By the North End Shore in Virginia Beach

"One learns first of all in beach living the art of shedding; how little one can get along with, not how much. " - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Tonight there is big surf.  The clouds have obscured the stars, and the darkness is full of the sound of the sea rushing in.  Hurricane Earl is far off shore, but still making his presence known.  The noise of the waves penetrates the closed doors and windows, filling up the spaces in the house and in my head.  This is my favorite type of night at the ocean. Somewhere out there in the night the sea is a frenzy of towering waves and howling winds.

Years ago I experienced a few moments of terror on a yacht off the coast of Willoughby Spit heading for Bermuda.  I learned in one heart pounding instant that a 42 ft. boat that seems big on the Potomac River is like suddenly riding a matchstick in a storm on the Atlantic.  My absolute insignificance in the face of nature’s power is a humbling and terrifying lesson I have never forgotten.

"The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient.  One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea." -- Anne Morrow Linbergh

The name “Sea of Atlas” originated from Greek Mythology. The Atlantic is the youngest, the saltiest, and the second largest of the five oceans, and features a fascinatingly irregular shoreline. The American coast is intricately carved with bays, beaches, rivers, juts, creeks, inlets, barrier islands, and estuaries, all hanging on the fragile, shifting Continental Shelf.  Each year the alluring tug of the surf draws millions of people through the Hampton Roads region.  The triumvirate of abrasive sand, saltwater, and pounding tides is the ultimate spa.  Beating out the stress of deadlines, clocks, money, and traffic, the sea roughens us up, soothes,  and purifies our bodies with its ancient primordial rhythms.  Coastal life offers the experience of another dimension, the hypnotic allure of an endless horizon of saltwater to counterbalance the weight and pace modern life.

Virginia Beach summer scene

Like many people I have a great love and respect for the forces of the sea.  On clear days the beach scene is like a beautiful Degas painting of the shore; dabs of color created by cheerful beech umbrellas, kites in the air, and brown pelicans winging along in precise formation. The sunset palette has the tender pink of a conch shell chamber dissolving into a violet haze. Near dusk on atmospheric days the silvery water and sky merge into a seamless envelope of shimmering mercury hued light.  

Sunset at the north end of Virginia Beach

Growing up my family favored the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  I loved the wildness of Ocracoke Island with its rugged surf, wild ponies, lonely beaches, and pirate stories.  Camping at the National Park Campground for two weeks at a time I would spend hours walking, and searching for lettered olive shells, with their suggestive hieroglyphics, and elusive perfect whelk shells.  At night we fished for flounder on the beach with a Coleman lantern and a symphony of insects.  Sometimes we waded far out into the bathtub warm waters of Pamlico Sound, pulling the canoe behind us with a rope, and scooping up soft-shell crabs for dinner.

Sea Oats on the dunes

My uncles would head out of Oregon Inlet pre-dawn to go deep sea fishing.  At night they would stand in the kitchen of the rustic old style beach house in Nags Head, and crack oysters and stories. In the 1960s Nags Head was still a remote and lonesome little corner of the world, with a row of weather beaten unpainted houses edging each side of the old beach road, and an assortment of mom and pop motels where you could cook, sleep, and hang out in a single room facing the sea.

In recent years I have come to appreciate the easily accessible Virginia Beach, especially the far ends of the beach away from the entertaining and “madding crowd” of the boardwalk. Along Shore Drive, the scenic entrance through the dune forests to Virginia Beach, is the beautiful several hundred acre Virginia First Landing State Park, constructed by an African-American Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression, which encompasses and protects much of Cape Henry. 

The ocean turns the corner between sea and bay at Cape Henry.  Directly across the water is the Eastern Shore and Cape Charles. These two land formations, known as the Virginia Capes, are the grand sentinels that guard the southern mouth of the Chesapeake Bay and the entrance to Hampton Roads.

Sea chart of Cape Henry and Cape Charles

The caped entrance is reminiscent to me of the Strait of Gibraltar. The entrance to the Mediterranean is marked with the monolithic Rock of Gibraltar and the flanking Jabal Musa mountain in Morocco, the yin to Gibraltar’s yang. Together they formed one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, the Pillars of Hercules, the two geological bookmarks creating a symbolic and physical portal to the ancient Mediterranean “known” world.  A Renaissance legend tells that the pillars were inscripted with the warning “Non plus ultra” meaning “nothing further beyond” - an ominous warning to sailors and seafarers to go no farther.

