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Holiday Interlude

Christmas is unlike any other time of the year here. I’m often torn between traveling to see my family or staying home on Hatteras, to enjoy the solitude and nature of this wonderful place.

Holiday business was down and other than the dump trucks pummeling highway 12, there was little human activity. I got caught up on everything, sent out greeting cards and finished a small photography job.

With some time on my hands, I decided to stay on the island, relax and look for things to photograph.

One of the last times I used the 4×4 section of highway 12, I took a shot to record the moment.

With new pavement in place, workers were busy installing a barrier of sandbags, in hopes of protecting the highway. Seas have since washed over it, and sand is constantly being trucked in, to maintain a beach buffer.

Asphalt rubble from the old road was stockpiled, until it could be taken away.

To allow for construction, the S-Curve has been open to one lane traffic only. During the holidays, this was the view heading north.

The view looking south didn’t look any more promising.

As long as the road is passable, we can receive essential supplies.

The “corridor” just south of Oregon Inlet has also been an ongoing battle. Heavy equipment removes sand blown onto the road, only to have it blown right back. One could hardly find a better example of a vicious cycle.

It was predicted that the world was ending on December 21st. I celebrated by driving out to Cape Point during a gale. I was all alone to enjoy the place completely enveloped by nature.

Leaving my truck in the distance, I walked out to the point.

The wind and waves coming together, gave me a spectacular show.

Surfers were calling this “The Doomsday Swell”.

The most interesting spot was right on the point looking east. This is where two powerful forces meet. The south bound Labrador Current collides with the north bound Gulf Stream. Due to seas washing over the beach, I had to walk a quarter mile with a rising tide, to access the point.

One nice thing about coastal storms is experiencing the aftermath of clearing weather.

Rainbows are common yet elusive.

On January 5th, the Old Christmas celebration in Rodanthe marked the end of our holiday season. Larry Midgett joined me in bidding adieu to Old Buck, led by John Edgar.

As caretaker, John Edgar will put Old Buck out to pasture until next year.


A House on Dean Street

Mirlo Beach isn’t the only area around here loosing houses. Over the years, dozens have gone in from Rodanthe Pier, all the way north through Mirlo. In recent months, the entire oceanfront has seen even more dramatic changes. The road at s-curve is an ongoing battle, and houses on the beach at Rodanthe are more at risk than ever. Nature has an uncanny ability to find a weak spot, and wash it away.

Years ago, when things were less developed, it wasn’t a big issue. But since then, Rodanthe has been significantly built up. Now it’s causing problems.

Right after Christmas, I walked south from East Point to Dean Street. It used to be my neck of the woods, my old back yard. Now many landmarks are gone, claimed by the sea, and I can hardly recognize the place by those standards any more.

Buildings that used to be three or four lots back from the water, are now derelict on the beach…. or even gone. They are getting caught in the grip of a geologic process that won’t stop.

A relatively new house sits precariously on the beach behind Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station.

A condemned yellow beach box is north of Dean Street.

Walking up to this structure at the end of Dean Street, I could tell it wouldn’t stand much longer. Tons of sand have been washed away, greatly compromising the foundation. I’m told that it was built about 5 years ago.

Viewing from the south, this has a “domino effect” look.

Two days later, it collapsed into the ocean.

Debris is strewn all over the beach, like a shipwreck.

The building continues to break apart.

The Graveyard of the Atlantic claims yet another victim.


Courage

Last month, I shot this photograph of Gunnery Sergeant Brian Meyer and Captain Blake Smith, as they were preparing for a day of fishing in the Florida Keys. They were excited to be involved in a fishing tournament with other enthusiastic anglers in a beautiful setting.

Fishing tournaments are fundraisers for specific charities. They are also fun for participants. This tournament’s beneficiary was The Bonefish and Tarpon Trust, an organization that conserves and enhances global bonefish, tarpon and permit fisheries and their environments.

The event was also giving attention to another organization, the Warriors and Quiet Waters Foundation. Their mission is “to provide traumatically injured servicemen and women from Iraq and Afghanistan with a high quality restorative program, utilizing the therapeutic experience of fly fishing on Montana waters”.

They sponsored Meyer and Smith to participate in the first annual Cheeca Lodge and Spa All American Backcountry Fishing Tournament. Both Marines were seriously wounded while serving in Afghanistan, and have had long, difficult recoveries. Meyer’s job was disarming IED’s and Smith was a helicopter pilot.

Guide Mike Makowski displays a nice redfish for us.

Meyer reels in another.

After catching yet another, Smith has Makowski release it.

Captain Blake Smith, guide Mike Makowski, and Gunnery Sergeant Brian Meyer relax after landing several redfish.

These remarkable men have overcome enormous odds, and use prosthetic devices with amazing skill. They enjoyed the tournament, as did everyone. Meeting them was a powerful, inspiring experience.


For info about the Warriors and Quiet Waters Foundation:

(copy and paste):

http://www.warriorsandquietwaters.org/

Also of interest: https://semperfifund.org/

Jeff Johnson was my guide for the tournament. I have used his expertise in the past. His invaluable knowledge has enabled me to snap some “key” photographs. Here he poles out of a shallow mud flat after I photographed the warriors. I am greatly indebted to him.





Mirlo Beach Today

Two weeks ago I left Hatteras Island for a job in the Florida Keys. The road was washed out so Denise and I rode the ferry to Stumpy Point, a two hour transit to the mainland. It was blowing, and ferry service nearly shut down.

Goodbye Rodanthe!

View on the port side, with a Rodanthe bound ferry passing by.

Seas splash against the starboard side of the ferry.

Upon returning nine days later, we heard the 4×4 road was open, so we made our way south of Oregon Inlet, under police escort at 9 o’clock at night. With moderately brisk winds, the sea was rolling right up to our tire tracks, but we made it. I was amazed in the escalating deterioration of highway 12, compared to a few weeks earlier.

With another low pressure winding by today, I decided to have another look.

Mirlo’s broad side takes another beating.

A property owner’s defense seems fruitless.

The most photographed truck on the island lies abandoned.

The cottage on the right, Toes in the Sand, was the original house built on the oceanfront at Mirlo Beach in the late 80’s. Back then, it was called East Wind.

I just hope the electricity stays on.

A Walk Through Mirlo

Storms are unique experiences, and it’s a relief when they’re over. This time around, we had the luxury of having all our utilities in tact. Other than a little apprehension and loss of conceptual time, life here was not too bad.

The tide was down this morning, so we got the truck and drove north for a walk through Mirlo. I started taking pictures there over 35 years ago, long before the subdivision was developed. I’ve seen the road moved, destroyed and rebuilt multiple times. It has become a wonder and curiosity for me. I hardly ever get bored observing it. Walking it after a storm, I get feelings of deja vu.

It’s a battle of man against nature. Nature is winning and Mirlo Beach is washing away. The sign at the entrance to the subdivision  reads: “Dare to Dream the Impossible Dream”.

An occupant of this house didn’t heed warnings, and had to be rescued during the storm. The hawser supplied by the rescuers is still tied in place.

Here is what’s left of the victim’s pick up truck.

This is Mirlo’s last stand.

Utility rooms under some Mirlo cottages were destroyed .

A leaner stands second in line from the north end.

The cottage on the very end was recently moved back and new piles installed. Ten feet of sand and renovations to the property were washed away. The house is condemned once again.

Pools at Mirlo Beach oceanfront are not a good idea.

The sign at Seagull Street succumbed to the ocean’s power.

Here’s that guy’s truck again. No free parking here.

Recovery will take some time. There’s miles of roadwork, and our only physical link to the mainland is by ferry, again. It’s an island and always will be.