Ocracoke

Our introduction to Ocracoke was not promising. The weather was foul, 45 degrees and raining with a wind from hell shaking trees signs and window frames. We drove the splendidly paved thirteen miles from the desolate ferry landing into the village. Our bed and breakfast, the dog friendly Pam's Pelican was immediately on the right opposite the village gas pumps (regular, premium or diesel, pay at the pump) and we parked the car.

The first order of business was to walk Cheyenne after we checked in. This was my first evening in the village so I carried a leash. It was soon made clear to me dogs have the run of Ocracoke and everyone looks out not only for each other but their hounds too. We walked to Howard's Pub where Cheyenne was not allowed outside on the deck so we left. Trip Advisor reviews of Howard's were negative enough we never went back. Hmm, now what?

As silly as it seemed we got back in the car so we had a kennel for Cheyenne and we drove around the village. There wasn't much. Sidewalks? Nah. A town square? Not likely. There was no there there, as Gertrude Stein remarked dismissively of Oakland.

People speak of Key West as "the island." Ocracoke really is an island with two fifteen dollar ferries to mainland North Carolina in addition to the free ferry to Hatteras at the north end. But by the time you reach the Cedar Island and Swan Quarter ferry terminals you have reached the southern end of Ocracoke.

Ocracoke Island measures ten square miles shaped like a comma or a tear drop, long and narrow with a bulge at the southernmost end. The bulge is the portion of the island that is outside the Hatteras National Seashore, the beaches are all part of the national park service. Some of the docks are too. I was forced to wonder what do boaters do if they never reach the kiosk? Of all the signs that litter Ocracoke this was the only one I saw with duff syntax.

The sunshine that greeted us on our second morning was welcome though our future on Ocracoke hung in the balance as we contemplated foul westher and freezing temperatures. Flee south? Maybe... Our first night we had dinner from the only open food truck, Eduardo's, oddly enough Mexican food prepared by one Ocracoke Mexican. We huddled over our room heater and marveled at our good delicious cheap dinner find in so unpromising a village.

Parts of Ocracoke are very dangerous which is surprising as bicycle theft is the only crime reported among residents. Most bicycles are borrowed by drunks trying to get home but occasionally bikes get taken off the island. Locks are recommended in high season. We were in ultra low season and we could have borrowed quite a few unguarded bicycles...

Ocracoke is an out of the way place, free from chain stores and not often crowded except in summer high season. But in times of conflict the Outer Banks have seen many military invasions. Piracy was real here unlike Key West's piratical fantasies and Edward Teach took refuge here before losing his life off the southern tip of Ocracoke. During the unpleasantness between the states Ocracoke saw Confederate occupation followed by Union Occupation to blockade the rebels and secure shipping lanes for Federal shipping.

Nowadays the only invasion is of people and money between Easter and Labor Day. We arrived the week before Easter in foul weather and we got to see the place as it might appear in winter. By the time we left on the first ferry of the day to Cedar Island on Maundy Thursday things were heating up. Pony rides were on offer, rental racks were full of bicycles while stores and restaurants suddenly sprouted "open" signs on the streets.

Speed limits are 20mph on the streets and 25mph on the main road through the village. All this encouragement to slow down seems silly when there are no cars around, but I took the signs as an indicator of summer madness.

I'm not sure but I think this is the Howard live oak, one of the big ones in Ocracoke. Live oaks take hundreds of years to grow to this size, and according to Ocracoke Island Journal there are a few around town that are big enough to be named.

Ocracoke has an eye on it's past even as it builds it's future.

The lanes and alleys of the village remind me of Old Town even though they don't look alike on the surface.

The yards here are large and they remind me of homes and gardens seen anywhere in mainland North Carolina. It's funny but as is often the case maritime communities and hose close to the water don't always reflect an obsession with the sea.

I saw that in Corsica where island residents seem to prefer the agricultural life despite the fact they are surrounded by the sea and only a few of them fish. Fishing is, along with summer tourism, the only industry here and the sea is on every O'Cocker's mind.

Cemeteries on this odd little island are scattered everywhere. There is no central resting place, rather the dead are buried in family plots hither and yon. But children go to the one and only school, grades K through 12. They graduated 9 high schoolers last year, the largest graduating class in living memory.

I saw pictures of the wild ponies of Ocracoke in National Geographic magazine decades ago. Today things are rather sad.

Far from racing in the surf these days the "wild" ponies are sad reminders of what was. Had to be done they say because someone in a car once hit a horse.

Horses aren't the only ones getting hemmed in.

The beaches are long and wild and open.

Cheyenne is on a leash even though it's hard to see in this picture of Hatteras National seashore, Ocracoke edition.

It was a lovely day on the beach with the tide far out. The southern tip of Hatteras is a barely visible dark line on the horizon.

I'd rather not think about this place teeming with people and squealing children on a hot summer afternoon. It was fifty degrees and breezy when I was there. Reality check.

 

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North Carolina Highway 12

I could not help but compare North Carolina Highway 12 through the Outer Banks to US Highway One through the Florida Keys. Which is silly as they are not at all alike.

