Sometimes I think I am the only person who didn’t move to the Eastern Shore to sail, motor, or paddle around the Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries. Born and raised in Manhattan, my boating experience was limited to taking the Staten Island Ferry and a few weeks of canoeing at summer camp. So, after four years of living in Dorchester County, I decide to check out this boating thing. Also a lover of food, I figure I’ll navigate down the Choptank, stopping at local restaurants as I go. To put this plan into action, I commandeer a friend with a thirteen-foot motorboat to squire me around.
We begin mid-morning at the mouth of the Choptank, near Greensboro, Md. Here the river is narrow, and each twist and turn brings our boat closer to the Queen Anne’s lace and cattails that line the shore, attracting a variety of birds. Blue herons are balanced on one leg amongst the reeds, while ospreys dive from the sky, often plucking fish from the water. I am having an “Ah, nature,” moment when suddenly a swan comes screeching out of the marsh, flapping its huge wings, and attacks our boat. As my friend maneuvers away from his angry beak, I see its mate and progeny tucked behind the phragmites. We put some distance between him and us, and when I look back I could swear he was smirking.
Being a weekday, there’s hardly any boat traffic. My bet is that the swan had cleared the area, but my captain explains that this is a rarely traveled waterway even on weekends. Eventually, a boat passes by pulling a skier. Seems that the dreaded jellyfish don’t travel this far upriver.
Emboldened by this info, I dive into the non-threatening waters, a perfect, refreshing temperature. After hauling myself back into the boat, we resume our sojourn. It would soon be our turn to feed.
We’d been traveling for fifteen miles when we come to marker #38 and turn left (“port” to any real boater) onto Cabin Creek. Three-quarters of a mile later we dock at one of the eighty slips at Suicide Bridge Restaurant and Marina. Dockage fees are $40 a day (including electrical hookups); transient slips are free for diners. The marina takes up more than three acres, and the restaurant is nestled on another six. There’s a small, sandy beach and tables and chairs with umbrellas for those who prefer to eat picnic style.
According to the legend, the bridge has been the launching pad for a half-dozen people who have plunged to their deaths since the early 1900s through the 1970s. You can also see the twenty-foot high bridge off to the left, visible from the main dining room’s wraparound windows.
“Catch of the Day” is not a euphemism here. Crabbers and watermen bring their haul right up to the dock where it’s picked over, paid for, and soon cooked and plated in the kitchen. I look at the ducks meandering around the piers and happily note there is no duck a l’orange on the menu. But there is a full page of meat offerings to complement the pages of seafood appetizers and entrees. We chow down on large steamed crabs that looked as if they were on steroids. Stuffed, we return to the boat and cast off.
We take our time moving down the river, which continues to broaden and try our hand at fishing. Traffic picks up infinitesimally, though not enough to disturb the tranquility as we drift toward the Hyatt Regency Chesapeake Bay Golf Resort, Spa and Marina, just a few more miles downstream.
We ignore the hotel, which is pretty hard to do considering it stretches nearly a quarter of a mile across river frontage, and steer toward the Hyatt River Marsh Marina. There’s more than two thousand feet of floating breakwater encircling most of the marina’s three piers and 150 slips where attendants are always on duty to help tie up boats or pump fuel. The transient dockage fees ($2.75 per foot during the week; $3.75 per foot on weekends and holidays) entitle you to all the amenities the hotel has to offer, from its golf course to its pools and spa. Boaters who are tired of rattling pots and pans in their galley can even have their meals catered onboard (by prior arrangement).
A two-story building houses the Quarterdeck Ship Store, located on the ground level, offering everything a boater could need. Ten private showers, each with its own dressing room, are down a hallway.
Upstairs is the Blue Point Provision Co.—a delight in studied casualness. The restaurant has an exquisite feeling of openness with two-story ceilings, two walls of glass, an open kitchen, raw bar, and a mural of watermen bringing in their catch. The oversized menus, printed on fish-wrap paper, present the food selections on one side and instructions on how to crack crabs or shuck oysters on the other. If you prefer to learn from a professional, on weekends, there is a crab picker at a table in the corner, separating crabs from their shells with startling speed. Wine is served in juice glasses, and when anyone orders Bingo—oysters on the half-shell with spinach, shallots, white wine, parmesan, and breadcrumbs—the entire kitchen staff shouts, “BINGO.” My companion falls in love with the Three Amigos, separate portions of raw tuna, whitefish, and scallops, each prepared in a different marinade, while I go for the exquisite whole sea bass.
If we had the time to loll about, we would have sat and watched the sunset from one of the decks. But it was time to continue downriver. No rest for the well-fed. We zip along under the Frederick Malkus Bridge that connects Talbot County to Dorchester and head for Cambridge Creek. It was hard to miss Snapper’s Waterfront Café with its red, green, and yellow-striped tiki hut. We dock at the adjacent seawall because the restaurant’s three slips are full and belly up to the colorful bar. For the non-diner, the docking fee is $1.00 per square foot; otherwise it’s free.
We people watch as we sit on the edge of the tiki bar’s five-hundred-square-foot beach. Okay, maybe beach is overstating it—the restaurant had trucked in more than six tons of sand and plopped down a couple of palm trees set in automobile tires, humorously imitating the look of the islands. Snapper’s is a strange amalgamation of American, Mexican, and island foods with bar drinks to match. Despite my huge intake of food at the previous restaurants, I wasn’t about to forego a taste of the house specialty, the broiled jumbo lump crab cake, which made my eyes roll back in my head. Finally, unable to stuff one more morsel down my gullet, we return to the boat and cast off for our last destination of the day.
Continuing down Cambridge Creek for just a minute or two, we arrive at the Maryland Avenue drawbridge. I beg my friend to wait until a taller boat comes along so we can go under the drawbridge as it opens. A sailboat answers my prayers, and we fall in line behind it. A couple of minutes later we dock at Portside Restaurant.
A half-dozen years ago, Portside was predominantly a late-night watering hole. Now it’s better known as a bustling family restaurant. But that doesn’t prevent the place from hosting dock parties on alternating Sunday afternoons (through September) with a live band performing classic rock. The menu is mostly seafood dishes, with an emphasis on crabs. There’s a deck off the restaurant with a dozen tables looking down on several slips and a view of the creek that is overflowing with condos. From our table, where we fortify ourselves with coffee for the trip back, we get to watch the drawbridge open and close.
If it had been earlier in the day, we would have continued the nautical experience, walking through Cambridge’s historic district to visit the Brannock Maritime Museum and its exhibits on naval history or stopped at the Richardson Maritime Museum, which tells the history of Cambridge’s maritime industry. But alas, the museums were closed, the sun was threatening to set, and it was time to head upstream.
Besides, I couldn’t wait to get home, get online and start pricing boats.
Gail Buchalter, a contributing editor for Parade
