When I was six years old, my father took me on a “treasure hunt,” complete with a map, collapsible shovel, my very own Jansport satchel, and a Jet Ski as our mode of transportation. As a child, I was in love with the idea of buried treasure, pirates, and sunken ships ... but weren’t we all to an extent? I cannot remember the story he told me for this adventure. All I know is that once I saw the “map,” I was hooked. We took off on the Jet Ski to nearby Miami Beach at the mouth of Middle River, a popular swimming hole that was part of the mainland; though, if you asked me at the time, I would have told you (and I truly believed) that it was some uncharted island and that we were the first explorers.

The memorable hidden treasure that sparked an interest in archaeology later in life.

Upon reaching the shores, I stowed my shovel in my backpack to have my hands free for the map. We headed through the cattails and away from the beach, glancing at the great blue herons and ospreys that made the shore their home. Then we headed down the “black trail,” as my father and I so named it. Sounds quite intimidating and to my younger self, it truly was. In reality, it was simply a trail away from the sandy beach and into a patch of thick woods, but to me, it will always be the “black trail,” full of mystery, secrets, and of course, buried treasure.

That initial foray of mine into “uncharted shores” has led to an adult curiosity that continues to grow. But what is it about uninhabited shores and forbidden spits of land that so captures our imaginations? The Chesapeake Bay is full of such islands, many owned by the military, that are closed off from our curious minds. Most are just ordinary strips of land, no different from the beach down the road, but because we are closed off from them they are immediately raised in our esteem.

Most are ordinary; most, but not all. Pooles Island, just north of the Gunpowder River, is one such exception: a small island that truly has been untouched by curious eyes for many years.

Pooles Island, just south of the Gunpowder River.

John Smith first discovered the island around 1612 when he circumnavigated the Bay, but prior to his arrival it was home to a tribe of Susquehannock Indians who harvested its plentiful oysters. Over the next 400 years, the island would change ownership and usage several times.

In 1771 it was purchased by John Bordley who attempted to make it into a game preserve, even importing hare and partridge from England to supplement the native animal population. A few years later, he would build a gunpowder factory and livestock farm in support of the Revolutionary War. Some years after Bordley, war again broke out on the Bay.

During the war of 1812, the British Navy occupied the island, using it as a base to launch attacks on the Eastern and Western shores. But after the wars, the island was for some time forgotten, until it was again privately purchased by a Mr. George Merrett. Merrett had heard claim of the island’s fertile soil and so he planted thousands of peach tree saplings, creating a small orchard on the northern shore. Luckily the claims proved to be true, and for many years the trees produced the once famous “Pool’s Island Best” without the aid of fertilizers. Merrett boasted that the island was a little “piece of Iowa soil in Maryland.”

In 1917, at the outset of World War I, ownership of Pooles Island was transferred from Merrett to the War Department and has been used as a testing ground for artillery and aircraft bombardment ever since. The island’s lighthouse, built in 1825, was closed down and finally deactivated in 1939.

In 1994, however, it was placed on the National Register of Historic Places. It has since been reconditioned and as of 2011, runs on solar power and is once again a signal for mariners in the Northern Bay region.

Pooles Island Lighthouse. Photo by U.S. Army

Once mapped at nearly 300 acres, the island has since eroded to less than 200. But despite the destruction of the war years, it has become a thriving sanctuary for several bird species, including herons, eagles, and ospreys. So perhaps it is just the fact that we cannot set foot on its shores that we are so entranced by it. It could be the historic lighthouse that still serves as a friendly beacon for mariners, or it could even be the hidden tombstone that marks the remains of two brothers lost at sea and buried by the lighthouse keeper in 1855.

Perhaps it is merely the little bit of an explorer in all of us. Who hasn’t watched the movies or read “Treasure Island” as a kid and dreamed of uncovering lost remains of a past civilization, and especially one that hits so close to home: Indians, war, and sunken ships?

The “treasure” that I dug up as a kid will continue to be one of the coolest moments of my life thus far. My father bought an unassuming small wooden box and then filled it with costume jewelry and coins from all over the world that he bartered for at a money exchange facility in Baltimore. For many years, I believed the treasure to be real. All through elementary school I would tell the story of my adventure during show and tell, until one day my dad finally told me the real story. At first I was devastated, and even angry with him. I felt completely betrayed knowing that he had let me believe a lie for so many years. But I soon got over my anger when remembering what an amazing experience the treasure hunt truly was, real or not.

Now I can look back and acknowledge that the experience was even more amazing because it was not real. My father put so much into planning it that I believed it and was inspired in many of my further pursuits.

The author at the age of six holding her treasure map.

My love for buried remains and untouched shores has continued to grow. It is one of the reasons why I decided to become an archaeology major. It has led to my latest obsession with exploring Pooles Island, and many other places like it around the Bay. So next time you are out on your boat or your kayak and happen to pass by the desolate shores of Pooles Island, or perhaps even the old fort below the Key Bridge, I entreat you to not simply glance over them, but pause a moment longer and consider the rich history mere feet from your bow that has yet to be explored.

by Kaylie Jasinski