Gladdened. Nobody wants to go to the beach when it's storming, but I wasn't there for the beach. Well, not just for the beach. I made my way from New York down to Assateague Island National Seashore on the Maryland/Virginia coast, bound and determined to visit ever since I began following their social media accounts. You see, Assateague hosts a population of wild horses, and even though I don't consider myself a horse person these particular ones captured my attention and practically demanded to be seen. It was storming when I reached the visitor center, and continued to storm as I crossed the bay bridge onto the island proper, where I was immediately greeted by a group of horses standing on the side of the road in the downpour. I found the campground and waited out the rain in my car, pouring over the island map and noting which trails I wanted to explore. The roads are minimal on the island unless you have a vehicle that can handle driving on sand, so I was confined to the paved portions and wherever I could reach by foot. Which wasn't looking like anywhere with the storm still rolling through.
Eventually the rain lightened enough for me to make my way to the oceanside beach, where I was pelted with rain drops and sea spray but didn't give a shit because I was
staring at the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean, which I couldn't help but note the fact that I was supposed to be staring at the Pacific Ocean, perhaps right that minute, if things had gone the way I thought my summer was going to go. Instead I was alone on the other side of the country, and couldn't find it in me to be upset about that fact. I watched the clouds roil above me and the ocean churn beyond the beach and all I felt was a giddy happiness that can only come from being right where I wanted to be.
Eventually the rain parted and the clouds lifted and glorious sunshine filled the sky, but I wouldn't have cared if it had kept raining all day. I was on a barrier island on the Atlantic Ocean, I'd already seen horses and knew I'd be seeing more, and I had a dry car to sleep in if I couldn't set my tent up. I had no care and no worries. I began exploring the island trails, first walking along a boardwalk on the bay side of the island, suspended above the brackish wetlands while watching blue crabs scuttle among the reeds. Then I wandered toward the center of the island where loblolly pines tolerate salty conditions to form forests that shelter horses, deer, and other wildlife. From there I traversed the sea dunes, that first line of defense between the ocean and the rest of the island.
I spent a lot of time at the beach, driving to different areas and walking as far as I wanted. It was almost chilly after the storm, the sky still partly cloudy and the threat of more rain on the horizon. I saw horses almost everywhere I went, though none as close in the campground where I eventually pitched my tent among damp grasses. The horses on Assateague are wild, and I had no desire to get within any sort of distance of them, happily observing them from my car while watching some not-so-smart people approach way too closely. It was recommended all over the island to treat the horses like you would a bear, which was advice I wholeheartedly embraced. I really didn't want to be bitten or kicked, especially considering I was still sporting my wrist brace.
Evening on the island settled softly, and there wasn't a drop of rain overnight. I woke before dawn, which is pretty usual on my travels, and made my way to the ocean to catch the sunrise. I was surprised to see quite a few people milling around, though whether they were still enjoying themselves from the night before or were up early like myself it was impossible to tell, and it didn't matter. I wasn't there for them. I pointed my lens to the east and waited for the sun.