Ignoring this ancient admonishment, Captain Christopher Newport sailed from England via the West Indies, passing by what is now Virginia Beach on his way to establish Jamestown. The three ships, the Susan Constant, the Godspeed, and the Discovery stopped on Cape Henry on April 26, 1607 (aka The First Landing).  The travelers explored the area and erected a cross, christening Capes Henry and Charles for the sons of King James I of England.  The Cape Henry Memorial, a stone cross erected in 1935, commemorates the first landing by the colonists and forms a part of the Colonial National Historical Park, although located within the Fort Story Military Reservation.

The 1881 Cape Henry Lighthouse

The cape is also home to the first lighthouse constructed in the country, the Old Cape Henry Light built in 1791, and a subsequent Cape Henry Lighthouse constructed in 1881. The scenic old lighthouse, which is open to the public seasonally, was funded by the first congressional allocation requested by President Washington.  Perhaps setting an historical precedent, this first federal work project was significantly over budget, but crucial in providing a safe passage into the harbor and encouraging trade.

The lighthouses and the memorial look out over the scene of the Battle of the Virginia Capes, where the French Navy under Comte Le Grasse successfully prevented the British Navy from delivering reinforcements to Lord Cornwallis. This event set the stage for the success of the American and French forces at the Battle of Yorktown, and the establishment of a new and independent United States.

 Today the Virgina Capes are linked by the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, the longest in the world, and considered to be one of the seven engineering wonders of the modern era. At night, seen from a distance, the bridge glitters like a rope of golden pearls strung across the throat of the bay.

Red sailboat with a freighter in the distance

The entrance to the bay also marks the area known as Hampton Roads, one of the largest natural harbors in the world.  The harbor or roadstead consists of the mouths the James River, the Elizabeth River and several smaller rivers, with all of the various roads emptying into the Chesapeake Bay. Near the bridge there is almost always a ship somewhere on the horizon, and a visitor quickly comprehends that this is one of the busiest and most important ports in the world.  

All day and night huge cargo freighters piled with boxes bound for Asia, South America, and Europe pass by.  Small tugs busily steam ahead of barges. Pilots escort the freighters in and out, and using binoculars you can sometimes see the pilot being lifted or lowered off the towering side of the moving freighter to his waiting pilot ship. On weekends the cruise ships arrive and depart, lit up like festive wedding cakes. Often, gray destroyers and the occasional submarine surface off shore.  A kaleidoscope of yachts, small sailboats, fishing, and tourist boats complete the nautical scene.

Near the entrance to Fort Story at the head land of Cape Henry, is a quiet, peaceful residential area where I am fortunate enough to have a place I can occasionally visit. The north end of the beach seems to be widening each year, probably with all of the runaway sand from downtown and points south.  The City has installed wonderful walkways at intervals down to the beach, constructed with composite boards that never splinter or weather, and thoughtfully placed benches with a view of the sea.

Boardwalk by Fort Story

The last walkway on the North End borders Fort Story and winds through a beautiful grove of live oaks that are twisted from the elements into natural bonsai.  When I walk through this little forest I always think of King Arthur and Merlin, since even on the sunniest of days the walk seems magical with mysterious shadows and dappled lighting.  One evening earlier this summer my daughter and I were charmed to discover that someone had threaded little lights through the trees and created a fairy-like bower.  A young man explained that he was staging them for a marriage proposal later that evening.  The Hampton Roads region is the northern most habitat for all species of the beautiful live oaks.

There is abundant wildlife living in the dunes and scrub oaks between the beach and the houses.  Little striped skinks, shore birds, butterflies, dragonflies, and red foxes appear and disappear in the thickets and sea oats.  At night I have heard what I am certain is the foxes barking and yelping.  By day there are usually pods of dolphin right off shore and I have read that the bay is the breeding ground for bottlenose dolphins.

A lone Sanderling.

The shore birds are a constant presence.  The plump little sandpipers called Sanderlings race around the edge of the surf, their tiny legs scissoring back and forth at lightening speed.  A variety of sizes and types of sea gulls mingle together on the shore including Herring, Laughing, and Franklin’s Gulls.  My trusty “Peterson Field Guide to Eastern Birds” compares the large sandpiper, Hudsonian Gotwit, to a sewing machine, with its elongated skinny beak executing a fast, staccato style of sand drilling.  Overhead, Osprey and pelicans soar and glide along the shore, catching the breezes and thermals easily with their huge wing spans.

"One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach. One can  collect only a few, and they are more beautiful if they are a few." Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Still an inveterate sheller, I comb the beach throughout the seasons.  The sea carelessly tosses out its prizes strewing them randomly over the sand.   I have learned in recent years that there is a rhythm and season to many of these artifacts of sea life. Shelling is usually better in the cooler months, and particularly when there are storms from the east.  One week the beach will be full of moon snails, another there will be dozens of multi-colored scallop shells, and yet another clusters of skate egg cases.  The Virginia beaches offer good shelling, with the possibility of finding moon snails, scallops, periwinkles, ocean quahogs, or one of several types of whelks on a good day.     

