The Mane Event : Every summer, the wild ponies made famous in a children’s book swim the channel while 50,000 visitors cheer them on

Light leaps across the Assateague Channel, burnishing the shaggy auburn coats of a wild mare and her foal. Taller than Shetlands but smaller than standard size horses, the Chincoteague ponies prick up their ears and raise their heads to listen to the trumpeting of an impatient stallion. To the east of this island, across the channel waters, stands the isand that inspired Marguerite Henry’s “Misty of Chincoteague.” There truly was a Misty, as gentle and valiant as the pony depicted in the children’s classic. And yes, the ponies still swim across the channel on a summer day each year.

Legend has it that these ponies are descended from a 16th century herd destined for labor in the gold mines of South America but swept ashore after the shipwreck of a Spanish galleon. Natives of the area retell stories of pirate ships slipping in and out of the coves, their captains using the coastal barrier of Assateague Island as a natural corral for stolen horses. But historians believe that as early as the 1700s farmers actually herded them to the island after the colonial legislature levied taxes on free-roaming animals. Whatever the truth, the famous wild pony swim immortalized by Henry is a sight worth a long journey.

Every year, during the last week in July (this year, July 24 and 25), when the air is sultry and the black flies are biting, 50,000 tourists from around the world line the shoreline of Chincoteague Island for a first-hand view of the world-renowned pony swim. Volunteer cowboys round up the ponies on the Virginia end of Assateague Island, swim them across the Assateague Channel, herd them down Main Street to the Chincoteague carnival grounds and auction them off to the highest bidders. On Friday, the unsold ponies swim back to the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge on Assateague where they will roam free for another year. This annual event keeps the herd manageable and contributes proceeds--an estimated $79,000 last year--to the Chincoteague Volunteer Fire Co. and toward continued protection and care of the ponies.

It was at that time last year when my husband, Mike, and I crossed the breathtaking Chesapeake Bay Bridge. It was Mike’s first trip to the East and the miles of thick forests and green marsh grass rendered him speechless; his face became permanently fixed to the eye piece of his video camera. Ahead of us, lightning streaked the sky a metallic gold. Homes, white-pillared and fenceless, were surrounded by acres of green lawn, silver water and shadowy forest. Stands along the road advertised corn, tomatoes, blueberries, soft-shelled crab, shrimp, croquettes served with fries, cole slaw and hush puppies, a delicious Southern concoction of deep-fried cornmeal balls.

The fork in the road came up before I had time to think it through: Maryland 413 toward Crisfield, Md., our eventual destination, or Virginia 175 toward Chincoteague. On impulse, I turned the wheel of our rental car, succumbing to a childhood dream to find my very own Misty and in so doing stumbled upon the most delightful two days of our trip.

Assateague Island is a barrier island separating the Atlantic Ocean from Chincoteague Bay. It is largely undeveloped except for pristine beaches and hiking trails enjoyed by annual tourists. The Maryland (northern) end of Assateague contains part of Assateague Island National Seashore. The southern, Virginia end of the island contains the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge and beaches managed by the National Park Service. It is here that the wild ponies, as well as flocks of migrating birds and deer, can be seen at home in their unspoiled paradise.

In between Assateague Island and the mainland, the smaller island of Chincoteague, a mere seven miles long and 1 1/2 miles wide, is home to 3,700 people who make their living fishing, clamming, oystering and serving the thousands of tourists who visit the two islands annually. The town of Chincoteague is a haven of motels, restaurants and B&Bs;, including the famous Miss Mollie’s Inn, a charming Victorian B&B; where Marguerite Henry researched her novel, and souvenir shops are charmingly maintained by local residents.

It was late when we arrived, and the first hotel we tried was full. The proprietor called around, reserving the last vacant room on the island. “It’s pony swimming day tomorrow,” she explained. “Rooms are booked for years in advance.”

Armed with directions, we traveled down the well-lighted Main Street. A cool breeze blew in off the water marginally lowering the steaming temperatures. We found the Island Belle, a new hotel on Maddox Boulevard near the campground, to be modern, clean, comfortable and, to a budget-conscious couple recently forced to spend three days in New York City, blessedly reasonable. We were warned upon check-in to arrive before dawn at the shoreline to get a good position for the pony swim. To avoid traffic we used the free Pony Shuttle that transports viewers to the swim site and later to the Fire Company Carnival Grounds near the harbor.

