A Pony Tale

The story that everybody hears is that a Spanish boat was shipwrecked off of Virginia in the 1600s, and horses swam to the island to survive. They went from being domesticated horses to Feral Animals, living on marsh grass, whose descendants toughened up and became the Wild Ponies of Assateague Island.  

The truth might be less glamorous.  The less romantic claim that early colonists moved their horses to the island to escape paying taxes on their livestock!  Either way, the final result is the same.  Assateague Island is home to Wild Ponies, and whether they are gallant swimming survivalists or tax loopholes, I believe they are pretty amazing critters.

If you are a Geezer like me, you may have read the children’s book about the wild pony, Misty of Chincoteague. 

Misty’s herd is related to the ponies in the Maryland portion of Assateague Island, but they are separated from one another by a fence at the state border. 

The ponies on the Virginia side of the island are owned by the Chincoteague Fire Department, which rounds them up and sells the captured ponies at an annual auction.  Their Maryland cousins, however, are Wild for Life, and the herd is managed by the National Park Service.  

When I was a Camp Fire Girl one of my first camping trips was to Assateague Island.  I never saw a single pony.  Turns out that at that time - when the NPS first began to monitor the pony population - there were only 10 ponies! 

But by the year 2000, there were 180 ponies, and the fragile island ecosystem was suffering.  You couldn’t take a walk without stumbling into a pony or Pony Poop.  The NPS experimented with contraceptives and now, 20 years later, the herd is at the NPS target size of about 80 ponies. 

The Pony Pill seems to have been a win-win for everyone, because the herd is now healthy, conceiving at their own pace (unmedicated for the last 4 years), and the mares are living an average of 10 or more years longer than they used to live.

Still, ponies are not hard to find if you’re looking for them.

It is particularly hard to get a campsite at Assateague, even though there are two parks:  the National Park, and the Maryland State Park.  

The stars finally aligned for me on the last night in September.  The local weather promised a reasonably warm, rainless 24 hours; there were some unreserved campsites; and I had an opening in my Busy Social Calendar.  

If I was willing to park my car by the bath house and hike to my assigned campsite, I could actually have a nearly secluded spot, tenting in the dunes. 

I was willing.  Geezer John was not. 

He was so completely against being about 100 steps away from the car that he opted to stay home while I drove the 3.5 hours to Maryland's southeastern corner.

No hard feelings though.  Really.  REALLY.  Because being at the ocean is easily my favorite thing to do.  However, beach camping, in my experience, is not that great.  

First, there’s that whole thing with Sand Everywhere.  But my biggest complaint is that scrubby little beach plants don’t provide much shade.  Or branches for hammocks.  Or privacy for middle of the night “oh my god, I’ve got to pee” moments.

As I drove into the state campground, I was overwhelmed by the number of recreational vehicles, camping vans, trailers, and tents – all with nary-a-bush-between-them to block the view.  I passed through Loops A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, and I before I reached the southern-most campground J, where my site in the dunes was located. 

But wait!  What was that I saw in Loop B?  

There was a brown pony, standing near the woods, across the road from the campsites.  Woohoo!  I saw one of the famous Assateague Ponies within minutes of arriving!  How lucky could I be?

I parked at the J bath house, and made several trips back and forth between the car and my assigned site in the dunes.  Signs were everywhere:  "Do not get near the ponies.  The ponies bite and kick.  Do not leave your food out.  All coolers must be secured with a nylon belt.  Do not store food in your tent as ponies have been known to destroy camping shelters."

Great.  I was not only going to have to carry my food from the bath house parking lot to the campsite, but I would have to carry it back to the car after each meal.

I set up my tent, secured it from the wind with as many ropes as I had, and celebrated my beautiful campsite by snacking on some raisins.  

Since I was alone, I had decided to forego making a fire or bringing the propane stove.  Dinner was leftover stew, warmed in foil in the hot sun, with raw fruit and vegetables, and instant chocolate milk. This meal would NEVER have satisfied Geezer John, but I was willing to try a minimalist approach on my solo trip.  

After putting away the food and dinner dishes, I took a walk on the beach, splashed in the ocean, FELL into the water when I wasn’t watching the incoming tide, and then read a book inside my tent while I waited for my clothes to drip-dry.

The sun was beginning to set, and I thought I’d search for a pony to photograph.  I walked toward Campground B to see if the brown pony might still be somewhere near.  

I had barely entered Campground H when I saw her.  

She was standing between 2 RVs, only about 7 feet away from me  on the camp road.  She was curiously sniffing around the two campsites – ignoring the people who were trying to cook their campfire meals before the pony might consider joining them for dinner.

I snapped a couple pictures.  Miss Brown Pony looked up at me with an expression, “Hmmm, I wonder if that Geezer is edible?”  

She started walking toward me.  I started backing up.  She kept coming.  I kept backing up.  In this fashion, we wound our way through the campground to the beach trail. 

 

That’s when I realized Miss BP’s whole posse was there at the beach, waiting for her.  There were several mares, ranging in colors and patterns.  Once Miss BP joined her girlfriends by the dune grass, she forgot me instantly.  

But when BIG BROWN STALLION sauntered by, they all turned their undivided attention to him.  He nobly ignored them in pursuit of his own grassy dinner.  From the top of the dunes, he surveyed his kingdom, while his harem strolled behind at their own pace.  

Several mares, including Miss BP, were visibly pregnant.  (“Might be time for contraceptives again,” I thought.) 

In the waning light, I walked down the beach and back to my campsite in the dunes.  The full moon rose over the ocean, and the wind began to gust. Though I wanted to watch the stars through the tent windows, I knew it would be too cold.  I lashed the rain fly over the tent and extinguished the citronella candles on the picnic table. 

I exercised, running in place, to warm up before I went to bed.  I thumped the sand silently as I transitioned from jogging to jumping jacks.  The moon’s glow highlighted shapes on the surface of the dunes. 

I thought I saw a face in the distance.  Could it be one of the other campers coming my direction?

Coming at Me…Really…FAST???

I shouted in my deepest authoritarian Geezer voice, “HELLO???”  (I’m not one, obviously, for witty repartee when I’m scared.)

In the full moon, I could now see that the face was Big Brown Stallion’s, and he was galloping directly at me over the dunes!  When I shouted, he veered suddenly to his left and streaked past me on the other side of my picnic table.  If he hadn’t turned, he would have trampled me and my tent!

It took me a few minutes to close my gaping mouth and stop staring in the direction taken by the Wyld Stallyn.* The experience was both horrifying and awesome at the same time, and it was a suitable ending to an unusual beach trip. 

I climbed into the tent and tightly zipped myself into the downy warmth of the sleeping bag.  The wind caused the tent to flap and vibrate, gasping and pulsating all around me.  Yet I was comfortably cocooned inside and felt as if Mother Nature was rocking me to sleep.  

I slept so soundly that I never noticed what I discovered in the morning:  fresh hoofprints in the sand showed that 2 ponies had visited my campsite within 4 feet of my tent overnight!

*A reference to Excellent Geezers, Bill & Ted.

Next Week:  Geezers and Golfing (with Discs)