"Mermaid's Purse"  A skates egg case.

“Mermaid's Purses” the popular name for the egg cases of skates and rays are usually laid in multiple pairs.  The eggs are laid in sandy or muddy flats or attached to seaweed.  The sack is full of enough yolk to nourish the developing skate for the five to six months necessary to mature.  The skate emerges about four inches long from a transverse opening at the end of the sack with the longest  horns.  Once the capsule is empty it washes to shore. Mollusk shells are always abundant; the Atlantic Bay Scallop, the Atlantic Callico Scallop, Atlantic Jack Knife Clam, and the Eastern Oyster.

Beached Horseshoe Crab Shell

Walking on the beach it is not usual to find the “beached” or shed shells of horseshoe crabs that have molted their shells as they mature.  Horseshoe crabs are marine anthropods, a relation of some long extinct spider. In the mid-Atlantic, where they are the most abundant, horseshoe crabs spawn primarily in May and June during new and full moon cycles. Once, near Captiva Island in Florida, I witnessed long chains of dozens of horseshoe crabs mating in the shallows.  Their reproductive cycle coincides with the northward migration of shorebirds, many of whom rely on the eggs of horseshoe crabs to fuel their journey to the Arctic.

Horseshoe crabs play an important environmental, economic and medical role. They are an important source of commercial bait for the eel and whelk industries, and more recently, they have become important to the biochemical industry.  About two decades ago researchers discovered that unique properties found in horseshoe crab blood could be used to produce LAL, a chemical which detects dangerous bacterial endotoxins in drugs, medical devices, and even water. Horseshoe crabs, like sea salt, sea weed, mullusks, crabs, fish and even sand, have become a resource to be harvested.

Flotsam and jetsam

During winter and summer months it is common to find the dried shell cases for whelks on the beach, which resemble long parchment like vertebrae ranging from one to two feet. If the whelk did not break free of the casings at sea they will rattle when you shake the dried chain. If you open one of the discs you will discover up to a hundred tiny whelk shells, each the size of a pencil point.  There are three types of whelks common to the mid-Atlantic, Knobbed, Channelled and Lightning, all identifiable by the size of the knobs and the markings. Whelks are also harvested for their meat and their shells.  

Twice, I have been thrilled to spot extremely large perfect conch shells in the surf, but when I tried to extract them I realized that the fleshy orange conch was still at home, clinging half in and out of the shell, tenaciously anchoring its muscular mass between sand and shell.  Instantly I retreated both times, respecting the right of the living sea creature to its beautiful home and existence.

Colored sea glass has become increasingly rare in this era of the plastic bottle and recycling.  For years red sea glass was reputed to be from the old lanterns of ships that were lost at sea.  Occasionally, I find a smooth blue or green piece, but usually the sea glass I find is brown, and I suspect from beer bottles.  However, the lack of glass can be taken as a sign of a healthy beach, and I am pleasantly pleased with how little trash and manmade debris washes up on Virginia’s shores.

Moon Jellyfish

Other weeks the beach is carpeted with tangled sea weed, or studded with Moon Jellyfish, which grow as large as fifteen inches across and sometimes several inches high. Often you can see the outlines of a four-leaf clover like shape inside the body in fluorescent colors such as pink.  The jelly is edged with over 250 tentacles that gather plankton and four oral arms underneath collect the food and bring it to the mouth.  The almost white sand is the hammered remains of quartz crystals and mollusk shells, reduced down to their smallest particulate.

  

"I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living."  Anne Morrow Lindbergh

A slender volume I have revisited at turning points in my life is Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gifts From the Sea.  Anne was a brave adventurer, glider pilot, writer, and mother of six. She survived losing her first child in the infamous kidnapping and decades of marriage to the difficult superstar Charles Lindbergh. In the 1950’s Anne retreated to the sea to contemplate life during a vacation, and pen this book about mid-twentieth century life.  This book celebrates nature, solitude, simplicity, sharing, and inspirational values.  Anne compares the different stages of life to the shells she finds.  Initially, we are all young and single shells, bivalves when we mate, and then barnacle covered clusters as we add houses, children, and the complexities of family life.  Then gradually we return to our solo shell, shedding the paraphernalia of childrearing, and discover that we need less and less in life.

Like Anne, many of us discover that the sea nurtures our souls.   As all of us know who live nearby, the shore line, atmosphere, and water are dynamic and constantly changing.  Somehow the sea seems to sooth the innate restlessness of the human spirit with its own careless, restless, glorious splendor.

"Only in growth, reform, and change, paradoxically enough, is true security to be found."  Anne Morrow Lindbergh