Just Like Nothing (else) on Earth: Whites Ferry

By Tim John

Give me a gloomy day, some moving water, and absolute solitude—and I’ll be generally happy; the day I last visited the site in question was certainly bountiful in all categories. The intersection of Whites Ferry Road and the Potomac River (on the Virginia Side, anyway) leaves one facing a gently sliding body of liquid—dotted with islands, lined with mature trees, filled with silt, fish, turtles and other critters—and, at the time of this writing – provided with all the privacy one could ask within 40 miles of our nation’s capital.

It wasn’t always like this. Whites Ferry used to be a “booming” place; I’m not sure how many commuters (and their vehicles) they transported across the river at this crossing, but when the busy service would temporarily cease during potentially dangerous high-water conditions, it was a hot topic for morning radio show hosts in Leesburg.

Now, since my newsroom sat approximately 15 feet from the live studio at AM 1200 Wage Radio, and the daily Morning Show host could usually look me in the eyes through our series of windows, I was naturally expected to find out—and pronto—“What’s happening with Whites Ferry?”

And the local electrical outages, and the road conditions across Loudoun County, and the possible school closures, and, let’s see: who won the local pie-baking contest, and did Little Janey’s pet bunny rabbit have its babies yet? And other more important details which I’ve blessedly forgotten.

So—I got to know some of the folks out at the offices of Whites Ferry—and I got to appreciate their sometimes gruff early-morning bedside manner, which made a natural complement to my own. But I didn’t have time or opportunity to learn much else, besides the name of the various ferries in use: they were all summarily dubbed “The Jubal Early” after the Confederate Civil War General, who, reportedly bore emotional similarities to your everyday, average mule.

I remember another memorable time for the local river ferry service. Back in the mid-2000s, the Coast Guard raised a fuss over official licensing. Officers claimed that the operators at that time were running without proper documentation. I recall one particular conversation that had me envisioning weasels from Washington scurrying from shotgun fire—but I don’t think it ever came to that; the Ferry kept ferrying; the G-Men kept threatening; the commuters kept commuting; the radio personalities had fodder for morning conversation, and everybody was pretty much happy.

And, strange to say, but I look back—now—on those times as memories as precious as a family Thanksgiving. Yes, I miss the tumult of the trials and tribulations of the General Jubal Early. The ferries bearing the renegade’s name now lie as quietly as the original General’s remains; an eminent domain, land-use squabble has finally stopped operations on the famous river crossing service.

On the morning of this story’s writing, Whites Ferry’s been quiet for about a year; this unprecedented lapse in running comes after a history dating back almost 200 years (my news archive reports operations getting started around 1828). Floods, ice and Coast Guard officers couldn’t do it, but a slip of paper did the trick; a local lawsuit has brought down the General.

So—on the day of my most recent visit to the locally famous river crossing (filled with personal memories), I enjoyed the silence, the solitude, the slow-moving water—uninterrupted by loading and unloading of commuters and their cars, and the flat barge-like vessels pulled across by the strong, wire cables (they replaced the less reliable rope back in 1872), and my inner recollection of a Morning Radio Show host asking, “Hey, what about Whites Ferry?”

But all that activity will stick in my mind as long as I can see the Potomac River just north of Leesburg: island-studded, tree-lined, filled with silt, fish, turtles, other critters, and an everlasting air of mystery and enchantment.

And, what about the unique service offered by the operators of Whites Ferry? Well, I never thought you’d ask. Due to the State of Maryland’s abhorrence of solid river crossings (bridges), the ol’ Jubal Early represented the only means of getting to the other side between Point of Rocks and the American Legion Bridge. Look it up on a map. And, no—it’s not supposed to make sense.