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My Nights in Rodanthe

 

I have spent a few thousand nights in Rodanthe. As a young man, fresh out of college, I relocated there from Northern Virginia, via Bethany Beach, Delaware where I had befriended a small group of surfers. From there I made surfing trips to Hatteras, only to disappoint myself by returning to the mundane life up north. I was at an age where I was trying to find myself. Hatteras Island seemed like a great place to do just that, and besides I could surf beautiful waves while I did my thinking.

surfer

A perfect setup on a Rodanthe sand bar, compliments of hurricane Gabrielle.

In 1973, I moved into a small house with friends, Mike and Mary Jo, along with my best surfing buddy, Louie. Our landlords were Valton and Lovie Midgett. Close by, there was a great surfing break out on the “outside bar”. An old wrecked LST stabilized the bottom for the most consistent waves. The ride was much like surfing a point break. In those days, Rodanthe was relatively untouched by development, so a handful of us were the only ones there to enjoy the bounty. 

lovies

Valton and Lovie Midgett’s house.

A few months later, Louie and I moved to a trailer in the adjacent town of Waves. We rented from a local man named Luke Midgett. His family roots were deeply planted there. Our trailer was in an open field at the oceanfront. We surfed our brains out, and worked odd jobs to pay our expenses, including rent of $150 a month, split 2 ways. It was a life close to the elements, and we loved it.  Today there’s nothing but rows of rental houses on the site. I lived there for almost 3 years until I relocated to Salvo, the town adjacent to Waves. 

lukes

Luke’s Village

Moving from one trailer to another trailer, this next one was newer and bigger, so I reserved the largest bedroom for my first official darkroom. Thus began my humble living as a photographer, even though it was part time. I honed other skills like woodworking, commercial fishing, and waterfowl hunting to get by. All along, I was teaching myself to make color prints, doing some shows and exhibits. Things were definitely picking up. This time I rented from a lady named Barbara Midgett. To help defray living expenses, my good friend BJ moved in some time later.

bj

BJ chopping for our preferred mode of heating. Wood was an abundant fuel source. It washed in on the beach and all we needed to do was to collect it.

After another 3 years, I found a larger house to rent in north Rodanthe. It was 1978. In the front rooms, I built a big darkroom with a gallery space next to it, then placed a sign out front on highway 12. I was open for business. Rodanthe, Waves and Salvo still was experiencing very little development. But now I was somehow able to pay most of my way with photography, and I loved taking pictures, printing and hanging them. I also loved the local people that lived there. 

chicamacomico

The view from my bedroom window was the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station, decommissioned in 1954.

My friend Robin, lived in a hundred year old house across the street. He hunted, fished and surfed much as I did. Mainstream America still had not discovered Rodanthe, Waves and Salvo. Life was good and uncrowded. We experienced storms, floods and big waves. A few surfing friends came down for visits. It was a simple, yet full and rewarding life. My photography gallery was working better and better, so I began “working” full time photographing the environment around me.

robin

Robin Gerald was my alter ego.

burgess

Burgess Hooper always fished with Princess.

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Barton Decker at the original Hatteras Island Surf Shop, circa 1978.

burt

For about 5 years, I worked as a waterfowl hunting guide along side Burt Hooper. He learned the craft from his father, Ed. Here he ties off some of the 200 redhead duck decoys that I took 8 months to paint. It was gratifying to see dense flocks of waterfowl pitch in to these hunting rigs.

In 1985 I finally bought a piece of land from Miss Lillian Midgett. It was on the scenic Pamlico Sound side of the island. This is where I began plans to build my studio home. It was the beginning of the end of my nights in Rodanthe. But that is another chapter in my life.

Tribute to a Hatterasman

 

The first time I saw Nacie Peele was in an oil painting owned by a former employer, Alex Kotarides. Alex owned a waterfowl hunting club where I helped out in the maintenance and guiding chores. The large painting showed him mending a fishing net, and I would stand there transfixed with that image. It evoked a wonderful maritime quality and tranquility. I had heard nothing but good stories about Nacie. Ever since I moved to Hatteras Island, I was amazed at the commercial fishing way of life, and over the years, I’ve worked, using photography to document this vanishing lifestyle.

Some years later, I was shooting a magazine assignment involving Michael Peele fishing his pound net. It was a pretty day, and the fishing not particularly great. But I got my pictures, and we headed back to shore. On the way in, we spotted another fisherman working a pound net. It was Michael’s uncle Nacie, and we went over to check his catch. I was excited that this man at nearly 80 years old was still out in his skiff, pulling nets. I remember thinking to myself, here he is, a quintessential Hatterasman, the real thing. I made several more shots, and we went in.

Ever since then, I’d stop in to visit Mr. Nacie occasionally. He always remembered my name and had such a gentle, welcoming demeanor. His stories told of an interesting life, from surviving a torpedoed ship in the war, hauling in hundreds of boxes of fish from a pound net, and building boats. He did eventually stop fishing in his mid-80’s, but was still sharp and tended a magnificent vegetable garden.

  

Nacie passed away peacefully on January 16 not many yards away from the spot where he was born. He was 89 years of age.

 

Old Christmas

I don’t know of any place where there is a celebration quite like Old Christmas in Rodanthe. The exact origin seems to be a little sketchy, but one thing is for sure, it’s been a long-standing tradition, passed down from one generation to the next, for over a hundred years and probably much more. Before the booming tourist industry, Rodanthe was an isolated village, and the locals were slow to change. It is thought that the celebration of Old Christmas was carried over when England switched from the Julian to the the Gregorian calendar in the 1700’s. That took the celebration of Christmas Day from January 5th to December 25th.

