Road to Nowhere: The Boulevard of Dreams Reclaimed by the Dunes 

By Kitty L. | SHIROOKAMI - DOGS.UNITE | 09.1.2023
Even the seagulls keep off the dunes. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI
KEEP OFF DUNES.
A familiar motto to those who love camping along the shore. But what if you could trek the dunes, lay in them, and find long forgotten treasures? We were given that very chance on our annual pilgrimage to Assateague Island. As Hurricane Idalia swung eastward into the Atlantic, its 30 mph wind-remnants across the island finally subsided, allowing us to reach Life of the Dunes Trail at the end of National Assateague Seashore Park. Don't forget to leave your shoes behind for that natural pedicure only the beach can give.

 

Peaceful dunes.  | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI
Getting there from the State campgrounds is a small adventure itself. You can cycle through the bike trails that cross the State grounds, then merge into the trails of the National grounds. There are many twists and turns in the road meant to route Over Sand Vehicles (OSVs) into the dunes. It's a prerequisite that you know how to dodge some of the wild ponies and the little presents they leave behind.  

 

Cycling past the end of the campgrounds.  | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Near the end of the furthest place accessible by normal vehicles is a small sign that marks the trail, which is very easy to miss.  Be warned that pets are not allowed, so Stella must be left behind for this one.  Using her stares from the RV window, she is busy holding the fort against pony visitors anyway.

 

 Meanwhile, back at camp, Stella is on the trail of wild ponies. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 Entrance to the Life of Dunes Trail. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 The sands are warmed under an open, blue sky. Underneath the shade, the sand is noticeably cooler. The absence of noise from vehicles and people makes the sounds of busy insects and the relentless winds along the shore even louder. Though the trail is less than a mile long, walking through the sand makes it feel a lot longer, and a lot more soothing.

 

  Cacti clinging to the dunes. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

  Different colors of the sand through polarized lenses. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

 Especially before noon, where it is less likely that others have trekked ahead, you'll notice the different ways wildlife leaves its mark here. Swift-footed birds, small deer, chubby hognose snakes, and skinny foxes are nowhere to be seen except for their footprints, which mark the sand along and across the trail. You may even see hoofprints of ponies here.

 

  Tracks in the sand. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

  Burrow of an unknown animal. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Out of the blue, you'll notice what looks something like blackened lava rocks poking out of the sand. These dark features conglomerate into an elevated, continuous structure. The rock looks terribly eroded, and sand fills the large pocks along its length. Is this natural? What are these layers?

Mysterious slabs. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

It turns out these are the remnants of a road from ages past. In the 50's, Assateague Island was to be another Ocean City. These deteriorating slabs of asphalt are the remains of Baltimore Boulevard, a 15-mile stretch of road that was to have 130 sign posts.

What's left of Baltimore Boulevard. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

Further down the forgotten road. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

It was completely obliterated by the slow-moving nor'easter Ash Wednesday in 1962, one of the deadliest and destructive storms to hit the mid-Atlantic, and one of the ten worst storms in modern US history. Claiming the lives of 40 and injuring thousands, the category 5 nor'easter dubbed "the Storm of the Century" not only ripped through houses and roadwork, but also eroded the beaches and dunes themselves. Along the coast, it left snow in its wake as far south as Alabama, while this area of Maryland and Virginia received the heaviest snowfall.

 

View of the end of the road.  | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Interestingly, the wild pony Misty of Chincoteague gave birth to her foal, Stormy, just after the nor'easter. At the same time, it was decided - the coast was too dangerous. The ambitions of Baltimore Boulevard were abandoned, along with the dreams of another lively resort town. The area was to be protected. Just as a similar storm created the inlet that separates Ocean City and Assateague Island in 1933, the storm of 1962 solidified the separation and gave rise to the National Seashore we see today.

 

Wild ponies at the bay. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

Reminder of  how close Ocean City is on the other side of the inlet. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Back to the present, we see the eroded road is not too far from oblivion. The dunes have reclaimed so much of the land. Soon enough, this boulevard will also disappear. For now, sand fills the gaps and pieces of shattered seashells decorate its surface, a testament to its current utility by gulls who drop seashells over it.

 

 

Detail of the road. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

End of the road. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Near the road, there is also a nice overlook, which doesn't need to be too tall. It's a good place to rest, especially with the cool breeze. The end of the boulevard can be viewed from here, as well as the shrubbery that gathers along the bayside. It’s crazy to think how the fragile roots of these grasses and shrubs are responsible for keeping the entire dune from drifting back into the sea.

Shrubs and grasses that keep the dunes from extinction. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

Going further, at the southernmost end of the trail, you have a few choices. Straight ahead, the trail opens up to the ocean in a mostly undisturbed stretch of shore. Here, the sand is shifted inland towards the bay, leaving trails over seashells embedded in the shore, like supernatural shadows.

Dunes from the shore. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

View of the undisturbed shore. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

There is also a seemingly unmarked, makeshift trail that continues onward, towards the Virginia-Maryland border. Returning to the trail loop, there is also a branch that takes you into the bay, but is not friendly on bare feet. The trail proper continues under the shade of dense and stout loblolly pines.

 

Loblolly pines. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

Dead trees still reaching for the skies. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

A serene resting place presents itself within the shrubbery. A light-barked tree splays out like a flower and is unique among the rest of the pines and hollies. At the center of its branches is an inviting seat that you shouldn't take. It looks a bit like the Weirwood Tree.

Resting tree.  | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Eventually, trudging through the sand, you'll make it back to where you started.  Walking through the dunes is a cleansing experience like no other.  It really puts everything into perspective.  

Trail near the bayside.  | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Unlike within a dense forest, where the old can hide and deteriorate very slowly, staying stagnant through the ages, the might of the ocean and its effects on the shore force the land, wildlife, and people to adapt, to start anew, and to grow stronger in their own capabilities and appreciation of change.

 

Twisted tree at the end of the loop. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

 

Speaking of change, there is something new to try at Assateague. Though it's not the resort town that previous generations had hoped for, the new Five Tides restaurant and store just at the park entrance is a great place to have your fill on this remote island. The restaurant opened only about two months ago. It saves you a trip from having to go to Ocean City or Berlin, especially if you don't have a spare car during your adventures. Half the proceeds go to maintaining the mystical seashore that keeps us returning year after year.

Some images from Five Tides. | Kitty L. / SHIROOKAMI

Leave a comment

All comments are moderated before being published