Category Archives: commercial fishing, boat, pamilco sound, gillnetting

Sound-side Flooding

The oceanside beaches and waves are what originally attracted me to Hatteras Island. But once I got established as a resident, I realized there was more to this barrier island. The Pamlico Sound, or bay side, is a unique and precious resource. I was really impressed by it’s bounty for the commercial fishermen navigating those waters. The Pamlico Sound, one of the largest estuaries in the country, is tranquil and beautiful. But I soon learned that it could also turn stormy and treacherous. It has claimed the lives of three of my personal friends, all commercial fishermen.

A cold front coming up the Pamlico Sound is a sure sign of changing weather.

Tides are generally driven by the gravitational pull of the moon. This is true, but the Pamlico Sound tides are mainly generated by wind. Winds blow the relatively shallow water from one side to the other. Here in the Rodanthe, Waves and Salvo township, winds from a westerly direction push the higher tides in our direction, while depleting the waters on the mainland side of the sound. Whenever we have a substantial west wind, we can get inundated by tides so high, that roads and properties get flooded. It’s times like this that a little elevation means everything.

In 1986, Charley went right up the middle of Pamlico Sound. Fortunately it was a minimal hurricane with winds of only about 80. The above image shows the commercial fishing harbor in Rodanthe with seas coming over the bulkhead and on to the roadway.

In 1999 a category 5 hurricane, named Floyd, made landfall in South Carolina. It wreaked havoc on the mainland to our west, but spared us with minor flooding and winds of only about 50 mph. Here I drive my old sacrificial Dodge truck through high tide near my home in Waves.

My yard during Floyd was under 2 feet of water. Here my neighbors, CE Midgett and Dale Midgett wade through the floating debris.

Conversely when winds wail from an easterly direction, the water on our sound side falls, sometimes enough to expose the bottom for a mile out, like during this northeaster in May of 2005.

The most severe tide that I’ve seen in over 36 years was during the March storm of 1993, when we experienced westerlies of 100 miles an hour. This was caused by a powerful low pressure system advancing up the east coast, not off shore, but centered to our west. We had tides driven 8 to 10 feet above normal. That day the sound waters met the ocean dunes. Cars were ruined and homes damaged by flood.  I had 4 feet of water in my yard, not to mention the breaking waves. Old timers say it was the worst flooding since the storm of 1944. Our worst case scenario is to have the eye of a powerful hurricane going right up the Pamlico Sound.

Just last week we had westerlies of 35 to 50, with higher gusts. The water came up quickly, although not with the ferocity that I’ve seen before. It was just enough to disrupt business as usual, and cause a nuisance. The tides were about 4 feet above normal. So I had several inches of tide in my yard. Portions of highway 12 were under 1 to 2 feet of salt water, not good for the life of transiting vehicles.

This last storm brought about 8 inches of sound tide in my yard. Home sweet home! The drill starts with vacating vehicles from the premises and parking them on higher ground.

My west property border meets the sound. As you can see, the vegetated wetland absorbs much of the wave action. I don’t understand it when people building on the Outer Banks clear cut, remove this buffer or fill the marsh. It’s really all that holds this sandbar island together.

This shot was taken last week, February 10. I wonder if this driver has a captain’s license.

Excessive tides have always been a way of life on Hatteras. It’s something that requires readiness and preparation. Sometimes it’s predictable. Other times it’s more of a surprise. It’s not a matter of if, but when the next one will occur.

Caught between a rock and a hard place

Oregon Inlet is a place notorious for vessels in distress. I’ve seen it through the years, as man has tried to tame the inlet. Today I heard about a fishing vessel stranded on a shoal up there. I don’t know the circumstances, only that it had run aground.

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When I arrived on the scene, northwest winds were blowing a gale and temperatures were below freezing. It was bone chilling just to go out on the catwalk to get a better vantage point. The Coast Guard Station at Oregon Inlet stood by with their 47 foot motor lifeboat.

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This being just another incident of curiosity on the Outer Banks, I hope no one is injured in this mishap. I also am hopeful that this boat can be saved in tact. Commercial fishermen have a tough enough livelihood as it is, without loosing their boat.

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P.S. The “Sheila Rene” was returning to Wanchese with a recent catch of fish, said to be about 10,000 pounds when it ran up on a shoal. The trawler was freed Sunday evening and has been towed back to port.

Camera with a View

I am an admirer of some of the great masters of early photography. It was not only their vision that made the work great, but in many cases, the types of equipment used. They didn’t have the huge array of advanced cameras to choose from, like we do today. Things were a lot more primitive. 

 

One of my favorite early photographers is Edward Weston. He shot with an 8×10 view camera. Can you imagine a finished 8 inch by 10 inch negative? His black and white prints are exquisite, and have a tonal quality and sharpness that is hard to describe. In 1978, I had the pleasure of attending a photography workshop in Carmel, California, where I studied under his son, Cole.

 

Working in 35mm, I could see the superior quality of large format photography. I examined gallery prints made by Ansel Adams, Edward Weston and his sons Brett and Cole, among others. When I got back home on the east coast, I wanted to apply some large format in my own work. View cameras are expensive. But when I saw an ad in American Photographer  for a kit to build my own 4×5 view camera, I jumped at the chance. For $85, it included the lens plate, ground glass, bellows, shifts and tilts, everything except a lens. My friend Allen Jones who was attending RIT at the time, scored my Ilex Acuton 215mm lens for $250 in Rochester.

 

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The assembled 4×5 view camera kit, designed by architect, Les Fader

 

Using the finished camera became a learning experience, and I made some mistakes. There were issues with light leaks between the film holders and the camera, and sheet film developing techniques, but I eventually kinda got the hang of it. On the windy, often stormy conditions of the Outer Banks, the bulky view camera has it limitations. So I used it mainly for still life compositions around commercial fishing harbors. 