Years ago the celebration in Rodanthe involved residents going from one end of town to the other, making music, merriment, visiting neighbors and dressed in costume. Today it’s evolved and is celebrated on the first, but sometimes second, Saturday in January. It takes place at the old schoolhouse that was converted into a community building. It is not a religious celebration, but a time to be with others.

There’s nothing quite like oysters to bring coastal folks together, so festivities start in the afternoon with an oyster shoot. Participants fire a shotgun at a target. Whoever gets a shot closest to the bulls-eye, wins a bag of oysters. This goes on for hours and everyone, young and old alike, has a great time. There’s oyster shucking, reminiscing, and a little drinking, not necessarily in that order.

In the meantime, some of the best cooks in town are preparing a homemade supper in the kitchen. Stewed chicken with pie-bread is the traditional favorite. About the time the oyster shoot ends, supper is ready, a band arrives and the merriment continues on into the evening.

Bushels of oysters are roasted over a fire and shoveled onto wooden tables, where folks can indulge to their heart’s content. All the while, the band is playing and people are dancing and carrying on.

The high point of the celebration comes around nine o’clock with the arrival of Old Buck. Legend has it that Old Buck, a wild steer, lives in Trent Woods (Frisco) and visits Rodanthe every Old Christmas. John Edgar Herbert is Old Buck’s current caretaker, a job passed down to him from his father. John Edgar and Old Buck enter the hall and meander around the dance floor, bumping into things and people in the way. Children are excited. Adults are jubilant. Old Buck gets petted and sometimes spanked. It’s a beautiful thing. As quickly as he came, Old Buck is gone….. for another year.

Springer’s Point

There’s a very special place on the Outer Banks of North Carolina called Springer’s Point. Located on the island of Ocracoke, it’s one of the area’s best kept secrets, and is situated on the shore of Pamlico Sound near Ocracoke Inlet. Legend has it that Blackbeard the pirate hung out there. It’s also a prime example of a maritime forest…. almost magical.

One of the previous owners was a wealthy industrialist named Sam Jones. He loved it so much that he’s buried there with his horse, Ike. The property was passed to his heirs, and eventually bought by developers who planned to build condominiums. Then the North Carolina Coastal Land Trust stepped in, negotiated and purchased it for preservation. Initially they saved 30 acres, then an additional 90. Since our natural coastal areas are rapidly disappearing, this is truly a great success story.

One of my motivations to photograph Springer’s Point is to support the North Carolina Coast Land Trust in their mission of preservation through stewardship.

A nature trail winds through a variety of maritime vegetation. Grasses, wildflowers, shrubs and trees are designed to survive in this sometimes calm, sometimes hostile ocean environment. One can envision how the forest is shaped by the wind.

I always enjoy the feeling of walking under the canopy of live oak trees and cedars.

 

Near the end of the trail is my favorite live oak tree. It may have even been there as Blackbeard sailed the nearby waters hundreds of years ago.

My favorite plant though, is actually one of the smallest. It’s called the Georgia Sunrose. I learned about it one day while walking the trail with botanist Richard LeBlond, otherwise I might not notice this beautiful and rare wildflower. Native to North Carolina, the only place on the Outer Banks that it’s known to exist is at Springer’s Point. For some weeks in the Spring of 2007, I made periodic visits to Ocracoke. I could see the new growth sprouting from the ground, the leaves forming and then the buds beginning to set.

In order to photograph the Sunrose, I needed permission to access a restricted area. Then I was able to spend time waiting for the best conditions. The Georgia Sunrose grows on a little hill of sand in an opening in the middle of the forest. Growing only inches off the ground, I photographed on my hands and knees, with my camera on a ball head, mounted on a tiny square of plywood.

Composing shots was awkward. I framed one bloom only to watch a petal fall off. Several seconds later another one fell, then another and another until all five were gone. The timing seemed very precise all in a clockwise rotation. I felt as though I had witnessed a miracle of nature. In full bloom, the Georgia Sunrose is about the size of a penny, and is short-lived, perhaps only a day.


Another One Goes Down

I’ve been watching houses wash into the ocean for years, and it’s always an experience of power. Nothing is permanent near the surf zone. Back in the 70’s and 80’s , I lived in north Rodanthe for over 10 glorious years. Some of the best times of my life were spent there. Storms and shifting sands are a constant. The wind and waves, quite literally shape this place. And nothing stands in the way.

My good friend Joe Kierzkowski will usually give me a call when something of significance is happening. He got me at 4AM when the Bonner Bridge fell down in 1990. And this Sunday, at a more respectable hour, he phoned about a house that was beginning to lean into the ocean.

Denise and I got there just as high tide was peaking, and sure enough we were witnessing a big one ready to go down. The McMansion was built on a very dynamic beach only 5 or 6 years ago, complete with pool, jacuzzi and numerous other amenities. I wondered how many flat screen tv’s were inside. And here before our very eyes it’s all going into the ocean. Imagine that!

Every now and then, we could hear the sound of splitting lumber. At one point there was a loud crack when a wave hit. Then the building dropped to one side, another splitting sound and it leaned further. And finally dropping completely off the pilings, and resting on the beach…. all with 10 seconds.

Last night the building survived the following high tide, and is becoming quite a tourist attraction.