A beautiful coast hides a military purpose on the Upper Bay. Story and photos by Steve Allan
There it is on the chartplotter: a big blob of coast stretching for 15 miles or more along the western shore above Baltimore. You spread out as much of Chart 12274 as your navigation station allows for a better assessment. Hardly any roads are shown. No towns, no marinas. The Gunpowder and Bush Rivers are wide and inviting. Romney Creek beckons, too, but it isn't even charted. Spesutie Narrows is, and blind instinct seizes you until you look closely and see a thick looking border on the chart from southwest to northeast and the warning, “Aberdeen Proving Ground Restricted Area 334.140 (See notes A and B).” A series of yellow cans about a mile off the coast marks a warning best heeded. If you don't, the Army will come out and pay you a visit.
Notes A and B basically say “keep out, or else.” If getting boarded by the army isn't unpleasant enough, then getting blown to bits by unexploded ordinance (Note C) would definitely ruin your day.
Looking to port as you continue heading north, as far as your eye can see is a wooded shoreline, one of the longest unbroken stretches of nature on the Upper Bay, you think, and you would be right. About 13,000 acres is forested, with another 5000 acres of forested wetlands. All of this is good for water quality protection and supporting wildlife. So diverse is the occurrence of wildlife that these lands are home to the largest concentration of bald eagles in the state, and 250 other types of birds, 40 types of mammals, reptiles, and 50 species of fish. You think you've found paradise. Until you are reminded of what lies inland.
Before the 20th century, there were towns, farms, and wharves of commerce. There remained backwater Joppa and growing Aberdeen, but besides Michaelsville and a few scattered hamlets, this land was characterized by pastoral farms. Tomatoes were the big crop, and canneries in Aberdeen processed them.
Then in 1917, America found herself at war. The technology of weapons was changing, and the Army needed a place to test them. The range at Sandy Hook, NJ, was deemed too small and too close to New York City. So an emissary was sent south to look for a new place to blow stuff up.
That task fell to a certain Colonel Ruggles, who started poking around the Chesapeake region. Scouting out land on Kent Island didn't go over well with the locals, but a friend up the Bay told him about a vast, thinly populated area in Harford County. Ruggles liked what he saw; the place was perfectly suited for the mission and easier to get to than Kent Island and without the resistance he met there. Ruggles reported back to Washington, gave the farmers and townsfolk a few weeks to pack up and get out, and set about establishing the first of five camps, arsenals, and forts that would make up a sprawling military preserve. In an instant, three centuries of settlement history was literally wiped off the map. Businesses, homes, barns, livestock, and livelihoods were stricken from the tax rolls.
APG, as it has been known since 1971, is vast indeed. At 72,000 acres, it takes away a great chunk of the Chesapeake's western shore gunkholing possibilities. A lot happens away from the shore, unseen: 2000 buildings including laboratories for medical research, chemicals, human engineering and materials research, 200 firing positions, and 300 miles of roads and housing for base personnel. Munitions testing can and does occur at any time. It will rattle your rigging, but apparently the eagles don't seem to mind.
Every sailor around here should be cognizant of the provisions set forth in CFR 33 Section 334.140, which outlines in great detail where you can and can't go and what you can and can't do. Knowing what goes on at the base and understanding why such restrictions are there shouldn't keep you from exploring the rivers whose heads of navigation are outside the restricted area.
The Gunpowder is a beautiful river to explore. Once Maxwell Point is cleared, the community of Oliver Beach lies to port. A fixed railroad bridge ahead stops your progress with only 12 feet of vertical clearance, but the trip back down the Gunpowder is pleasant unless your anxiety about bombing pipes up. The Bush River similarly teases you with the community of Belcamp a distant reward, but a bascule bridge is stymied by a 35-foot transmission line.
You can see Poole's Island up close, too. While an 1820s lighthouse is all that remains now, the island was famous for its peaches before the army started using it for target practice. All manner of unexploded ordinance riddles the place, but it is well worth a peek. Just don't run aground. That's not allowed either.
