The News from Newport News

It may look like nothing but big-port muscle and sinew, but don't let that throw you; there's charm aplenty, if you know where to look, in good ol' New Port Newce.

by Paul Clancy

As soon as you enter Hampton Roads, the city begins to reveal itself. It's sprawling, muscular and—from the water, at least—somewhat forbidding: a commercial fishing basin, a giant shipyard, an open-air coal pier, a fleet of reserve ships aging on the waterfront. Somewhere—ahh, there—between gray behemoths, are a few downtown office buildings, a narrow park and the barely visible top of a victory arch.

But don't be put off. Newport News does have accessible marinas, a few lovely spots for dropping anchor, inviting beaches, a vibrant fishing industry, a gorgeous performing arts center and one of the world's finest maritime museums. And it's all reachable by water, with a little extra effort—okay, maybe a lot.

There's history here, as deep as the water just off the shoreline, and it begins with a name. It may well be, as some contend, that Newport News Point—the point of land that marks the end of Hampton Roads and the beginning of the James River—got its name from the good news that Captain Christopher Newport, leader of the Jamestown expedition, had returned with supplies. But I prefer a more likely theory, that one William Newce, a knighted Irishman, arrived shortly after the 1607 settlement and established a seaport that came to be known as New Port Newce.

It was just off this point of land, two-and-a-half centuries later, that two ungainly ironclad warships, the U.S.S. Monitor and C.S.S. Virginia (nee U.S.S. Merrimack) battled to a draw on a fog-shrouded morning in March 1862, marking the beginning of the end of wooden fighting ships. Every time I pass this way I think of that battle, and how so many naval ships, "ironclads" all, are now built just over there, on that near shore, practically within hailing distance; Also not far from here, perhaps the distance of a cannonball's flight, are the hoary remains of the Monitor itself, resting in a world-class museum.

I'm traveling by sailboat—my Tartan 30, Ode to Joy—from my mooring on the Lafayette River in Norfolk, hoping to take a closer look at what makes Newport News compelling, especially by water. Newport News, a linear city that's at least 20 miles long but only two to four miles wide for most of that length, parades slowly by as I pick up a gentle northerly breeze, put Middle Ground Light astern, slip past the Monitor-Merrimac Bridge-Tunnel and enter the James. To my dismay, there's no ideal place for a cruising sailor to tie up—not in the Small Boat Harbor that is home to a commercial fishing fleet (more on that later), not downtown, not along the beach, and certainly not along the industrial waterfront. I feel like I'll have to keep going to Williamsburg or Jamestown. But I won't give up yet; there is a way to see this town. I keep moving.

At the coal pier, the ship Energy Enterprise out of New Orleans, and a barge from Baltimore are poised under a gantry taking on black coal that is piled in tall mounds on land (regularly sprayed with water to keep down the soot). Not too inviting here. The city's dominant feature, stretching for miles along the waterfront, is the giant Northrop Grumman Newport News shipyard. It was founded by railroad baron Collis Huntington more than a hundred years ago to service the ships that unloaded at his docks.

The Newport News Drydock and Shipbuilding Co., as it was known then, began turning out military ships by the scores during the war years, becoming the largest individually owned yard in America, until Northrop Grumman bought it not long ago. At one of the piers, towering 20 stories above the water and looking about as big as a reclining Empire State Building, broods the newly commissioned aircraft carrier George H. W. Bush, undergoing post-shakedown maintenance and repair.

Security is tight as a tick here. You don't even want to think about docking or losing headway. Nice doggy. Don't worry. I'm just passing. At 3:30 p.m., a siren wails. A shift change, I hope. Miles farther and there's still no place to stop, but that's about to change. Just before the James River Bridge I come to the city-owned Leeward Municipal Marina. I'm fond of Leeward. It was where I found my first boat, a sweet little swing-keel Spirit 23, which I bought there and sailed home. Tucked in next to the bridge, the marina is surrounded by a white cement breakwater. I had stopped here by car a few days earlier to see if I could go anywhere on foot. And to my delight, I could. Just up from the marina a stoplight allowed me to safely walk across the approach to the James River Bridge. And right there on the western side of the bridge was a sandy oasis, Huntington Park. On that day it was teeming with beachgoers: families with blankets, umbrellas and coolers, lifeguards and swimmers. Just beyond a refreshment stand I found a ramp, where half a dozen boats were being coaxed off trailers into the water. One could easily anchor out and dinghy in or tie up at the small pier that accommodates ramp users, even go for a swim at the beach.

There's a fishing pier at Huntington Park that rests on remains of an older James River Bridge, with the Crab Shack Seafood Restaurant—it's good, I hear—perched over the water. Beyond the beach is an elaborate children's park called Fort Fun, and then, a not-so-fun place, I imagine, the Virginia War Museum. But what I was looking for and found was a footbridge crossing a small creek. Aha again! If I wanted to get to the Mariners' Museum by bicycle from the waterfront entrance to Newport News, following the inviting River Road beside the James, I could. This city is opening up a little at a time.

Back in the present, I'm under the James River Bridge and passing by this lovely beach, then several miles of waterfront mansions, as well as the park that surrounds the Mariners' Museum. An hour later, after spotting the entrance markers to Deep Creek, I drop my sails and motor in. On the port side is Menchville, where several deadrise workboats are moored. Ahead is Deep Creek Landing Marina and the Warwick Yacht Club, both bristling with yachts. To starboard is James River Marina, my destination today, and a place I'm looking forward to revisiting.

Owner Marty Moliken, whom I met eight years ago when writing about the James, is there to help with my lines. For the past 60 years, workboats had tied up at an ancient city pier next to the marina. Finally, this year, the old pier was removed as the city improved the bulkheads and dockage across the creek. Now Moliken has gotten the ball rolling for 40 new slips and a raw bar at the end of the old pier. If the building-permit gods smile on him, he says, it could all be up and running by next summer.

At this point, Barb arrives in the land yacht and begins to unload our bikes. We'd thought of bringing them across by boat. It's possible to stow them on deck, but they're not the fold-up types and, frankly, we didn't want the hassle of loading and unloading them. What I was trying to test out was my theory that we could fairly 
easily get to the Mariners' Museum from James River Marina—because you just can't visit Newport News without going to that gem of a museum. We'll test my theory about biking there in the morning. Now we test the food.

James River Marina owns what has long been a popular local restaurant. Originally named Herman's Harbor House, it's now called Slightly Up the Creek. We get a table on the front porch overlooking the creek, and while a fan whirs and the sun sets, we indulge in some very good shrimp and crabcakes. And—we couldn't resist—some astonishing caramel bread pudding. The western sky is dominated by sail-shaped clouds, with sunset in their bellies.

With bread pudding in our bellies, Barb and I bed down aboard Ode to Joy, falling asleep to the murmurs of conversation and the occasional peal of laughter from the night owls in nearby slips. We awake at dawn, dawdle over cereal and fruit, then pedal off toward the museum.

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