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People were already lined up at 5 a.m. We settled down for a long wait and learned from a local couple sitting beside us that the herd swims across the channel from Assateague to Chincoteague in slack water between high and low tides so the ponies won’t drift with the current. The anticipated time for the last year’s pony swim was between 9:30 and 10 a.m.

Mike went for coffee and doughnuts while I held our place along the shore. The crowd thickened until the beach was lined with a wall of colored T-shirts and camera lenses. It was nearly time.

Heart hammering, eyes toward the horizon, I strained to see the scene I’d dreamed about since I was 10 years old. Black flies, always plentiful in the drugging heat of a Eastern shore summer, disregarded the noxious fumes of insect repellent and bit through shirts, scarves and socks. Intent on the drama about to occur, no one cared. A cloud of dust rose in the distance. The woman beside me squeezed my arm. Suddenly they appeared, charging toward the channel, a brown wave of manes and heads, mature mares, yearlings, foals, all led by a powerful, sweat-stained stallion. Heads high, nostrils flaring, sides heaving, they reached the water and plunged into the foaming spray.

I closed my eyes, praying that two spindly legged black-and-white newborns struggling against the current would make it safely to shore. The crowd surged forward nearly pushing me into the channel. I stumbled and gripped Mike’s arm. The crowd cheered. I opened my eyes.

It was over in less than 30 minutes. The ponies were headed toward the carnival grounds. Nearly 70 ponies were sold the following day at the auction. Immediately after, the crowd dispersed. Encouraged by the mass exodus and the knowledge that Chincoteague would be largely unpopulated, Mike and I explored the island. One of the highlights was a two-hour, semi-private nature tour of the bay narrated by Mike Handforth, a veteran fisherman of local waters who holds a U.S. Coast Guard Masters License. Fishing charters and island tours were also offered at reasonable prices. We made our reservations ahead of time and spent the morning at the Chincoteague marina.

Nestled in a flat expanse of marsh grass, boats swaying in their slips, the marina is a setting of serene, uncluttered beauty. Snowy egrets share the pilings with brown terns. Gulls circle and rest on the pilings. Dragonflies and mosquitoes skim across the water’s surface. I was conscious of the silence, of gray water and blue sky and green grass; of hot, humid air; of the weathered dock beneath my feet, the taste of salt on my lips and the thick brackish smell of the bay, teeming with life. Smewhere in the distance was Ocean City, Va., the Food Lion market, Stuckeys, Arby’s Roast Beef and the Peninsula Bank. But not here, not on Marguerite Henry’s Chincoteague Island.

Later, we drove to East Side Rentals & Marina on East Side Drive where our captain was readying the boat for departure. The Chincoteague View, a 24-foot aluminum pontoon boat ideal for cruising the waters around the islands, was scrubbed clean as a whistle. Individual chairs allowed us to move around in our never-ending quest for the perfect picture. At $15 per person, the tour was a rare bargain.

As Capt. Handforth motored us out into the channel, the whisper of a cool breeze blew across the deck, promising what all islanders already know--the coolest spot in Virginia is in a boat on the water.

We dropped a young couple anxious to try their luck at clamming on the deserted beach at the end of Assateague before making our way around the sandbars through Tom’s Cove, an angler’s paradise filled with shad, croaker, sea bass and bottom fish, to the end of the island.

Here, flat marshland covered with coarse, green grass follows the shoreline. Haughty cormorants, their long legs rooted in the sand, wait patiently for the leap of flashing silver that signals lunch is at hand. Egrets, blue heron and an occasional bald eagle sail across a tranquil sky. Gulls circle the pilings, their sharp eyes intent on a pair of terns arguing over the remains of a mussel. Farther down the island, pine forests grow to the sand. The harsh salty soil, a deterrent to all but the fittest, leeches the life from the weak and diseased. Virginia pines lay dead on the shore, their white, salt-encrusted roots face-up on the sand.

