The 100th Annual Chincoteague Pony Swim: A First-Timer’s Account

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Sure, I’d read Marguerite Henry’ s classic, Misty of Chincoteague, as a kid. Heck, I’m sure I read a couple of the subsequent novels as well. But at 35+ years ago, who can remember?

I’ve also seen photos of the Pony Swim — the saltwater-soaked ponies, with their noses and ears poking above the water of the narrow Assateague Channel. The crowds pressed to the shoreline. The ponies parading to their future following the swim.

We weren’t close enough to get great photos, but this gallery from WBOC TV 16 really captures the event.

But I wasn’t actually prepared for the experience — what it meant to stand in a marsh and watch as the Saltwater Cowboys drove the herd across the channel and into the holding pen.

So what actually made me decide to attend the Pony Swim? Aside from the obvious love of horses and affiliation with equine media, it was my 10-year-old daughter, Arden. She’s as horse crazy as most of us were at that age and is an avid reader. She had plowed through the Marguerite Henry books as a younger child and for her 10th birthday trip — a tradition in our household — she chose to see the Chincoteague Pony Swim.

Cool. I was down for that. I didn’t realize it was going to be the 100th anniversary, but what better way to celebrate her birthday and experience the swim?

The Annual Chincoteague Pony Swim isn’t just a local tradition. It’s an emotional, physical, full-sensory experience that reaches back a century and gallops straight through your soul.

We didn’t arrive before sunrise. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But we did wake up early and were out the door by about 6:30. Getting to the shuttle parking lot was easy and the shuttle to Memorial Park was somewhat quick. All said and done, I think we found our spot by 7:30.

The crowd in the marsh at the end of Pony Swim Lane.

The air was thick with humidity and anticipation — locals, tourists, and lifelong fans all clustered together along the marshy banks. Kids and adults wore pony-themed t-shirts, some of us clutched coffee (I went with my horse show go-to, a Celsius), and everyone was a bit giddy and wide-eyed, waiting for the Saltwater Cowboys and ponies to arrive.

Two things struck me:

1. How friendly everyone was. This has been my overall impression since arriving on Chincoteague. Despite the hoards of people who invade the island during Pony Swim, nearly all of the locals I’ve encountered have been helpful and friendly. Only one or two had the attitude I know I would have given the invasion of interlopers. Similarly, the other visitors were friendly and excited as well. We chatted with people on the shuttle who were as excited as we were to see the ponies swim and made fast friends with those standing next to us at the end of Pony Swim Lane.
2. The marsh mud is no joke. I had read that if we wanted to see the ponies swim in person we’d be standing in a marsh. Y’all. WE WERE STANDING IN A MARSH. Truthfully, we came away much better than some of the other onlookers, as the mud only really got to the edges of my shoes and a bit on my daughter’s legs and hands. Other people were covered. And, boy, does that marsh mud have a distinctive smell. I’m not really sure if my shoes are making the trip back home with me.

The aftermath of trekking through the marsh mud. We really got off pretty easy. Photo by DeAnn Long Sloan.

We didn’t wait nearly as long as I thought we would have to. I had looked up slack tide the night before, and thought the ponies would swim around 8:30 AM. I never did see the flare that goes up when they arrive, but the murmurs of the crowd let me know that the Saltwater Cowboys had appeared around 8:05 AM.

A pulse of energy shot through the crowd. Nearly everyone already had their spot and most were civilized about maintaining it.  The ponies and cowboys appeared on the opposite shore and began their swim across the channel. I had read that the swim would take four minutes, but I think it was only a little over two.

Their manes were soaked, their eyes and nose barely above the water. A few were confident and bold. Most looked around wide-eyed and uncertain. The foals were small, but made the trek like champs. To be clear, any foal or horse that was deemed unable to make the swim was trailered to the carnival grounds. And vets were onsite to treat as necessary.

As the ponies made landfall on the Chincoteague side, people erupted in applause like they’d just watched Olympians finish a marathon. And in a way, they had. These animals had crossed a channel, endured tides, and now trotted onto dry land toward a future — some bound for new homes, others to remain with the herd.

Foal #73 — one of Arden’s favorite foals.

The ponies at the temporary holding site at the end of Pony Swim Lane, resting before the parade. I really want to believe the one in the foreground on the right is a mare. Photo courtesy of DeAnn Long Sloan.

The first foal to reach the shore always is crowned King or Queen Neptune. This year it was a lovely bay king.

Once the ponies rested for a bit, the Saltwater Cowboys drove them from the swim site to the carnival grounds. They were herded down the streets, past onlookers without missing a beat.

Despite the mass amount of tourists — my daughter and I among them — this felt like a small-town spectacle in the best sense. The ponies, soaked and shaggy, trotted along the historic parade route. Local businesses and families offered water, lemonade, and parking — sometimes for free. The sense of community was incredible.

The watermelon was clutch given the heat and humidity. Also, that is marsh mud under Arden’s eye. Because of course it is. 🙄 Photo by DeAnn Long Sloan.

Showing support for the ponies and the Saltwater Cowboys. Photo by DeAnn Long Sloan.

By the end of the morning, my shoes were muddy, my camera and video roll were full, and Arden’s sense of wonder surrounding the Chincoteague ponies was renewed. Watching the Pony Swim wasn’t just a bucket-list item — it was a reminder of the tradition of the ponies and the dedication of the people who flock to the island — year after year — to witness it all.

I look forward to the next event — the Pony Auction. Much to my daughter’s dismay, we won’t be coming home with a Chincoteague pony (at least not this year), but we can share in the excitement of those who will.