 

 

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The “Edwin Jr.” derelict at Avon Harbor

 

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Crab Skiff at Avon Harbor

 

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Net Skiff, Rodanthe Creek

 

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Shad Boat, Rodanthe Creek

 

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Longhauler, Collins Gray at Rodanthe Fish House

 

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Knapp’s Narrows at Tilghman Island, Maryland

 

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Chicamacomico Winter, 1980

 

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A Dune near Buxton

 

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A Tribute to Weston

 

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Broken Glass, Rodanthe Creek

 

I made about 60 Tri-X negatives, then decided to put the camera away. It was a lot of effort to use. And as photographer Ernst Haas, once told my class, shooting with a view camera was “like carrying the cross”. In a way, that wasn’t far from the truth. Besides at the time, it didn’t quite fit my style of shooting. I never even printed most of the images.

 

Then a few months ago, I found some negatives stored, with silica gel, in an old ammo box. For the past month, I’ve been making prints. Some beautiful 16×20’s too. I can’t tell you what a refreshing change it is from the popular digital shooting arena. Printing in black and white again is like finding an old long lost friend. Don’t be surprised if you see some new work from this old camera.

Chesapeake Bay Skipjacks

My fascination for oysters didn’t kick in until I moved to Hatteras Island. Starting out, times were tough financially, but it was a worthwhile tradeoff for the experiences in store for me. Back then you could walk the shore of the Pamlico Sound and get all the oysters you wanted for great meal. I remember picking them with Larry Midgett and some of the other locals, and it became one of my favorite things to do.

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Larry Midgett, Tim Merritt and “Big Leroy” picking some oysters in a creek in 1974. Today this creek on Hatteras Island doesn’t produce much anymore.

 

In the early 80’s, I began going to Easton, MD to participate in a photography exhibit at the popular Waterfowl Festival. During the show in 1981, an acquaintance that I knew through surfing the Delaware shore told me that he was dredging oysters on the Chesapeake Bay Skipjack, Stanley Norman. He invited me out for a sail, so once the festival was over, I took Trent Palmer up on his offer. The wind was light, and so was the oyster catching, but I knew right then that I wanted to spend some more time photographing the only commercial fishing boats in the United States still using sail power. The next day, I returned to Hatteras to resume my life there, still thinking about the skipjacks.

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Trent Palmer out on the bowsprit of Stanley Norman furling the jib in November of 1981.

 

Later that winter, Trent told me about a couple of boats that had openings for crew members. So I drove to Tilghman Island to see about working on a Chesapeake Bay Skipjack. My intention as a budding photographer was to shoot some of these historical workboats under sail. The only way I could do so, was to seek employment to pay my way. I was a little nervous at first, but once I stepped aboard the Virginia W in the predawn hours, I met Tim Stearns, the owner and captain of the 1902 built skipjack. He didn’t fit the mold of what I expected from a typical sea captain. From the very beginning, he was welcoming, kind, didn’t shout at the crew, and we became very good friends. I was also impressed that this young man of small stature had bought this rotten, derelict boat, and restored it nearly singlehandedly in about a years time. It became a very seaworthy workboat and had a new life once again.

 

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Virginia W in port at Tilghman Island rafted up to the Anna McGarvey as ice flows through Knapps Narrows. According to records at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, she was built in Oriole, Maryland in 1902, and is 44 feet in length.

 

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Captain Tim Stearns is at the helm of Virginia W near the mouth of the Choptank River.

 

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Me the “greenhorn” after a good day of working a muddy bottom. Tim asked me to hand him my camera to take this shot. Then I reciprocated and took his picture amid 120 bushels of oysters. We had a good hard working crew, and I dredged aboard Virginia W for the better part of 2 winters, always with my waterproof Nikonos camera close by to catch those magnificent boats sailing by.

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With the Chesapeake Bay Bridge behind us, I jumped out on the bowsprit of the Virginia W to make this photograph while we sailed into Annapolis. We spent the night on board there with 100 bushels on deck.

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Leigh Hunteman handles the bow line of  Virginia W to shovel out at the dock on Tilghman Island. Leigh later became the only female captain of a skipjack by running the Sigsbee.  

 

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The Stanley Norman was built in Salisbury, MD in 1902 and is 47 feet long at the waterline. Here owner/captain Ed Farley steers her over an oyster bed.

 

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Sigsbee at 47 feet was built at Deal Island in 1901. Here she pulls dredges under full sail, with Captain Wade Murphy at the helm.

 

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The skipjack Kathryn at 50 feet, was built in Crisfield, Maryland in 1901. Her bottom is planked fore and aft with rounded chines, rather than the typical herring bone, hard chined bottoms of most skipjacks. Here she flies by us pulling both dredges, 4 reefs in the mainsail, with captain and owner Russell Dize at the helm.

 

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After a day out on the water, Captain Darryl Larrimore guides the 42 foot Claude W. Somers back to port powered by the yawl boat. She was built in 1911. Part of the history of this skipjack is tragic. In 1977, she went to the bottom in a storm near Crisfield, taking all of the 6 crew with her.

 

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This stern view shows the Kathryn as she follows a path cut by a state ice-breaker in order to get back to port. The temperature was 10 degrees and the ice a foot thick. My feet were still cold despite felt-lined work boots and 2 pair of socks. This was one of the last days of my experience on Chesapeake Bay Skipjacks. Thus ended my career as an oysterman.

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.

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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. 

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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. 

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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Robin Gerald was my alter ego.

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Burgess Hooper always fished with Princess.

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

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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.