One of the first things I heard about when moving to Virginia was the legendary Chincoteague Pony Swim. Problem is, that’s about all I heard. Few knew anything about the event, and even fewer knew someone who had attended in person. In my head it all went down on some island, far from civilization, where cowboys led wild ponies into the ocean towards greener pastures. Turns out, I wasn’t all that wrong. But just like the folks who told me “you should go!”, my daydreams were simply lacking in details.

More ponies after the break.

Pre-pony swim research told us the event would be crowded. The weather app told us to expect rain. We prepared for both. Starting our voyage at the reasonable hour of 4 a.m., we loaded the Prius and set out for adventure. Three and one half hours later, we arrived on the island. It was crowded. It was raining. Deterred not the slightest, we donned our rain coats and headed for the landing site. And by landing site, I mean muddy-marshy swampland. Don’t believe me? Take the local news’ word for it.

That’s us, knee deep in stank, waiting in the wet with 350 of our closest friends.

And this is us, waiting for over an hour in on-again-off-again thunderstorms for “slack tide” so the ponies could make their crossing.

Finally, the signal flare shot up. The horsies hunkered down. And all that waiting paid off. The Saltwater Cowboys drove their ponies into the narrow strait from Assateague Island to Chincoteague Island. Strait toward us. All in all the swim lasted four minutes. But we’ll have the memory of those horses making landfall for a whole heck of a lot longer.

After their voyage, the ponies rested. Then the Saltwater Cowboys rounded ’em up and paraded ’em down Main Street. We stood at attention as the procession hoofed past—then hopped in the car and headed home.