CHINCOTEAGUE, VA. — — A morning thunderstorm stayed away, but a blanket of suffocating heat did not Wednesday at the 91st annual Chincoteague Pony Swim on this island off the coast of Virginia.
Temperatures hit the high 80s, but the heat index was 104 by 10:17 a.m., when about 200 of the famous ponies began their eighth-of-a-mile journey across the channel that separates Assateague Island, where they live in the wild most of the year, and Chincoteague, where many were to be sold at auction Thursday.
But the conditions didn't seem to bother Bill Willis, who stood knee-deep in the wet muck beneath a dock where the horses would come ashore in just a few minutes.
It was his third straight "pony penning," the 48-year-old New Castle, Del., man said, and he was savoring the moment.
"There's something magical about seeing those horses come out of the water," he said. "And this is the perfect spot. The deeper I sink, the cooler I get."
Indeed, very little seemed to dampen the enthusiasm of the tens of thousands who flocked to the island to watch the swim, the centerpiece of a multiday festival, an annual boon to the local economy and the islands' signature event.
Not the mosquitoes, which residents said were biting harder than they had in years. Not the thick mud that seemed to claim more than its usual share of flip-flops and sneakers.
Not even heat that left many longtimers gasping, their clothes soaked with sweat long before noon.
"It's worse than I remember feeling it in years, but then I am getting a little older," said Billy Beebe, a 62-year-old retiree who has a particularly compelling local pedigree.
Beebe's grandparents, Clarence and Ida V. Beebe, were the heads of the horse-loving family depicted in Marguerite Henry's 1947 children's novel "Misty of Chincoteague" — the book that helped popularize the pony swim.
The Beebes' grandchildren, Paul and Maureen, were the models for the boy and girl who saved their money and bought and raised Misty.
Billy — cousin to the real-life Paul and Maureen — was raised on Beebe Ranch, the formerly sprawling spread where the real Misty lived out her final years. He remembers the team of moviemakers who came to the island from Hollywood to make "Misty," the film version of the book, which came out in 1961.
Then 6, he played Tommy, a boy in the story who wins a pony in a raffle on the carnival grounds.
It was his first and last movie appearance, Beebe says. He did appear in Life and National Geographic magazines in the early 1960s when Misty gave birth, a story that generated worldwide interest.
"My life is so intertwined with the story of Misty and Pony Penning Day, I don't know what it would be like without them," he said.
Though Henry's work and the film brought the swim to international attention, historians say it has been a signature ritual on the islands since Revolutionary War days.
At that time, Chincoteague farmers were in the habit of regularly gathering sheep for auctions, and they eventually decided to include a few of the ponies.
In 1925, after a series of disastrous fires in the town of Chincoteague, local farmers developed the event as it's currently practiced to raise money for the local volunteer fire department.
Volunteer wranglers known as Saltwater Cowboys round up the herd of about 200 ponies from protected federal land on Assateague, guide them into a corral on the southern part of the island, then affectionately but firmly drive them across the channel on the Wednesday before the last Thursday in July.
The wranglers wait until "slack tide" — the half-hour span when the current is weakest — to commence the swim. It usually lasts less than five minutes.
The day after the crossing, thousands of bidders flock to the carnival fairgrounds on Chincoteague and buy all the foals — usually 50 to 60 of them.
Most end up being taken to new homes in a variety of states, but as many as a dozen each year are purchased as "buybacks" — horses that will be returned to Assateague to help replenish the herd.
"You get to name the pony, get your picture taken with it and come visit it whenever you want, but it's basically a donation," said Evelyn Shotwell, the executive director of the Chincoteague Chamber of Commerce.
Last year, the sale of 61 ponies netted $169,576, with an average price per pony of nearly $2,780. Both dollar figures were records.
The Saltwater Cowboys later lead the adult ponies, and the buybacks, back to Assateague on a return swim. This year's is scheduled for Friday.
Dennis and Cindy Simoes drove more than 10 hours from Covington, Ga., to share the week's festivities with their pony-loving granddaughter, 6-year-old Aniston Mahaffey. It was their first pony penning.
Dennis, a retired firefighter who works as an engine mechanic, was as impressed with the fundraising tradition as he was with the locals' hospitality.
"Fire equipment is expensive," he said. "A pumper can go for $500,000, easily, and that's with no extras."
Aniston, who had a riding lesson at the Chincoteague Pony Centre, was much more interested in the horses.
"I won a pink ribbon," she said.
The three also watched a screening of "Misty" at the Island Theatre in town — festival planners show it free of charge daily — and planned to attend the fire company carnival that is open every night through Friday.
As the ponies splashed, snorted and whinnied their way across the channel, Jenny Park of Clearwater, Fla., and her son, Michael, 4, were doing their best to cope with the heat and the muck of the saltwater marsh.
Michael had lost his shoes and was standing on his mother's feet, crying loudly.
"I have three daughters and one son with me, and the boy is the only one having a hard time," she said, laughing.
Duane Cooper of New Windsor and his daughter Breana, 7, had staked out a place in the water, where they waited, hip-deep, for the ponies' arrival with 55-year-old Roger Burkman of Dundalk; Burkman's son, Cole, 21; and Breana's cousin, Ellie Sullivan, 12, a prize-winning barrel racer from Mandeville, La.
The grown-ups all said they'd been attending the pony swim for years as a family tradition.
Like many girls here, Breana had her fingers crossed for a new pony this week.
"My horse Polly needs a friend," she said. Her dad made a don't-look-at-me face.
The cowboys flanked the ponies in the water, keeping them on course and looking for any stragglers.
The men's cries were reminiscent of roundup scenes in a Western, though with splashes added to the soundtrack.
The first animals arrived onshore at 10:21, neighing, circling, rearing and switching their tails to dispel the water.
"Some of them come from the northern part of [Assateague], and some come from the southern part," Shotwell said. "They're getting to know each other."
Eventually they settled in as a group, and hundreds of humans crowded the makeshift fence around them, reaching across to take pictures, call out greetings and try to pet manes.
The horses rested for 45 minutes before embarking on their annual parade down Main Street and into the fairgrounds in the heart of town.
In the shade of his dock, Willis had not moved, save for the few extra inches he had sunk into the mud, and continued to gaze toward the ponies as they munched the sea grass.
The conditions seemed to strike him as just right.
A smile creased his sun-reddened face.
"That was awesome," he said. "Another perfect year."