Category Archives: People

The Creek

Back in the day, I used to love hanging out at the Rodanthe Creek. Originally built as a Pamlico Sound access for the Coast Guard, it was bulkheaded and was one of the few protected harbors for local fishermen to use. It was always fascinating to see what they were catching.

It was also a good spot for honing my photography. I bought Kodak Panatomic-X black and white film in 100 foot spools and rolled my own 35mm cassettes. Then I’d develop the film at home in the darkroom. The creek was only a few hundred yards away from my house.

I’ve never shown these photographs from this period before, and it’ll never be like that again.

A young Dale Midgett ran the fish house. He had an entrepreneurial spirit and packed fish for wholesaler Jimmy Austin.

Derelict boats were part of the landscape.

John Herbert’s sail skiff sat high and dry on shore. It was one of my favorite boats with classic lines, and was featured in my New Inlet and Skiff photo, shot in 1979.

Harry Midgett’s trawler was at the dock for much needed maintenance. He eventually took it shrimping to the Gulf of Mexico, where I heard it sank and was lost.

I don’t know who owned this workboat, but I admired it’s design and narrow stern.

Bruce Midgett prepared his nets at one of the fish houses on the north side of the creek.

Bruce and Dale set up pound nets a mile out in the sound.

Bruce loved fishing the pound nets.

Joe Fegundes, known as Jobob, was also fishing from the Creek.

Ed Corely was an avid fisherman. I helped him for a few months. It was hard work. Ed moved to Coos Bay, Oregon to work on an ocean trawler. On a New Years Eve, he went down with the boat and was never found.

Selby Gaskins, Jr. was always helping out at the fish house.

Martin Maestas and Glen Boykin were gill netting from this Privateer. Fiberglass boats had become more common than the traditional wooden boats. Glen married Selby Jr’s sister, Teresa, and I shot their wedding.

Irvin Midgett was another young fisherman, and still fishes some today. He runs a successful campground and is always willing to help others.

Back then, Dale Midgett made a decent livelihood as a fisherman.

One of my favorite shots was taken of Mac Midgett’s haul seine rig. In a way, it symbolizes the best of times.

William and Edward

When I first moved to Hatteras Island, I noticed how special the locals were. Some families had lived on the island for generations, their ancestors arriving here as victims of shipwrecks. They were isolated and not affected by the outside world very much. I admired their simple, resourceful lives.

William and Edward Hooper were born and raised in Salvo. William worked in Norfolk for a while, but other than that, they were here all their lives. They were brothers and best friends. You would hardly ever see one without the other, and mentioning one almost always required mentioning the other. They were inseparable and the kindest people you’d ever meet.

Edward was widely known as the Postmaster of one of the smallest post offices in the country.

They were always hospitable when I visited them and would sometimes invite me for dinner.

One of my last visits was November of 2010. Eating at the kitchen table I noticed a window pane had fallen out and I volunteered to fix it.

When I returned the following day to work on it, they came out and stood under an old fig tree to chat with me. I asked if I could take their picture, and they said yes.

Little did I know that 9 months later, Hurricane Irene would sweep through and drastically change their lives. The flooded family homestead was no longer habitable so they were displaced to an assisted living facility.

Edward passed away a year and a half later and William 8 months after that.

They were 91 and 83 respectively.

I miss them a lot, and am reminded how things never remain the same on this beautiful barrier island that we call home.

End of the Road

Continued from previous entry dated May 4, 2015…

What seemed a scavenger hunt, we knew we were headed in the right direction. Journal entries confirmed a place at the end of the road, near Ke’e Beach. There were references to an area revered by Hawaiians. Known as a Heiau (hey ow), locals told us it was next to the trailhead for the Na Pali Coast, at end of the road.

Robin’s leather-bound journal from 2010 was the key.

The trail entrance to Na Pali is at the end of the road.

We found an overgrown path and walked through lush vegetation.

Approaching a rock wall, I felt elation, and knew this was the right place. The view was remarkable and whales spouted offshore. What an affirmation! Robin’s descriptions, photos and journal entries were a perfect match.

Stones were laid in an orderly fashion by ancient Hawaiians. The site was a temple and served as a school for the Hula. Students would come from surrounding islands. It is said that the goddess Pele came here from the big island after hearing the drum beats.

