The morning dew sat thick on the car and the soil when the sun rose on the Eastern Shore on Sunday. Hurricane Bill was flooding the airwaves with promises of killer waves and tumultuous seas. So the decision was made; it was mandatory to witness the mayhem first hand. To get to the destination in mind, one must take some sort of water craft, be it a motor boat, jet ski, or, in our case, kayaks.

In what could be describe as a floating caravan, six of us put in somewhere near Daugherty, Virginia and began the beautiful hour paddle through the pristine salt marshes, down Folly's creek towards Cedar Island in hopes of great tempest waves, but instead what we found was a much needed day or serenity and tranquility.

As we paddled, birds flew over our heads and in front of our boats. In patches of mud, where no spartina, or salt marsh grasses, resided, they roosted in groups; a bird convention involving all sorts of species taking a break from feasting.

The island itself is a mostly untouched place with the remnants of a once active lifesaving station. Shells of all sizes, shapes and colors cover the beach by the thousand with even more being pushed up by the constant waves. Huge clouds from nearby storms billowed in the distance, but the sun found a patch over the island to rest.

The day consisted of hopping around on the gorgeous beach like a child at the seashore for the first time: picking up shells, investigating sea critters, wading in the water and laying in the sand.

For sustenance, a fire pit was built with hot coals over which hot dogs were grilled and local mussels, clams, and oysters were steamed.

Other groups had the same idea, congregating on the small island as they came over in their motorboats anchoring on the shore. They set up their lawn chairs and straw umbrellas and absorbed the generally untouched scenery only accessible by those that wanted to apply the effort; a makeshift, disposable village of sunbathers.

As the tide pulled away from the sea, we reentered our kayaks and made the trek back home. The sun had begun to set behind the clouds that held their ground all day giving off an purple and red hew the permeated the space between us and the sky. The tide was low on our return exposing the mussels clinging to the rich soil and the periwinkles clinging to each strand for cord-grass.

The absence of obscene ocean activity and waves the size of mountains were partially disappointing, but the purity and calmness of the day was welcoming and desirable.