 184 lines
``YOU WANT to do what for our anniversary?'' asked my incredulous husband.
``Backpack,'' I said. ``On the beach. Maybe 12 miles. Camp in the dunes.''
``Boy, you've sure changed,'' he said. In fact, I had. Our first anniversary was a Bermuda cruise. Our second would be a place with no showers, flush toilets or fresh water. And you can forget about the midnight buffet.
What inspired such a change of heart? The place was Assateague Island off the coast of Maryland, a protected National Seashore where herds of wild ponies run free and the only developments are campgrounds.
There are many ways to enjoy this ocean environment, in both Maryland and Virginia: fishing, clamming, crabbing, canoeing, hiking and even bicycling.
Our back-country trip began at a National Park Service ranger station on the Maryland side of Assateague. Before us stretched 13 miles of tempting beach leading to a few back-country campsites.
What's more, a check with the calendar showed there would be a full moon on the very night of our campout.
Assateague was designated a National Seashore in 1965, preserving it from the high-rise resort developments of its northern neighbor, Ocean City. At one point, Assateague and the peninsula to the north were connected. The Great 1933 Hurricane broke an inlet just below Ocean City, putting a stop to vehicular traffic onto Assateague.
Despite this, private development prospered for a time on Assateague, and it seemed destined for the same fate as Ocean City. A 1955 Park Service survey concluded Assateague was lost to private development. Then nature reclaimed her own. A violent storm in 1962 destroyed nearly all of the 50 or so private dwellings on the island.
Today Assateague is in a constant state of flux. Assateague's lighthouse provides good evidence of this. Once located on the southernmost tip of the island, it is now far inland, owing to sand deposited by the current.
The island offers something different for avid hikers who equate ``backcountry'' with woods, streams and mountains. There is something alluring about walking the beach for miles, leaving civilization farther and farther behind, then setting up camp among sand dunes and falling asleep to the rhythm of waves.
(For those who still want the hot-shower-flush-toilet thing, Assateague has two main campgrounds, one run by the state and the other by the National Park Service. Here you can still pitch your tent - or even park your RV - in the dunes well within hearing distance of the pounding surf. They're open year-round, but are full just about every weekend in July and August.)
We had reserved one of the five campsites at a spot called Little Levels, a four-mile hike and the closest backcountry campsite. To reach the second ocean-side campsite required hiking 12 miles, too far a walk for our schedule.
Assateague's Bay side features three backcountry campsites, but rangers recommended avoiding them at this time of year because of fierce mosquitoes and ticks.
Barely making the noon check-in deadline for backcountry campers, we shouldered our packs and headed for the surf. I imagine we presented quite a sight: Two fully clad hikers trudging with full packs past bikini-clad sunbathers and picnicking families.
We were pretty well prepared: a light-weight tent, portable propane stove, a nifty mess kit nested inside cooking pots, and sleeping bags. Luxuries like sleeping mats, extra clothes, even a hard-cover novel I'd been reading, all were left behind. When you hike, you have to pick your comforts carefully.
Our biggest challenge was packing enough water. There are no freshwater sources in Assateague's backcountry. My worst fear was not thirst, but waking up without enough water to make coffee.
A park service brochure recommended three quarts of water per person, per day. Between three bottles squeezed into our packs and a two-quart insulated jug to hand-carry, we figured we had just about six quarts. We planned to be gone 24 hours. And as long as there was enough to make coffee, I would be fine.
For dinner, I had concocted a tasty anniversary treat.
I put a large frozen steak into a zip-lock bag and added soy sauce, fresh chopped ginger and garlic. The idea was to let it thaw and marinate as we hiked. The side dish would be a packet of Cajun-style rice and beans (just add boiling water). I've found that the best camp-cooking is simple camp-cooking, and both these meals fit the bill. Peanut-butter sandwiches for lunch and instant oatmeal for breakfast rounded out the menu.
The most important food would be a really good GORP (``Good Old Raisins and Peanuts'') for the trail. I bought cheddar Goldfish, peanuts, M&Ms, dried apricots, and raisins for an experimental mix. (Next time I'd leave out the goldfish as they absorbed moisture from the fruit and lost their crunch.) Marshmallows for the campfire and hot chocolate filled out our menu.
Now for miscellaneous stuff. We were prepared for any situation. First-aid kit, insect repellent, sunscreen and hats to protect us from the sun, and rain ponchos and warm clothes just in case the impeccable weekend forecast was wrong.
After hiking a mile, we left the swimmers behind. But where they left off, fishing and off-road vehicles began. Surf fishing is a popular pastime on Assateague. As far as the eye could see, four-wheel-drive trucks were lined on the beach. In front of them, fishing poles were stuck in the sand, their lines extending into the ocean. It was perhaps the biggest disappointment of our trip, ruining the sense of isolation we had hoped we'd find.
