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I had a book signing scheduled at the Whalehead Club in Corolla and decided to make a weekend of it. My grand daughter and I packed up the old Ford Taurus with clothes and picnic food and drove down highway 64 to the Outer Banks.
We crossed the Manns Harbor Bridge with connects the mainland and the barrier islands. I am sure the view was beautiful going across Roanoke Sound and the marshes. But, I was so darned scared my eyes were glued to the road directly in front of me. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the visitor center on the other shore where I stopped for a much needed potty break. Jessica and I got a cold soft drink out of the cooler and resumed our drive. The next bridge put us at Whalebone Junction in Nags Head.
We stopped at a small cluster of wooden buildings perched on the edge of the sound and painted bright beach colors – hot pink, turquoise, peach. I bought tickets for the dolphin watch boat ride. I’ve wanted to take Jessica on the tour ever since the previous summer when I came to the Outer Banks alone. We had just enough time to check into our motel and drive back for the three o’clock trip.
The pontoon boat that seats about forty folks was docked when we got back. The water was choppy, and the floating boardwalk rocked in a balance challenging rhythm that made me feel somewhat tipsy. Jessica giggled at the thought of her grandmother falling into the brink. Humph!
About two hours of the three-hour trip were spent searching for the elusive dolphins. Our guide kept saying, “They are really hard to spot in rough water.” I was disappointed that Jessica might not experience seeing these mammals up close like I had on my other trip. Just as we were turning to go back, one of the other boat captains radioed they’d found the pod. We had a good hour of observation before we returned to dock.
Jessica was nicely impressed and admitted she’d enjoyed the tour. That was good coming from a sixteen-year-old. We went back to our room, adjusted the air conditioner and watched a show on Animal Planet. We don’t have cable TV at home, so it’s always a treat to watch it when we are in a motel. We had dinner at the Red Drum Tap Room. A bit noisy by the time we got there, but the seafood was very good.
After dinner we visited a view shops. Jessica had money burning a hole in her pocket – she wanted to buy her boyfriend a gift. He happened to be vacationing in Florida, or I’d never have been able to drag her along with me on this trip.
Friday morning I left Jessica in bed and walked down to the ocean shore. Our motel was next door to a fishing pier. The water was slick calm, and I took some shots of the pier from a various angles and a nice close up of a sand fiddler crab.
The book signing was on Saturday in conjunction with Wild Pony Days, a festival to help raise funds and promote the wild herd that live on Currituck Banks. After a little confusion of where the books were located we set up under a live oak tree on the shore of Currituck Sound. A gentle breeze kept us comfortable in the ninety-degree temps. Five of ponies were brought in and turned out in a portable corral under a grouped of shade trees. Folks were able the meet them from a safe distance. The wild ponies seem tame, but like any wild animal can be unpredictable. Children were asked not to climb on the corral and finally a “caution tape” was erected a few feet from the corral fence to keep tasty little fingers sway from curious horses. One horse, named Little Man, was an adoptee and well broke to be led, the others were young males that would be part of the auction later in the evening. They all were very comfortable with the attention, music, tents, and crowds.
The day was fun and relaxing until about six o’clock when a typical Outer Banks storm rolled in. We scrambled to pack everything – books, t-shirts, posters and other merchandise. Some of the most fearsome lightning I’ve seen in a good while and a heavy downpour made us run for cover. I retreated to the Whalehead Club’s gift shop and signed the rest of the forty books. We drove back down to Kitty Hawk where we stopped at a pizza joint for supper. It was bedtime when Jessica and I got back to our motel, and the storm was over.
Sunday we drove down to Hatteras Island to do some beach combing. After the walk on the beach we went back to Nags Head and visited about six souvenir shops, all with the very same t-shirts, beach towels, flip flops, and various over-priced trinkets.
I usually limit eating out to one time per trip, but I decided to splurge. This time we went to Millers, which was about a block down the beach road from the Red Drum. I had flounder stuffed with crabmeat and a nice salad. A very nice young man was our waiter. Jessica believed he had an Australian accent. I think it was Virginian, Tidewater, to be exact. Delicious! The food, that is. Jessica went for shrimp – again. We did more shopping, then stopped by the grocery to pick up “going home food.” The budget would not allow another restaurant meal.
The weather turned cool during the night, so cool that I woke up and turned off the air conditioner; my knees ached. When I got up and dressed, I left Jessica still in bed and walked down to the ocean. The “surf was up.” The sky was over cast, and the waves smashed into the shore and swooshed back out like mother earth’s heart beating after a hard run. There were few fishermen on the pier, probably because they couldn’t cast out in the wind without a backlash.
Pelicans seem more numerous than I remember from when I was a kid. In fact I don’t remember ever seeing one until recent years. I sat on the deck and watched and listened to the waves. I remembered the summers gone by. I’ve been visiting the Outer Banks since I was a child. I have an old photography of Mama and me at Jennette’s Pier, must have been the late 40s. The wind and the surf pulled me out into a sea of memories.
Jessica and I had breakfast at McDonalds. On the way home, we crossed the old bridge that takes us off Roanoke Island. Next to the bridge on the island side, was Mama’s favorite fishing spot for many years. Some people were there that day, casting into the wind, ever hopeful of catching the “big one.” I like the old bridge better than the new one, its shorter for one thing. We drove on through Manns Harbor, through the East Lake wilderness, and to the next bridge, which crosses Alligator River.
“Why do they call it Alligator River, Memaw?” Jessica asks again. She’s been asking that question on almost every trip to the Outer Banks since she was big enough to read the bridge’s name on the sign.
“Some say because the river is shaped like an alligator. Others say because there used to be alligators in it,” I answer for the umpteenth time.