I tried to imagine what was here hundreds of years ago.

There could have been thatched structures and large carved Tikis.

A shelf in the rock wall looked like an altar where ceremonies could have taken place.

Someone left offerings wrapped in Ti leaves and a beautiful flowered lei.

After finding the location of the Heiau, we explored the beach at Ke’e.

Ha’ena State Park is next to Ke’e.

The waves at Tunnels were big and breaking on the distant reef.

We spent some time on the wide crescent beach at Hanalei.

Surfers love Hanalei.

The following day we began hiking the Kalalau Trail.

There were torrents everywhere.

The first overlook gave a spectacular view of Ke’e Beach.

At times the steep drop-offs were precariously close to the trail.

In a heavy downpour it got so muddy, we had to turn back after going in ¾ mile.

On the way back to our cottage, a man on the roadside sold us a lei made by his wife.

Early next morning we went to the Heiau with Robin’s ashes.

It was a spectacular day, and a few whales breached from the ocean.

We spent an hour contemplating the moment, and the sacredness of the site.

We placed the ashes up against a sheer rock wall, splashed an offering of Hawaiian rum and presented the lei.

lei

Our task was done.

Hallowed Ground

On the first of this month, Denise and I were in the DC area for the interment of her father at Arlington National Cemetery. He was a 30 year veteran of the US Army Reserve, active overseas during the Korean conflict, and was extremely proud to serve his country. He retired as Colonel.

It was an overcast day when we encountered a regiment awaiting our arrival at the top of a hill.

The emotion of this reception was indescribable. It evoked a mix of feelings as the caisson was drawn to the burial plot. This is a dignified resting place for over 400,000 service members, and the cemetery conducts up to 30 burials every weekday.

My sister-in-law made this powerful photograph of her father’s caisson beneath a beautiful canopy of green.

The riderless horse reminded me of “Black Jack” the caparisoned horse that I saw at President Kennedy’s funeral. By tradition in military funerals, this horse follows the casket of an officer who was a colonel or above. The empty boots facing backward in the stirrups represent that the individual will ride no more. They also suggest the deceased taking one last look back at his family and troops that he commanded.

This wasn’t my first experience at Arlington National Cemetery. It gave me, a brother, and two sisters a chance to visit the grave of our father, interred in 2001.

His resting place is within a hundred yards of Dick Murray. As a tribute, Denise placed some beach sand at the base of the headstone.

Vintage Surf

It’s been a year since my lifelong friend, Robin, passed away, so I’ve been contemplating our relationship and good times. It’s hard to believe it’s over and done. We all have opportunities to love and enjoy life, and Robin certainly did. What a gift!

His worldly possessions have been dispersed as he wanted. Among the items he left me was a fairly large collection of photographs. He was many things, hunter-gatherer, prolific reader, jack of all trades and surfer. Most people don’t realize the amount of photography he produced.

I spent last winter going over thousands of photos he made since his early teens. Many of those images were inconsequential personal memories, but there are many that have merit.

Taken from the north jetty.

Of particular interest to me are Robin’s photographs contained in an album from his early days surfing at Indian River Inlet in Delaware. I didn’t know him then, but it’s about the time I learned to surf a 9’6” Bing there. It was a good wave and a good place for a young surfer to make friends and integrate into a new lifestyle.

These old Polaroid photographs taken in 1967 and ’68 are one-of-a-kind originals.

I think Robin is on the far right, the others are unidentified.

I don’t know where this Polaroid was taken, but it looks typical of rural Delaware. A 19 year old Robin stands between two unidentified friends while changing a flat tire.

A few years later, surfboards got a lot smaller. Robin took this snapshot of his team mates from Gemini Surf Shop out of Rehoboth Beach, perhaps about 1970. Dave Isaacs, Gary Revel, Jeff Ammons, Bryant Clark, Brent Clark, Skip Savage, Karl Gude and one unidentified. Who knows who he is?

When most people take a picture, they don’t realize they’re making a historical record. As a photographer, I didn’t intend the pictures I took many years ago become history. But in retrospect, I see a lot of value in old photographs, the older the better. If I had it to do all over again, I would opt to do much more shooting of people or things that I routinely took for granted.

Michael Halminski Photographer

Waves, North Carolina