Highway 12 is made on sand, runs almost dead straight for most of its seventy miles and except for a handful of small towns is a National Seashore that goes by the familiar name of Hatteras. Hurricane Sandy last October 29th left a mark that is still felt. Twice we were held up by one lane traffic as earthmovers cleared left over sand still blocking and threatening parts of the two lane road.

Oregon Inlet is a landmark not far south of Nags Head, a tall curving bridge tar forms an essential connection across the wide sandy inlet. The bridge needs repairs too but traffic was not closed by the work.

The small villages long the way that go by slightly odd names like Salvo and Avon and Buxton and Rodanthe sound more olde englishe and perhaps exotic than the reality. They are useful, selling gas and unimaginative food while offering commercial fishermen a base and renters a place to call home for a week in summer. Like the Upper Keys which are lush and packed with businesses by comparison- urban planning, zoning and beautification have no place here.

We left Manteo (pro: man-ee-oh) late morning and planned our lunch further south avoiding the few burger and pizza and fried fish joints further up the island chain. Venturing to the lower Outer Banks puts you out of reach of chain stores commonly seen in the strip malls of Nags Head, but in March not much is open and what is, may not be imaginative at all. We expected this yet traveled in hope.

The other feature of note along NC 12 are these bizarre vacation homes that rise up out of the sand like sentinels of some lost civilization. An Ocracoke local said they are known derisively as "rent machines" and the few that exist on isolated Ocracoke are much scorned.

The homes are vast three storey structures that offer a place to stay for the vacationing staple of summer in these islands: The Family.

We got off the highway in Hatteras looking for a mythical restaurant and got ourselves trapped in a subdivision of these machines. They are managed by Midgett Rentals, all of them, which is a name with a long and illustrious history in Hatteras (imagine Spottswood in Key West). All I could think of was dozens and dozens of frantically vacationing munchkins everywhere I saw the rental signs.

With the best will in the world the bulk of North Carolina 12 looks like this picture below, except for a few curves between Buxton and Hatteras. The speed limit is 55, but many people here seem to have difficulty reading the sixes and fives on their speedometers and we followed a number of North Carolina tags doing 65 Florida miles per hour. Old timers remember when the berms weren't built up on the seaward side and they lived with occasional salt water covering the old roadway. By way of compensation they got to look at ocean as they drove along. We didn't and mighty boring it was too. At least it wasn't crowded with summer traffic jams...

For some people being allowed to drive on the beach is a highly prized activity in the Hatteras National Seashore. I would rather eat crushed glass than subject my car to sand and salt with the risk of groveling round it like a supplicant trying to get it out of the grasp of Mother Nature. The fact that they need to point out that high tide, ie: water! may be impassable (fancy that!) gives you some idea of the chaos that must ensue especially in the summer months. Tow truck drivers' delight! Motorcycles naturally are discriminated against and dogs must be leashed even where cars don't have to be. Weird but true.

My wife, driven by a desire to eat anything but burgers or pizza insisted this fish warehouse must be a restaurant in Hatteras. I was dubious but she checked it out and as were but a mile from the ferry terminal I could only acquiesce as we were running out of options as fast as we were running out of road.

I was right, they sold seafood but the owner was a cheerful soul and said if we were adaptable she could feed us. So she did, shrimp, and chowder and hush puppies, right there in the fish store as customers came and went.

Vickie was her name and her husband and son were the fish catchers. Her son was featured in a magazine article about the local fishing, an activity he has loved practically since birth. This year the fishing has been awful since Hurricane Sandy has closed the pass and the father and son couldn't get out into the Atlantic as they usually do in winter. That and unusual cold water has made fishing the sound very slow as well... Just like farming fishing is a way of life dictated by the weather.

Our deluxe luncheon suite:

And our deluxe first course, boiled shrimp shells. Not one left.

This image was on the wall showing Vickie's son, the blonde one, and a friend figuring how to launch their boat when the adults were too busy to do it "properly." He was not to be denied...young Tom Sawyer!

Hurricane Sandy messed our plans, or tried to. The formerly thirty minute ferry ride from Hatteras to Ocracoke is now a sixty minute ride after the channel was silted in by the storm. Fishermen located an alternative outer route that turns far out into the sound before taking the long way back to the Ocracoke landing seen in the far left of the picture below.

The North Carolina Department of Transportation treats the ferry as nothing more than a segment of Highway 12. Distances to Ocracoke treat the water as dirt and do not take into account the vagaries of ferry travel. The ride is free in both directions (hate that government, you haters!) and ferries run from 5 am to at least ten at night. Dogs stay in vehicles, there is nothing to buy on the boat though there is a cabin upstairs to get out of the weather.

Which was just as well for pedestrians and cyclists on board (there were no motorbikes). Seas got rough far out into the sound and whole waves crashed over the bow of the ferry covering the cars in front of us and spraying our Fusion with salt water. I lost my cellphone signal and was forced to stop updating my blog. It was hell I tell you.