We’re on the mainland now. I’m ready to be home, to be done with the four-hour drive.
We crossed the Manns Harbor Bridge with connects the mainland and the barrier islands. I am sure the view was beautiful going across Roanoke Sound and the marshes. But, I was so darned scared my eyes were glued to the road directly in front of me. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the visitor center on the other shore where I stopped for a much needed potty break. Jessica and I got a cold soft drink out of the cooler and resumed our drive. The next bridge put us at Whalebone Junction in Nags Head.
We stopped at a small cluster of wooden buildings perched on the edge of the sound and painted bright beach colors – hot pink, turquoise, peach. I bought tickets for the dolphin watch boat ride. I’ve wanted to take Jessica on the tour ever since the previous summer when I came to the Outer Banks alone. We had just enough time to check into our motel and drive back for the three o’clock trip.
The pontoon boat that seats about forty folks was docked when we got back. The water was choppy, and the floating boardwalk rocked in a balance challenging rhythm that made me feel somewhat tipsy. Jessica giggled at the thought of her grandmother falling into the brink. Humph!
About two hours of the three-hour trip were spent searching for the elusive dolphins. Our guide kept saying, “They are really hard to spot in rough water.” I was disappointed that Jessica might not experience seeing these mammals up close like I had on my other trip. Just as we were turning to go back, one of the other boat captains radioed they’d found the pod. We had a good hour of observation before we returned to dock.
Jessica was nicely impressed and admitted she’d enjoyed the tour. That was good coming from a sixteen-year-old. We went back to our room, adjusted the air conditioner and watched a show on Animal Planet. We don’t have cable TV at home, so it’s always a treat to watch it when we are in a motel. We had dinner at the Red Drum Tap Room. A bit noisy by the time we got there, but the seafood was very good.
After dinner we visited a view shops. Jessica had money burning a hole in her pocket – she wanted to buy her boyfriend a gift. He happened to be vacationing in Florida, or I’d never have been able to drag her along with me on this trip.
Friday morning I left Jessica in bed and walked down to the ocean shore. Our motel was next door to a fishing pier. The water was slick calm, and I took some shots of the pier from a various angles and a nice close up of a sand fiddler crab.
The book signing was on Saturday in conjunction with Wild Pony Days, a festival to help raise funds and promote the wild herd that live on Currituck Banks. After a little confusion of where the books were located we set up under a live oak tree on the shore of Currituck Sound. A gentle breeze kept us comfortable in the ninety-degree temps. Five of ponies were brought in and turned out in a portable corral under a grouped of shade trees. Folks were able the meet them from a safe distance. The wild ponies seem tame, but like any wild animal can be unpredictable. Children were asked not to climb on the corral and finally a “caution tape” was erected a few feet from the corral fence to keep tasty little fingers sway from curious horses. One horse, named Little Man, was an adoptee and well broke to be led, the others were young males that would be part of the auction later in the evening. They all were very comfortable with the attention, music, tents, and crowds.
The day was fun and relaxing until about six o’clock when a typical Outer Banks storm rolled in. We scrambled to pack everything – books, t-shirts, posters and other merchandise. Some of the most fearsome lightning I’ve seen in a good while and a heavy downpour made us run for cover. I retreated to the Whalehead Club’s gift shop and signed the rest of the forty books. We drove back down to Kitty Hawk where we stopped at a pizza joint for supper. It was bedtime when Jessica and I got back to our motel, and the storm was over.
Sunday we drove down to Hatteras Island to do some beach combing. After the walk on the beach we went back to Nags Head and visited about six souvenir shops, all with the very same t-shirts, beach towels, flip flops, and various over-priced trinkets.
I usually limit eating out to one time per trip, but I decided to splurge. This time we went to Millers, which was about a block down the beach road from the Red Drum. I had flounder stuffed with crabmeat and a nice salad. A very nice young man was our waiter. Jessica believed he had an Australian accent. I think it was Virginian, Tidewater, to be exact. Delicious! The food, that is. Jessica went for shrimp – again. We did more shopping, then stopped by the grocery to pick up “going home food.” The budget would not allow another restaurant meal.
The weather turned cool during the night, so cool that I woke up and turned off the air conditioner; my knees ached. When I got up and dressed, I left Jessica still in bed and walked down to the ocean. The “surf was up.” The sky was over cast, and the waves smashed into the shore and swooshed back out like mother earth’s heart beating after a hard run. There were few fishermen on the pier, probably because they couldn’t cast out in the wind without a backlash.
Pelicans seem more numerous than I remember from when I was a kid. In fact I don’t remember ever seeing one until recent years. I sat on the deck and watched and listened to the waves. I remembered the summers gone by. I’ve been visiting the Outer Banks since I was a child. I have an old photography of Mama and me at Jennette’s Pier, must have been the late 40s. The wind and the surf pulled me out into a sea of memories.
Jessica and I had breakfast at McDonalds. On the way home, we crossed the old bridge that takes us off Roanoke Island. Next to the bridge on the island side, was Mama’s favorite fishing spot for many years. Some people were there that day, casting into the wind, ever hopeful of catching the “big one.” I like the old bridge better than the new one, its shorter for one thing. We drove on through Manns Harbor, through the East Lake wilderness, and to the next bridge, which crosses Alligator River.
“Why do they call it Alligator River, Memaw?” Jessica asks again. She’s been asking that question on almost every trip to the Outer Banks since she was big enough to read the bridge’s name on the sign.
“Some say because the river is shaped like an alligator. Others say because there used to be alligators in it,” I answer for the umpteenth time.
We’re on the mainland now. I’m ready to be home, to be done with the four-hour drive.
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