Arrive at Cape May by Sea

Cape May sits at the very end of New Jersey, which every driver from the south learns as a geography problem, and the elegant solution has been running since 1964, the ferry across the mouth of the Delaware Bay from Lewes, an eighty-five minute crossing that deletes the long loop around the bay and replaces it with open water, dolphins on good days, and an arrival at America's oldest resort from its correct side, the sea. For travelers from Washington, Baltimore, and points south, it is not a novelty. It is the route.

The ferries carry vehicles and foot passengers between Lewes, Delaware, and the terminal just north of Cape May, running multiple crossings daily year round on a schedule that deepens in summer. Vehicle reservations are the serious traveler's move, booked ahead for summer weekends when the standby line grows character-building, and foot passengers connect by seasonal shuttle to the beach towns on both sides, which enables the car-free version for the Victorian-district trips that never needed wheels anyway, per the town's own piece in these pages.

The bay mouth is genuine open water, big ships in the channel, the lighthouse on its shoal, and the crossing behaves like a small voyage, which is the point. Go to the top deck regardless of season, watch for the dolphins that work the bay all summer, and time the trip, when the schedule allows, to the golden hour, since the westbound evening boats sail into the sunset over the bay and the eastbound ones carry it astern, and either way the light show is included in the fare. The terminals hold the usual comforts and the boats a bar, which the deck improves.

From the southern cities the ferry route trades interstate miles for bay miles at roughly even time and unrecognizably different quality, and the honest comparison includes what the drive around the bay costs in bridge traffic and spirit. Pairing the crossing with the Delaware side's own beach towns makes the connoisseur's loop, down one shore, across the mouth, up the other, which turns a beach week into a small coastal tour and back again.

Skip the summer Saturday standby gamble with a car, per the above, and reserve. Skip the below-decks crossing entirely, since the cabin sees a wall and the deck sees the bay. Skip the tight post-ferry dinner reservation on peak evenings, when the boat's schedule and the traffic off the terminal deserve slack, and skip no lighthouse watch at the crossing's midpoint, where the bay's whole geography assembles briefly and then disassembles astern.

Reserve the vehicle passage for summer weekends, aim the crossing at the golden hour, and ride the top deck with a layer against the bay wind. Arriving southbound, take the first evening on the promenade as the town's own piece instructs, since the ferry lands you minutes from it at exactly the right hour. The oldest seaside resort in America has been receiving its guests from the water since before the roads existed. The ferry is simply the tradition, continued, with a snack bar.