Then it poured with rain. Welcome to Ocracoke... and another 13 miles of long straight Highway 12 to our bed and breakfast.

And on Ocracoke we found Bilbo Baggin's pantry, Cheyenne found dog walk heaven, there is a Mexican food truck that cooks astonishing tacos and we discover Ocracoke Brogue. Weird enough for ya?

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The Lost Colony

When I read the slogan on the poster I knew this was going to be a fun visit. Time travel, hmm.

The one thing I missed and wish I hadn't was the play they put on at night during the summer in this evocative place. The first explorers here left a group of more than a hundred people on Roanoke Island. The rest sailed home and encountered the inconvenience of the Spanish Armada which interfered with their speedy return to the Roanoke Colony.

When they got back three years later the 115 people had all disappeared. Last year some archeologists figured they may have decamped for reasons unknown to a previously undiscovered fort up the Albemarle River. Whatever the truth no one really knows so they are now known as The Lost Colony. Meanwhile I found some daffodils, an unknown flower in the Keys wilderness.

What Dad finds interesting interests the Labrador of course...

Except that the depiction of the history of this place is reserved for humans and their rowdy brats, not for disciplined dogs who have to sit quietly in the car and wait.

First we checked out the 45 minute movie that purports to tell the story of the first encounter of locals and English visitors in the late 16th century. Life on Roanoke Island was an idyll we are told when young Skyco, Manteo and Wanchese (one-cheese) were roaming these places.

Then this dude White showed up and painted the Indians and their way of life on the island, watercolors that inform much of what is portrayed at Festival Park. Things went sour for everyone when another dude called Lane sailed over and took charge while failing to appreciate the simplicity of the Indian way of life. Sharing became theft and reprisals ensued, they say.

The idyll collapsed and the English with their guns germs and steel imposed their rigid way of life. Festival park attempts to bring to life the different cultures before and as they clashed.

The Indian homes reproduced in smaller scales from White's Watercolors are actually made of fiberglass cloth impregnated with resin. Amazingly effective.

The Elizabeth II was used in the movie and is a USCG inspected vessel. Her crew of two were braving the bitter cold to illustrate life aboard the seventy foot merchant ship for the 25 crew and 25 fortune seeking landsmen who traveled belowdecks...most uncomfortably!

Apparently the would be colonists got a Year's pay in advance o leave with their families nd the hence of sharing a fortune If any such luck were to come their way in the Americas. Imagine spending three months own there:

They were tough folks in them days.

Per the movie the first arrivals lived pacific ally ith the locals learning to fish in the sounds and hunting in the olds. I'd like a quick bit of time travel at my disposal to see if it really was that way.

The hut represents a blacksmith's shop while the tent is how the settlers slet ashore. Twenty five to a tent. Probably not too smelly at all.

 

 

It was nicely done.

no one can tell who what or how to any great degree of accuracy but in the essence we got a taste or the Elizabethan way of getting by and it was well spent morning.

 

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Nags Head Woods

The nature conservancy according to their website allows people to kill deer on their land but dogs must be on a leash. And are only allowed on certain trails. Nags Head Woods Ecological Preserve | The Nature Conservancy

Whatever, Cheyenne is easy though she enjoys ambling off leash and stands next to me when cars go by etc...I grant not all dog owners discipline their hounds. The one thing that has surprised me on first checking out these islands is how much dirt there is. The conservancy has more than a thousand acres of woods here butting up to the western edge of the island, facing Roanoke Sound. We got well away from it all on a blusterous cold Monday morning.

I do enjoy getting out in the Lower Keys walking the trails through the mangroves, but a mixed pine forest is a thing of beauty even on a cold damp Spring morning.

There are a few trails where leashed dogs are permitted and the mile-and-half Roanoke Trail leading to the sound is one of them I pointed the yellow lab into the woods.

At first she ambled willingly, reminding me why I enjoy having a dog to walk where humans I know aren't always keen. We came upon a signboard pointing out that life isn't a static thing but is alive and lively like a bird. Something along those lines. By the time I finished pondering the message Cheyenne had decided the woods had lost their thrall. She stood on the trail, feet planted, staring at me as though defying me to press on.

Well bugger. We turned back. It was a lovely spot, far from human noise, alone in the woods...

The cemetery was fenced off, presumably land reserved for the descendants of the occupants. It was small and fenced close to the graves in a slightly bizarre figure-of-eight shape, two small pieces of land made contiguous by a narrow fenced in passage, and I knew there was a story there.

After a breakfast of coffee and muffins purchased at a very active and cosy coffee shop in one of the myriad ugly Nags Head strip malls we drove back to Manteo to see the Elizabethan Festival Park. First we walked Cheyenne on the boardwalk around the grounds.

There it was, the Roanoke Sound I was hoping to see at the of the walk through the woods. The weather was showing some of the latent anger of the very vicious cold front that blew through the night before. It was cold damp and windy.

Cheyenne got to nap in the car while we, continuously exploring checked out the First English Settlement in the Americas. The Lost Colony.

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