My ears picked up the chirping of crickets and cicadas, the croaking of frogs, the scream of a gull. Around the bend a family of deer waited, silent and motionless, hidden in the shade of an enormous pine and, high on a dune, munching on marsh grass, was a mare with her spindly legged foal. My breath caught. Behind my sunglasses tears rose, momentarily blurring my vision. There is nothing in the world quite like seeing, first-hand, a shaggy-coated pony living free in the wild.

We rounded a bend and the distinctive red and white stripes of the Assateague lighthouse appeared through a clearing in the trees. Constructed in 1833, it was rebuilt in its present form in 1866. Operated by the U.S. Coast Guard, its light can be seen for 19 nautical miles, warning sailors of treacherous waters.

As we approached the harbor and the end of our tour, past the oyster and clam beds and the shucking houses no longer in use, I felt the boat roll in another waterman’s wake and the stinging bite of a fly on my ankle. The fishy-smelling bay assailed my nostrils. I was hungry, fly-bitten, sunburned and incredibly relaxed.

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Before dinner we drove the auto loop around Assateague Wildlife Preserve. The $4 admission allows access to bike trails, hiking paths and the beach at the north end of island. It takes about 20 minutes to circle the loop by car at a leisurely 10 miles per hour. For travelers with more time, the hiking trails and beaches are a photographer’s dream.

Our next stop was Steamers, an all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant that is an experience in itself. Tables are covered with brown butcher paper and rolls of paper towels serve as napkins. Mike ordered the spicy shrimp and I ordered crab, both $16.95. Fresh salad and Manhattan clam chowder arrived promptly, followed by fried clam strips, popcorn shrimp, hush puppies, fried chicken, corn on the cob and sweet potato muffins. Next, mounds of steamed crabs and shrimp were piled on the table. The waitress pulled up a clean plastic barrel for shells, refilled our drinks, and demonstrated the correct way to dismember a crab and extract its juicy meat. Sixteen crabs later we were thoroughly content.

After a walk down Main Street, we turned into the Island Creamery on Maddox Boulevard. Whiffs of vanilla from waffle irons baking homemade cones lured us inside where we learned that Kelly Conklin and his wife, Robin, had taken over the original family candy store. After completing a class at Penn State where they learned to make ice cream, they changed the name to the Island Creamery. The main attraction is delicious creamy ice cream made on the spot. More than 32 flavors are offered, among them, peanut butter, banana pudding and a rich dark chocolate called marsh mud. I sampled the butterscotch, and Mike, who believes the quality of an ice cream shop can be determined by its vanilla, ordered his standard fare. Both were delicious.

That evening we regretfully headed west toward Crisfield and the reason we’d come to this beautiful, languid part of the Chesapeake Bay area in the first place. The sun rested on the horizon, benevolent in the cooling dusk temperatures. Gulls, black against the blazing copper sky, circled above a single fishing trawler. Somewhere, hidden in the trees or high on sandy dunes, the ponies of Assateague run wild and free until next year when the crowds will once again make their way to the southern tip of the island to watch the famous ponies make their swim.

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GUIDEBOOK: Ponies Express

Getting there: Delta, United, USAir, Northwest, TWA, American and Continental offer connecting service, with one change of planes, to Norfolk, Va. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares start at about $460.

Where to stay: Miss Mollie’s Inn, 4141 Main St., Chincoteague. Rates: $90-$150 for a double, including afternoon tea and breakfast; tel. (804) 336-6686. Island Belle Motor Lodge, 702 Maddox Blvd., Chincoteague. Rates: $40-75 for a double; tel. (804) 336-3600.

Where to eat: Steamers, 6251 Maddox Blvd., Chincoteague; (804) 336-5478. Island Creamery, 6251 Maddox Blvd., Chincoteague; (804) 336-6236.

Boat rentals: Chincoteague View, at East Side Rentals & Marina, 7462 East Side Road, Chincoteague; tel. (804) 336-3409 or (804) 336-6861.

For more information: Virginia Division of Tourism, 901 E. Byrd St., Richmond 23219, Va.; tel. (800) 932-5827 or (804) 786-4484.

--J.B.R.