You may consider Queen Anne’s County simply a place to pass through on your way to “greener” destinations on either side of the Bay Bridge. But beyond Route 50’s strip malls and ever-growing development, a land of natural wonders exists. (Really!) Here, fields turn white with migrating snow geese, herons stride through vast stretches of wetlands, eagles soar above undisturbed forests. ¥ We set out to explore Queen Anne’s natural haunts. We biked it, hiked it, kayaked it, and even went birding for the first time. What we discovered were easy adventures perfect for families and nature-lovers. In fact, we bet that “greener” destination you’re headed to next time will be Queen Anne’s County itself…

Hiking without a Lunch

My wife and I have a running joke that whenever we go for a hike, we always forget (1) binoculars, and (2) a picnic lunch. We’re forever hiking a trail or climbing a hill only to declare: “Wouldn’t this be a great spot for a picnic?”

So here I am, at the end of the half-mile-long Ferry Landing Trail at Wye Island Natural Resource Management Area—on a small beach—by the tranquil Wye River which is ever-so peacefully lapping at the shore—next to a picnic table—and all I can think of is that familiar refrain.

Actually, there are a lot of great picnic spots at the Wye Island NRMA, most of them by water’s edge. This is one of those rare places that gives visitors a glimpse of what the Eastern Shore used to be like B.C. (Before Condos). Its 2,450 acres sit between the Wye and the Wye East rivers. For 300 years, the land was farmed by private owners, including William Paca, Maryland’s governor from 1782 to 1784. In the mid-1970s, the state purchased the land, and it remains pretty much what it must have looked like when Governor Paca stood on his front lawn and said to his wife, “Honey, grab a jug of mead and a mutton chop, we’re going for a picnic.”

Good hikes usually lie at the end of long dirt roads, which is where the Ferry Landing Trail begins. It’s one of a half dozen short, easy strolls here. The trail once served as an access road to a hand-drawn ferry that linked the island to a market on Bennett’s Point across the way. Nowadays, two rows of gnarled osage orange trees—planted by some industrious farmer with exotic tastes—form a canopy over the six-foot-wide, packed gravel trail. Cornfields lie on either side of this natural fence, and a dozen hawks circle above, looking for careless critters in the early spring. A guy with a yellow lab passes me coming the other way, and we nod at each other, aware that we just might be the only two visitors in the entire park on this weekday afternoon.

The beach at the end of the trail is called Drum’s Point. It’s really just a spit of sand, about the size of a skipjack; a couple of gorgeous riverfront homes are the only signs of civilization across the way. Swimming’s not allowed here, but you can fish from the shore.

After listening to the squawking of wood ducks and Canada geese, I retrace my steps, get back in the car, and drive about a mile or so on the dirt road to the Holly Tree Trail.

The Wye Oak may be gone, but you’ll be glad to know the Wye Holly is doing quite well. The majestic tree lies at the end of the 1.5-mile, U-shaped trail, which runs through the remnants of what’s supposedly “one of the largest existing old-growth forests” on the Eastern Shore, according to a park brochure. (If that’s indeed true, we’ve done a heck of a job of clearing the Shore.) Most of the trail skirts another cornfield, with the four-story-tall, green-leafed leviathan looming in the distance like a giant green cotton ball. When I finally arrive at the old behemoth, a sign greets me: “Wye Island Holly Tree. Age: 275 years plus. Please do not abuse.”

There’s a brown wooden fence around it (to keep the tree from escaping?) and an opening where visitors can enter to pay their respects. With its dark green leaves and bright red berries, the holly is still full and healthy-looking for something that was around when William Paca owned the land. And as I step back and admire it, all I can think of is that under the shade of its mature branches would be a wonderful spot for a—well, you know. —Joe Sugarman

Wye Island Natural Resource Management Area, 632 Wye Island Rd., Queenstown. 410-827-7577 or http://www.dnr.state.md.us/publiclands/eastern/wyeisland.html. Open every day, sunrise to sunset.

Learning to Bird

I’ll be honest. I’ve always regarded bird watching as the official sport of the nerdy and infirm. But my chickadee-size-mindedness was recently changed, thanks to a bird I met at Chesapeake Bay Environmental Center (CBEC) called Wink.

That’s Judy Wink, to be precise, the executive director of CBEC in Grasonville, who agreed to guide me on my very first bird-watching expedition. An ornithologist with a penchant for raptors, this is a woman who was born with birds on the brain. Not only did she take her first birding trip at age five, but she also traveled to Israel six times for the soul purpose of spotting the elusive Scops owl. (She finally saw it on the last trip in 1992.) Out of the center’s seven staff members, I know that if anyone is capable of pulling out the long-buried birding-lover in me, she’s the one.