We hiked at low tide, which was fortunate and coincidental. Walking on hard-packed sand is easy compared to plodding through the higher soft sand in hiking boots with 35 and 50 pounds on our backs. It seems hardly a hiking trip goes by that I don't discover a new muscle somewhere in my body - my legs, backs, shoulders, arms. You name it, they usually all hurt.
Bill and I were accustomed to hiking on forest trails. Hiking on the beach presents its own challenges. We battled a strong headwind and there was nothing to block the sun. After a short time, my feet began aching - yet another muscle discovered! Nothing has ever felt so good as taking my boots off as we walked the last quarter-mile of our hike in the cool, tingling surf.
It took us two and a half hours to reach Little Levels. After pitching our tent in a patch of bayberry bushes - where the wind was calmer - we set off toward the Bay to find some firewood.
Our map showed that it was nearly a mile to Pine Tree campsite, one of the three Bayside backcountry campsites. Unfortunately, we never made it. While admiring a snowy egret that fairly glowed white against the blues and greens of the marsh, I noticed a swarm of of mosquitoes around our heads and an army of ticks climbing up our legs.
``OK, I see the Bay,'' I said. ``It's over there. Real nice. Let's go!''
Back up the sandy trail we ran, to where it was insect-free and we could brush the ticks off our legs.
Remembering our original mission, we began picking up dead wood as we hiked back to camp. Dashing off the trail at one point in pursuit of a log, I happened to look down. There I was, standing, in sandals, in a patch of poison ivy! I retraced my steps back to the trail, gingerly around the red-tipped leaves.
These close encounters with nature were soon forgotten. We ate delicious steak for dinner, then walked down to the beach to watch a full moon rise over the Atlantic Ocean. In fact, we had two shows at once: The sun was setting fiery red to the west as the white moon rose in the east.
We walked back to camp without using a flashlight, the moon so bright it cast our shadows across the sand. It illuminated not only our footsteps, but the tracks of various dune wildlife: snakes, birds and rodents.
Back at camp, we started a fire and cooked marshmallows over the coals. Around us were the sounds of nighttime - a rustle in the bush, a nightbird call. Without the distraction of television or radio, or the background noise of cars, you can really hear things. Over it all lay the relentless pounding of the ocean.
After the fire died, we turned in. Sleeping on the sand isn't as bone-numbing as hard-packed dirt with rocks and roots, but it's still far from a Sealy Posturepedic. We left the fly off the top of the tent so we could see the stars.
The next morning, we made coffee and walked to the ocean for a morning swim before strapping on our packs and heading back.
Our water had held out just long enough. We each had about a half bottle left for the hike out.
As we hiked, we talked about what each of us likes best about hiking. For Bill it's about the journey, putting one foot in front of the other, the challenge of carrying 50 pounds or more over rough terrain, putting all his muscles to the test.
For me it's the destination. To leave civilization behind and find, simply, quiet. To get to a place where nature is bigger than us, not contained in yards and parks, but allowed to be wild. And that means some inconveniences for us - like mosquitoes, ticks and poison ivy.
As we neared the end of our hike, I, as usual, started dreaming of my ideal post-hike treat. It was a toss-up between a root beer float and a Margarita, and I wondered aloud if there was a place on the island I could get either one.
Dreams do come true. Several miles off the island, we stopped at the Bait Box Family Restaurant. Hamburgers, fries, Maryland crab chowder, ice cream. Need I say more?
After all my desire to ``rough it,'' I certainly took incredible pleasure in getting back home and taking a hot shower. I applied lotion to my sunburn, calamine to what looked suspiciously like poison ivy, and salve on my blisters, relishing how I'd managed to survive it all. MEMO: IF YOU'RE GOING
Assateague Island National Seashore
Getting there: From Norfolk it's about 130 miles or 2 1/2 hours to
the northern tip of Assateague. Take the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel
and U.S. 13 north to Pocomoke City, Md., where Md. 113 branches off to
the right and takes you to Berlin. Here take Md. 376 north and turn
right on Md. 611. The Barrier Island Visitor Center will be on your
right (a good first stop) and then you'll cross the Sinepuxent Bridge to
Assateague.
Whom to call:
Ranger's station: (410) 641-3030.
Reservations (recommended in July and August): (800) 365-2267.
Assateague State Park: (410) 632-2566. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by MARY BURNHAM
By the way: If you visit the Virginia side of Assateague Island this
week, you can take in the annual Chincoteague Pony Penning and
Fireman's Carnival. The carnival runs through Friday; wild ponies
will be rounded up on Wednesday and auctioned on Thursday.
Information: (757) 336-6161.
Color map
MARY BURNHAM photo
A lone tent sits on an isolated stretch of Assateague beach as the
sun goes down. by CNB