I often travel to Pocomoke River State Park to paddleboard or kayak. My secret confession is that I often feel like Pocahontas when I'm doing it. For the record, I look absolutely nothing like Pocahontas, and I'm pretty sure she didn't paddle her way down winding rivers in hot pink bikinis atop a floating piece of plastic. But still, every time I go, the "Just Around the River Bend" song pops in my head and I can almost imagine that I've gone back in time 400 years.
Paddling the Pocomoke River is just that isolated. The river is often very narrow, and you are surrounded by trees and water lilies. The canoe trail that the park advertises is lovely, but I often like to diverge from that and take the route less traveled. This route is not accessible at low tide, and it is not a loop, so eventually you'll need to turn around and head back, but it is beautiful. In late summer you may find that the water lilies have grown too thick to go the full way, but earlier in the year at times of higher tide, a great turn around spot is a small bridge.
Limbs hang low over the river, herons take flight when they hear the gentle slaps of your paddles and turtles jump off their rocks to the safety of the dark waters. Pocomoke River State Park is one of my favorite places to paddle because it is so peaceful. There are kayak and canoe rentals on site for those that require it.
The hiking trails at Pocomoke River State Park are also worth a trip. I especially like the Trail of Change for the section that I like to call the crazy tree forest. Photos of the crazy tree forest just haven't done it justice yet, so you'll just have to take a trip to see for yourself!
I used to have this ritual...
Every night I would go to one of a handful of locations and take photos of the sunset. Needless to say, I have an awful lot of photos of the same place with different sunsets. I had a handful of locations that I would go for sunrises too, but let's be honest, that was no where near every day. I don't have that level of commitment.
This location is Brick Hill in Crisfield, Maryland. At least that's what I've always called it. A road leading to this beach is called Brick Kiln Road, so maybe I've just been pronouncing it incorrectly my entire life? So I started correcting myself when writing it, embarrassed that this little area I thought I knew so well had a completely different name. And then a local historian wrote to me about the area and called it Brick Hill... I just don't know what to think anymore. All I know is that a few years ago they cleaned this place up, added new sand, put in the world's tiniest palm tree and dubbed it Wellington Beach, and I'm certainly not calling it that. Not after all Brick Hill and I have been through.