While I’m too young to remember what Kent Island looked like before it was invaded by housing developments, crab houses, and strip malls, the center’s 510-acre property, recently named by Gov. Ehrlich as the state’s first comprehensive Bay restoration demonstration site, mirrors what the isle must have been like waay back in the day. The causeway by which all must enter is hemmed by Marshy Creek to the north and Cabin Creek to the south. With the salt marshes and pine forests filling the flat vista as far as the eye can see, I could swear I was in Dorchester County—that is, until the sprawling arches of the Kent Island bridge come into view. But never mind that. I’m here to commune with nature, not asphalt.

Before setting out, Wink and I chat in her office, appropriately decked with bird prints and comfortably filled with the perfume of the nearby salt marsh wafting through the open windows. She briefly outlines the rules of birding: be patient, wait until the bird you’re observing flies away before paging through the bird book, respect the habitat, and, most importantly, have fun. “Seeing a lot of birds is like going to Atlantic City,” says Wink. “Some days you win at the slots, other days you don’t.”

And so, armed with binoculars (hers the $2,700 variety, mine $25), and shod with hiking boots, we set out for one of the center’s five trails, ranging in distance from a quarter mile to 2.3 miles. Adjacent to the freshwater pond located at the western end of the center stands a twenty-foot tower planted in the salt marsh, which we climb for a million-dollar view of Kent Narrows—just in time to see hundreds of tundra swans take flight. This is an ideal summer spot to observe rails and shore birds of all kinds, Wink notes, and it’s not too buggy, thanks to an ever-present breeze. The boardwalk extending from the base of the tower leads to the water and a small beach for birders who want to get a closer look.

This place is something of a Switzerland for birds, a neutral zone where myriad pairs of miniature-pony-sized Canada geese reside year-round, waddling free-range throughout the grounds. There’s also an exhibit area where twelve massive cages hold injured and rehabilitated birds, including barred owls, screech owls, red tail hawks, red-shouldered hawks, two bald eagles, and one falcon. More impressively, just over 3,000 visitors come here each year to take advantage of the weekly, year-round birding tours, hoping to spot a handful of the 232 species of feathered friends who both vacation and reside here. Wink explains that what draws the birds to the center is its idyllic topography, encompassing six of the state’s seven bird habitats: upland woods, shallow bays, fields, marsh, ponds, and transition zones (the shrubby area between two different habitats)—mountains is the seventh. “This place is like one-stop shopping for birds,” Wink says.

Birding isn’t the only activity accommodated at CBEC. There’s a canoe trail on both Marshy and Cabin creeks, two incredibly clean rivers due to their high subaquatic vegetation and oyster populations.

Coming back from a tour of the Cabin Creek trail, my day is made complete. Wink spots a female bald eagle in her nest, a structure which, she explains, can weigh up to 800 to 1,000 pounds and be as much as eight to ten feet thick. A few minutes later, I spot the male perched on a limb not five feet below the nest. She tells me that I’m “sharp-eyed.” (I just hope she didn’t see me attempt to peer through the wrong end of the binoculars in my haste to get a better look.)

At the end of our tour, I take a solo stroll around the grounds, walking among the strolling geese, which quack nervously as I pass by. Thanks to my day at the center, I’ve learned a lot about myself: that I love walking under the canopy of a pine forest, that my cat’s face looks a lot like that of a great horned owl, and that I do, in fact, walk just like a duck, which is the nickname my father gave me soon after my first steps. And all this from a day spent watching birds, my newest hobby. —Kessler Burnett

CBEC, 600 Discovery Ln., Grasonville, Md. Open 9 a.m.-5 p.m. daily, year- round. Trail maps, center’s calendar of events, and other literature available at the main office. 410-827-6694 or http://www.cbec-wtna.org. Birding tours every Saturday, 9 a.m.-11 p.m.

Wheeling Along the Cross Island Trail

This is a fine place to rest from my cycling, on an unobtrusive bench overlooking the spires of the Bay Bridge as the bluestem grasses waft in the breeze. The beach here at the end of the trail is deserted, save for a couple of local moms and their toddlers taking advantage of a sunny morning.

My five-mile bike ride (ten, counting the return trip) on Kent Island’s Cross Island Trail was itself a breeze, even for this slightly out-of-shape mom. The trail, opened in 2001, presents no extreme challenges: no hair-raising turns, steep climbs, nor speed-inducing declines. Instead, I find a little bit of natural peace just steps off of busy Route 50. And while the constant drone of traffic never totally ceases (think of it as a slightly annoying din that you’ll eventually get used to), the wide, paved trail runs through quiet stands of loblolly pines and marshlands, a fine respite from the built-up byway. The ten-foot-wide path cuts all the way across the island, starting at the south end, over by Well’s Cove, and ends up at the Bay. Many start here, at the Terrapin Nature Park on the west end. As the ducks honk overhead, my Monday morning sojourners and I spy some kind of land critter (a muskrat, perhaps?) taking a morning swim a ways off shore.

