Camping in Kiptopeke State Park

Inaugural camping trip of 2026 set the bar HIGH

Virginia, I love you. I love your mountains, I love your coastlines, I love your universities, I love (most of) your cities, I love your small towns, I love your mourning doves, I love your dogwood trees, I love the James River, I love the Chesapeake, I love, love, love you, Virginia!

Sorry, just had to get that out of the way. Last weekend, Gravy, New Person, and I fled Richmond for a weekend of camping on the Eastern Shore. 

Kiptopeke State Park was our glorious host, and she did not disappoint. I'd never been to the Eastern Shore—the little strip of land separated from the rest of the Commonwealth by the Chesapeake Bay, home to the famed Chincoteague ponies (and the same-named National Wildlife Refuge, NBD). 

It was much easier to access than I thought, thanks to the 18(!) mile-long bridge-tunnel that connects the peninsula to Hampton Roads. Eighteen miles of bridge is...a lot of bridge. (Apparently, there used to be a restaurant and fishing pier in the middle of it that were recently shuttered because they're expanding the bridge? Honestly, kinda pissed I never had the chance to eat there....what a cool gimmick! Kind of the coastal American version of dining inside the Eiffel Tower, no?) Anyway.

We arrived late on Friday night—delayed not once but twice by stagnant McDonald's drive thrus. Not entirely sure why the universe felt the need to really protect me from my filet o' fish, but I (eventually) accepted and (begrudgingly) appreciated her guidance. (We went to Taco Bell instead.)

So, the fun really started Saturday morning. The weather was beyond perfect—blue, cloudless skies, warm but not hot. After a glorious camp breakfast of egg burritos, we decided to walk down to the closest boardwalk and (finally!) lay eyes on the water. The universe (undoubtedly feeling guilty for my numerous filet 'o fish disappointments the night before) gave us a special gift: a pod of dolphins bellying up to the breakfast buffet right in front of us! 

At first, we only saw one lone dolphin bobbing through the waves. I was halfway to convincing myself this was about to become a Nim's Island situation where this dolphin was lonely and abandoned and we were going to be her new, unfortunately human but still very lovable, best friends when we spotted 3 others in a tighter grouping behind her. (The gasp of delight that NP and I let out simultaneously when we spotted the others could've registered on the Richter scale.) 

We watched until the mini-pod was out of sight to return to our campsite and prepare more properly for the day.

Picture shows Kate smiling, eyes closed, post-dolphin elation still evident on her face, smartly framed by two slender cedar trees and the thick swath of blue water behind her by a smart photographer with a keen eye for detail who is definitely not writing this certainly unbiased caption.

One of the as-yet untasted fruits of last summer's hobby shopping was the deceptively enormous and bulky bag at the bottom of the trunk containing my inflatable paddle board/kayak and related accessories. (As yet another feeble attempt to liberate myself from the patriarchal economic system, I received the set as an alternate form of payment for a relatively benign week of dog- and housesitting that occurred during Wave III of Finding Myself™ in which I was attempting to "get back to nature" and "embrace my coastal roots." Mind you, my mother sent me to an expensive (and Jesus-y) surf camp as a child and, over the course of that week, I made 19 sandcastles because I refused to get in the water even once. Sorry, Mom! (...and Jesus?))

I was feeling quite shy and shrunk away from the water under the imaginary weight of the eyes of the handful of other beachgoers. I couldn't get the image of me tumbling ass-over-tea kettle off my board, not to mention the graceless gymnastics it would take to get back on my board. Luckily, a gaggle of kayakers soon paddled around the inlet into our little cove and I borrowed their courage to get on my board for its inaugural journey. It was so f*cking fun! I didn't go very far, focusing as I was on reactivating the long-dormant muscle memory of oar mechanics.

I have no idea where my occasional, deep-set fear of water comes from, especially as a lifelong competitive (and leisure) swimmer. I lived in the water growing up! One summer, our family's black lab, Ellie, was diagnosed with a nasty case of swimmer's tail because she was trying to keep up with my gleeful paddling around and around my grandparents' pool. And yet, I bailed on my final scuba certification dive/test in high school (sorry, Mr. Carlson!) and I didn't actually get into the ocean until very recently.

I don't fear drowning if I fall off my board, the way I did when scuba diving, though I know there are lifeguards and ocean rescuers tsking at me right now. It's the ingrained fear of embarrassment, of which I am, naturally, embarrassed to admit. Sigh. Anyway, NP took a turn on the board and—the highlight of my year so far—I went paddling with Gravy, too! 

I was so focused on not tipping us into the water, I almost missed NP's frantic waving from the beach. Turns out, the dolphins had returned and I was unawaredly paddling....very close to one of them. (I'd like to think it was my fiercely independent friend from the morning.) I was so focused on safely and expeditiously getting out of their way, it wasn't until I was back on shore that I reflected on how magical it was to be so close to such a majestic, intelligent creature.

That afternoon, we made some camp lunch (veggie hot dogs FTW) and took a leisurely drive up the road to Cape Charles for some ice cream and sightseeing. It wasn't too long before I was in heavy need of a nap, though, so we returned to camp and I promptly fell asleep in the hammock. Gilligan's Island, who? 

TW: toes

We rounded out our perfect day with another walk, through the canopy this time. Then, NP made dinner on the fire, which was both wildly impressive and turned out madly delicious. A pescatarian take on cowboy campfire dinner, we had little roasted potatoes, ahi tuna steaks (and a little tuna fillet for Gravel!), and green beans. I showed NP how to make Girl Scout cherry pie for dessert (cinnamon graham crackers + canned cherry pie filling) and we fell asleep nestled into each other under the stars. 

Eager to scoop every bit of enjoyment out of our time, we hit the beach again on Sunday morning. I somehow coaxed NP into plunging beneath the water with me, but the waves were much choppier, so paddling was out of the question. The kicked-up wind gusts brought another surprise from Mother Nature, though: a real, live bald eagle!

I didn't believe we were actually witnessing a bald eagle in the wild until NP snapped this photo. I mean...a bald eagle?! The entire time we watched, the eagle never once flapped its wings, instead riding the gusts of wind. It was so masterful and graceful and moved with ease...am I a bird person now?? It was astonishing.

In my yoga class on Wednesday, undoubtedly inspired by my sight of the majestic creature, we practiced garudasana (eagle asana) and I couldn't help it, I had to tell the class about my weekend sighting. One of my semi-regular patrons spoke up, then, and said the James River has the highest concentration of nesting bald eagles in the United States outside of Alaska! The more you know. 

Cover photo credit @graciedavis27