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<\/figure>\n\n\n\nSo Eastward I went–the rain falling heavier and heavier. The following day I would witness the Chincoteague ponies<\/a> swim. <\/p>\n\n\n\n By the time I made it to the Chesapeake Bay my hopes for great video footage began to turn into worry for my electronic devices–did I bring a raincoat just for my camera? It was July after all, so I kept my hope in the passing of quick summer storms. I made it to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel and looked out at the fierceness of the Bay\u2019s choppy waves. I thought back to fishing trips on our family\u2019s old 24\u2019 boat and imagined how sick one would be bobbing up and down these huge waves on such a small craft. There was no boat in sight–smart. Eventually, I made it to the Eastern Shore of Virginia. There was solid ground under my truck\u2019s tires again. The Ford\u2019s large engine hummed on as I gripped the wheel more tightly now. Standing water made travel North up the Island quite scary! I knew I was closer to Chincoteague than I had ever been before, but I still wasn\u2019t there yet. Slowly I traveled. Safety was first on my mind. About an hour and a half later I met up with my cousin Chris Forbes, a local police officer on the Eastern Shore, at a dive bar named AJ\u2019s. He bought me a cold Budweiser and my shoulders finally fell loose again–no more dangerous driving in the summer storm. At the bar with Chris and me sat an old \u201cSaltwater Cowboy.<\/a>” I shook his hand and introduced myself; Walter was his name. I tried hard to refrain from asking him the same 5 questions every tourist asks, but I knew nothing about what was about to take place the next morning. I laughed at their comedic jabs at the folks they called\u201cmainlanders\u201d, for they truly were funny. Their Eastern Shore identity was strong and just as cool as their title: \u201cSaltwater Cowboys\u201d and I found myself taking it all in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Walter told me I better get there early if I wanted a good spot to film. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow early?\u201d, I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c3 o\u2019clock kinda early,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I acted like I knew this already as I casually sipped my beer. \u201cImagine you\u2019re getting up to duck hunt,\u201d I told myself. It\u2019s never hard then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n July 24th, 2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n When my alarm went off at 4 a.m. the next morning, I woke in a hurry. I slid out the door as quietly as I could so as to not wake Chris\u2019s young son from his quiet sleep. I was warned that parking would be hard to find, but I wanted to get as close to the action as I could. I had a good bit of camera gear to carry, and to be honest, I was feeling a bit lazy that early in the morning. <\/p>\n\n\n\n A local lady had turned her sandy grass yard into a $10 a day parking lot, so I gladly paid her and began to grab my necessary gear. I knew I\u2019d be by the water\u2019s edge so I couldn\u2019t bring everything I wanted to. Anything that had a strap on it was thrown over my shoulders as I eased to the bay\u2019s edge. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Walter wasn\u2019t joking when he told me the bank was going to be muddy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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