Web Extra: Canoes on the Chesapeake

By Terence Baker

There are no roads here. It's a step back in time, and that's just the way the locals like it.

Maryland's Smith Island is an oystering and crabbing community that cannot be reached by car. That such a place exists strikes me as miraculous, so when the opportunity came up to take a kayaking trip between Smith Island and nearby Tangier Island, Virginia, I immediately signed up.

The adventure started in the mainland town of Crisfield, at the absolute tip of Maryland's eastern shore. Crab and oyster fishers—known hereabouts as "watermen"—comprise this small community. When they're not working, many of them can be found in Gordon's Confectionery, Crisfield's 84-year-old diner. The diner would not win any beauty contests, but it is one of those golden finds for the traveler: a place full of character, fading mementos and the accents of hardworking watermen.

A small mail boat, the Island Belle II, took me on the hour-long trip to Smith Island. With the mainland left behind, all is reeds, screeching birds and crab-processing shacks.

The roadless island has a population of 350, divided among three small towns: Rhodes Point, Ewell and Tylerton, the last of which can only be reached by boat from the other two. Life is not easy here, especially as oyster numbers have plummeted dramatically in recent years.

Tylerton has neat houses, a crabbing plant and a church (where I tasted the island's specialty, the nine-layer "Smith Island Cake" which is now Maryland's official state dessert). One of the town's residents, writer Tom Horton, read to us from his book An Island Out of Time: A Memoir of Smith Island. He told us of battles between Maryland and Virginia watermen, and between both groups and the U.S. Coast Guard. Arguing over territorial rights and illegal oyster-farming tactics, these centuries-long skirmishes have sometimes been bloody.

Soon it was time to start our kayak voyage. After safety lessons, three guides led our little group through the silent channels away from Tylerton, past Rhodes Point and along to the first night's camping area. More local tales were told, crab cakes half the size of footballs were eaten and the sun dipped slowly. Such is the size of Chesapeake Bay, you could be mistaken for thinking you were looking at the open ocean.

The next day we kayaked along a long line of tidal islands and saw no one else from sunrise to sunset. Stopping off where we felt like it, we combed beaches for jellyfish, birds' nests and lost duck decoys. In the water, we saw needlefish and cownose rays; above us flew ospreys, black skimmers and newly-arrived brown pelicans. Everything was slow, quiet and calm.

At the end of the day we arrived at Tangier Island. Crab boats and shacks lined the entrance channel. We gingerly paddled beneath a bridge and along narrowing creeks amid egrets, herons and clapper rails.

It was here in 1813 that British forces camped before attempting to seize Baltimore. Today, Tangier Island (pop. 600) actually has roads—two of them—but no cars. Tangier residents use golf carts or bicycles to make a slow circuit of the town, greeting neighbors and letting the cool breeze blow away the mosquitoes. The Fisherman's Corner restaurant serves up tempting dishes of crab, oysters and scallops, but the entire island is alcohol-free. A meandering creek separates the main part of town from a smaller section, at the end of which is a lonely beach that, depending on the tide, extends for about a mile. From here, it is possible to paddle all the way to Cooperstown, New York.

Chesapeake Bay has almost 12,000 miles of coastline and a wealth of tiny communities that maintain their historic way of life. The ecology of the bay is not in the best of health, and the preservation of gems like Smith and Tangier depends on those who connect with this beautiful and important piece of American heritage.

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