I started my loop at the aptly named Chesapeake Exploration Center, set back behind a marina overlooking Kent Narrows. Here, in a handsome green-washed wooden building graced with a trio of octagonal lookout towers, I found all the info anyone could want about the Bay and the outfitters ready to guide me through the county’s natural wonders. (The tourism office is here as well.) The small interactive museum off the lobby, “Our Chesapeake Legacy,” highlights the culture and history of the region in equal parts; the real skipjack Anna McGarvey on the grounds presents history life-sized.

The trail skirts alongside the highway and numerous housing developments. Oases of back bays dotted with pairs of swans balance out the encroaching civilization. At the halfway point, the overhang of the trees presents a fine frame for the Bay Bridge ahead, an enticing goal.

I meet only one runner as I speed past the fancy Kent Island High School, over Love Point Road, and enter the 275-acre nature park, where the paved trail gives way to a dirt/oyster-shell path and an expanse of wilderness. A couple of duck blinds allow for birdwatching stops: the herons are here all year, and mallards, osprey, the occasional eagle fills the marshes in the more temperate months; other prairie and Bay lookouts—raised gazebos and walkways— provide key details about these intersecting habitats. Plus, there are 4,000 feet of Bay shoreline to explore. On the way back, the sparse crowd picks up a bit, with baby strollers joining several dog walkers along the way.

I plan my reward at the end of my loop, where my other wheels are parked: a long-awaited crab cake sandwich from Harris Crab House, just across the channel from the Exploration Center. And I’ve already plotted my next trip, with family in tow: We’ll park at the western end, pop into historic Stevensville to pick up some pastries from the bakery (Peace of Cake, the best) to fuel the ride, and head to my bench for a relaxing Bayside breakfast.

We’ll take a leisurely ride, then settle into a delicious seafood lunch at the Kent Narrows end of the trail. Hey, we can always grab a cab back to the car. —Kathy H. Ely

The Cross Island Trail is managed by Queen Anne’s County Department of Parks and Recreation; a ranger patrols regularly. Parking (and restrooms, open sunrise to sunset) available at several points along the six-and- a-half mile trail. Bikes available for rent at Bike Doctor (410-604-6096) in Stevensville. Request a map from http://www.discoverqueenannes.com.

Paddling up the Tuckahoe

My wife’s eyes brighten as guide Damon Hostetter unloads the single-person kayaks next to the boat ramp on Tuckahoe Lake, located within Tuckahoe State Park in Queen Anne. Tour operators usually have tandem kayaks or two-person canoes for couples. But even the happiest, most compatible couples can become bickering combatants when paddling together in the same boat. It’s almost impossible for the occasional paddler to synchronize strokes and steer in harmony. I must admit, I brighten up, too.

We had originally planned to paddle downriver on the Tuckahoe Creek Water Trail, five-and-a-half-miles long. But rain is forecast for the afternoon, so we change our plans to the two-hour upriver tour, about a four-mile round-trip.

After Damon, a guide for Eastern Shore Adventure Company, briefs us on getting into and out of the cockpits of the sleek, plastic shells, we push off the boat ramp into Tuckahoe Lake. He leads us through the lake (three other kayakers are in our group), offering suggestions on paddling techniques. Good thing, because I was holding my paddle upside down and backwards.

The manmade body of water, formed by a dammed, submerged woodland, is dotted with muskrat mounds, while gnawed trees and logs show signs of active beavers.

Damon points out large clumps of mistletoe hanging in tree branches. I paddle over to my wife, Karen, under the romantic weed and attempt to give her a smooch. My boat wobbles as I lean over and Karen’s kayak rocks precariously. No kayak kissing—we smack our paddles into each other instead.

Deeper into the upriver forest, a blue heron buzzes our boats. As I lag behind, gazing at the heron, a fellow paddler yells out, ÒLook, a bald eagle!Ó I look up and see nothing as I paddle to catch up. Rats! I’ve never seen a bald eagle in the wild. Just then, the eagle swoops directly overhead, its head and tail feathers reflecting in the sunshine.

The creek gets shallower the farther we go; we have to form a single-file line to pass over a sandbar at one point. And the occasional overhanging fallen tree means ducking underneath, or as I call it, kayak limbo.

Overhead, clear blue skies show no signs of approaching rainstorms. I consider asking if anyone wants to give the downriver run a try. But as we climb onto terra firma, I realize my arms are sore. Downriver will have to wait for another day. —Matthew Graham

Eastern Shore Adventure Company: 410-820-8881 or http://www.esadventure.com. Full-day tours, $85; two-hour, $40; moonlight tours, $35. Kayak rentals, sales, and instruction also available. Amphibious Horizons also offers tours of the Tuckahoe, 410-267-8742 or http://www.amphibioushorizons.com. Kayak and canoe rentals are also offered at the park, 800-830-3974 or http://www.dnr.state.md.us/publiclands/eastern/tuckahoe.html