To the Ocean

After a long bone chilling winter in the mountains, I've been dreaming of salty air and open horizons. My mind keeps drifting toward ocean adventures to come.

Chesapeake Bay Crossing

The Chesapeake Bay is the largest estuary in the United States, a sprawling 200-mile-long cradle of life. Its highly diverse ecosystem thrives because massive volumes of fresh water from over 100,000 rivers, creeks, and streams pour into its relatively shallow basin (averaging just 21 feet deep). The narrow mouth to the Atlantic acts like a bottleneck, trapping nutrients and creating one of the most productive environments on Earth. The watershed drains 64,000 square miles across six states, stretching from the hills of New York all the way down to the sandy shores of Virginia Beach.

(Chesapeake Bay Watershead)

I was fortunate to grow up near the mouth of the Bay, where the salty ocean meets the long-traveled fresh water in a swirling, brackish potion. As a kid, I’d stand on the sands from the Virginia Beach side and gaze across the choppy water toward the distant Eastern Shore. The waves sparkled like scattered emeralds and I’d wonder what it would feel like to be out there in the middle. Tiny, vulnerable, yet completely alive—surrounded by nothing but water and wind. A thin ribbon of engineering marvel, the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, stretches across the Bay connecting Virginia Beach to the Eastern Shore. Beneath it, two deep-water channels carve through the shallows, carrying massive cargo ships and sleek naval vessels.

After years of practice on my prone paddleboard, I finally felt ready to paddle across the mouth. I mapped the route from Cape Charles on the Eastern Shore to Virginia Beach: roughly 14 miles, about four hours if the conditions cooperated. I studied the tides, wind, and swell direction, searching for that perfect window where everything would align for a glorious downwind run. The forecast delivered: northeast winds at 20 mph, I decided to start with the outgoing tide. I planned to launch at a pull off just past the bridge-tunnel, but as soon as my board touched the water, a police car appeared. They waved me off firmly; launching there was off-limits. My dad drove me a few miles north to the Cape Charles KOA campground, where water access was permitted. It seems a little silly that where you can access water is regulated, but that’s the east coast…... It added about three extra miles to the journey, but didn’t really bother me.

The outgoing tide grabbed my board and the journey began. The tide felt like a river pulling me south, to where I angled slightly west, carving a long diagonal across the bay. There’s something pure about propelling yourself across open water using only your hands and a 12-foot prone paddleboard—no motor, no sail, just human power meeting the water. For me the whole point of prone paddling is to catch the swell and glide across the surface. When catching a swell in open water, you see it travel just in front and then accelerate to latch on and let it pull you forward. You are often deposited in a trough and can easily catch the next. It becomes a pattern to lock into. Once I was well offshore, I was able to lock into the blissful pattern and before I knew it, 10 miles had flown by. Mile after mile melted away in a hypnotic rhythm.

Before the start, my two major concerns were being pulled out by the tide into the Atlantic, and the shipping lanes. There are two lanes both approximately one mile across. Laying down on a small board meant I would not be visible at all to giant cargo ships or military craft speeding around. I had experience in Hawaii paddling in front of a large cruise ship thinking I would easily pass in front of it. I underestimated how fast it was going and had a frightening experience. Luckily, there were no ships in sight when I was near the channels, still I paddled with an almost sprint across them. The wind was lined up perfectly until the final three mile stretch. The water turned into washing machine conditions and I could not find a pattern to catch swells. In all, the paddle was 18 miles and I completed it in just under four hours. It was an adventure realized!

I was lucky to have the opportunity to go to Nicaragua on a surf trip with my Dad. He had been 10 years prior, so it was really cool to get to go back with him. It was a fun week of riding waves and being surrounded by ocean dreamscapes. I hope I will still be able to ride challenging waves like my Dad when I’m approaching 70 years old!