April 13, 2000
Leaving the Washington, D.C. beltway, we headed east through Annapolis, across the long, high bay bridge over the Chesapeake Bay onto the Delmarva (Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia) peninsula. A sign at the bridge entrance warned of “high winds.” When gusts shoved the motorhome partially into the left lane, I realized that it really was going to be a rough day’s drive. My guess was that Pat was mentally calculating the distance we would fall down into the water if the wind blew us off the bridge. Maybe our decision to travel today had not been one of our best. As we entered Maryland’s “eastern shore,” the wind gusts became even stronger – especially when we passed open corn fields, where there were no trees to break the winds. Then it happened. The large awning on the side of our motorhome blew partly open by a particularly strong gust. Trying to put a positive spin on the situation, I mumbled something about the wind’s failure to blow our motorhome over.
The highway traffic was very heavy. To pull off to the side of the road and fix the awning made no sense as long as the wind was blowing so hard. Fixing the awning required that the awning be opened fully, re-rolled, and then latched and tied down tightly. Opening an awning into a strong wind can be a prescription for disaster. It might catch the wind and be ripped off the motorhome, to sail away toward Canada like a runaway kite. No, a better solution was to wait until the highway passed by some heavy woods to break the wind so the awning could be opened safely. By now, the partially unrolled awning was flapping and banging on the side of the motorhome and the traffic was in jam mode: crawling and stopping. After maybe 10 to 15 minutes of crawling and flapping, we made it to the shelter of heavy woods. Pulling off the road, we unrolled the awning, re-rolled it, and tied it down securely. A highway patrol-woman stopped to ask if we needed help. “No,” we replied. “Just fixing our awning.” By then, the traffic had cleared and we continued our journey.
But the winds did not abate – they became even stronger. Even with the awning latched and tied down, we could hear it creaking and knew that it might somehow blow open again. We decided to stop at the closest RV park that we could find. Our “port in the storm” was the Martinak State Park near Denton, MD. This park was located in a forest along the Choptank River, where we watched Osprey hunt in the strong wind for fish to take to their nesting mates. Even in the protection of the many trees in the park, the leaves continued to swirl as the storm continued. Early the next morning we were greeted with more strong winds and snow. Yes, snow in early April! Under blizzard-like conditions, we drove into downtown Denton, where we found a cozy restaurant for some Sunday morning pancakes.
As the day progressed, the winds subsided a little, the sky cleared, and we headed for the historical town of St. Michaels, MD. Located on the Miles River near the Chesapeake Bay, St. Michaels was once a thriving Colonial village. During the Revolutionary War, this town fooled the British. In the dark morning hours of August 10, 1813, a number of British barges had planned an attack on the town and the fort on the harbor side. The residents of tiny St. Michaels, forewarned, turned off all lights in their homes and hoisted lanterns to the masts of ships and in the tops of the trees, tricking the British by causing the cannons to overshoot the town. This first “blackout” was effective and only one house was struck. It is now known as “The Cannonball House.” A cannonball penetrated the roof and rolled down the staircase as Mrs. Merchant carried her infant daughter downstairs.
For us, the central attraction of St. Michaels was the Maritime Museum. The history of the Chesapeake Bay area was presented in a very clear and concise way. But, unlike most public museums, the subject of “making a living on the Chesapeake” was covered in considerable detail. When we first entered the waterfowl museum, I was disappointed. No bird identification or ecology here – only duck hunting and carving of wooden duck decoys could be found. But I warmed to the subject. One low profile boat, named a sneak skiff, contained a gigantic shotgun called a punt gun. Market hunters, who sold the ducks that they shot, used the sneak skiff to stalk waterfowl resting and feeding on the water at night. The boat’s design – sharp ends, flat bottom, and low sides – allowed the gunner to move silently and invisibly. Boat, gun, and hunter were camouflaged white. White broke the rig’s silhouette against the night sky. When close to birds, the gunner lay in the boat’s bottom and used hand paddles. Then he used his punt gun – as big as a two-gauge shotgun – which was laid in the skiff, protruding over the bow. This long gun was fired when the ducks were within range: 30-50 yards. After the gun was fired once, the boat and its load of ducks has rowed ashore where the big gun was reloaded for the next hunt. The bay’s winter waters made skiffing difficult and dangerous. Nevertheless, it was the market gunner’s most effective tool. With a single shot from the punt gun, they hoped to kill about 30 ducks. As the duck numbers declined dramatically, the sport hunters and naturalists helped pass laws against this type of hunting.
But -- back to the museum -- an ingenious method of decoying canvasbacks (toling) was also described. A species of mongrel waterdog was taught to run back and forth on the shore after sticks, stones or other missiles thrown by hunters who were concealed in blinds nearby. Ducks offshore and out of range observed the strange behavior of the dog and began to move in closer and closer to the shore. The ducks often did not stop until they were a few feet from shore and sometimes even walked onshore. They were clearly curious and astonished by the playful motions of the dog. The dog was trained to ignore the ducks until the hunters opened fire from their blinds. Immediately, the dog’s behavior changed and it rushed into the water to retrieve the maimed and wounded ducks that dyed the water with their rich blood.
The museum also exhibited many kinds of other tools used to harvest wildlife in the Chesapeake, including many kinds of boats, fishnets, oyster rakes, trotlines, traps, and guns used from the time that Europeans first colonized the area. Although some might find the tools and tactics offensive to our modern day, environmental sensibilities, the museum provides an excellent coverage of the tools used. The museum takes a non-judgmental attitude: it neither condemns or defends the use of these tools and tactics. It simply presents them for their historical importance.
It was of interest to me that the descendants of these aggressive hunters and fishermen now belong to a much kinder, gentler and environmentally friendlier culture. The evidence can be found in the large number of wildlife preserves and nature parks in the Delmarva peninsula. But maybe it is best exemplified by the naming of their baseball team. Do they name them after some ferocious predator like a shark or a tiger? No! They are known as the mighty and intimidating ... Shorebirds.
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