Irene, the New Benchmark

Despite our well intentioned preparations, hurricane Irene took everyone in our villages by surprise. I knew we were going to have a significant storm surge from the Pamlico Sound, as in storms of the past, but not to the extent that we got. In 2003, Isabel brought in 18 inches of water on my property. Floyd in 1999 was 24 inches. Bonnie in 1998 had 26 inches. The March storm of 1993 flooded with 50 inches of tide, and Irene came in with a whopping 66 inches. According to some of the old timers, the storm of 1944 was a benchmark by which other storms were compared. Flooding back then was apparently somewhere between the March storm and Irene. Hurricane Irene brought in more storm surge from the sound than any storm for the last 75 years. It is now the new benchmark for soundside flooding in our villages on this part of Hatteras Island.

Boarded up, an all too familiar sight.

Pamlico Sound tide blown out upon Irene’s approach.

Tide coming in ahead of the wind shift.

Smoke on the water as the shifted southwest wind picks up, blowing 50 to 60.

During a lull, I ventured to the beach for a shot at the ocean.

It was pure chaos, and I had trouble making it back to the house.

Good thing I wore my chest waders. 3 feet of water had already entered my yard, and I had 5 cats to rescue from the rising water. The barometer had dipped to 964 millibars and in the end dumped 6 feet of sound tide around my house. The water had risen to within a fraction of an inch from coming inside. We were extremely lucky.

I took this screen shot of my computer, using a battery backup, right after the power went off.

The next morning after the storm, the yard was a mess with debris.

The tide had gone right up to my heat pumps, and then some.

This is highway 12 in front of my house after the storm. It was eerily quiet, warm and damp. I would soon find out that many residents did not fare as well as I did. The road down the island had also been washed out.

There were many homes damaged or lost.

And of course, the electricity was cut off.

Also as a result, the cottage Tailwinds eventually fell into the sea.

The road at Mirlo Beach was destroyed.

A leaner at Mirlo Beach.

Highway 12 at the S-Curve.

A new inlet had been cut at the S-Curve, exposing cypress stumps of a forest nearly a thousand years old.

The inlet is actually an outlet caused from the sound rushing into the sea.

Another outlet was carved through North Beach Campground in Rodanthe.

A motor home at North Beach.

Gerald O’Neal surveys the mess at his family-run campground.

The campground’s general store was inundated with sound tide.

Lance Midgett’s house is over 100 years old. This is the first time a tide from Pamlico Sound has gone inside. His cleanup and rebuilding will take a long time.

As residents take on the daunting effort of rebuilding, debris is piling up along highway 12.

Since the day after Irene left, the Salvation Army has been there to help those in need.

They are providing 3 hot meals every day,as well as lifting our spirits.

Now the ferry system is the only way on and off the island.

For days, trucks have been running around the clock to deliver sand from a borrow pit in Avon. NCDOT hopes to fill in the gap at S-Curve cut by the storm surge.

Pallets are moved into place to enable trucks to dump sand for a new roadway. In the meantime, huge swells from Hurricane Katia threaten the shoreline.

Do you think this is really going to work? This is a classic “man against nature” scenario.

Meanwhile the debris continues to pile up along highway 12. This is far from over.

Beach Rendezvous

About this time in 2004, the first tropical system of the season developed in the Atlantic off of northern Florida. As the depression moved northeast paralleling the coast, it was not expected to hit land. In fact, there was no call for an evacuation. As the storm moved erratically, just off the east coast, it was eventually upgraded to Tropical Storm Alex. Still there was no evacuation order.

Then about 75 miles off of Cape Fear, with deep convection building due to the warm Gulf Stream, the storm intensified as Hurricane Alex. Approaching the Outer Banks, Alex quickly developed into a category 2 hurricane with winds in excess of 100 miles an hour. By then it was too late for an evacuation. The center of circulation came within 10 miles of Cape Hatteras, with the western eye wall sweeping along Ocracoke Island.

As a result, there was considerable flooding and high winds on Ocracoke and southern Hatteras Island. Hundreds of vehicles, mostly tourist-owned, were destroyed by salt water intrusion. So visitors were stranded without transportation to get home. Hyde and Dare counties got caught looking on this one, and the damage could have been so much worse. Fortunately, Alex took a more eastward turn and did no further damage as it moved away, speeding off as a category 3 hurricane.

That was another close call.

In my hometown of Waves, the rain and tide combined to choke our streets with water, a minor inconvenience. Winds never reached hurricane force either. I ventured out to the beach and saw an unusual sight of thrill seeking tourists riding out the storm. I’ve lived here a long time, and have never seen anything like it before or since.

The scenery was an interesting juxtaposition, and I photographed from an elevated perch.

The waves were beautiful, and so were the people.

Everyone was having a good time.

And then something special began to happen.

A young couple in front of me were caught in a moment of bliss.

And I could only watch through my camera. It happened so quickly.

If I didn’t know any better, I would swear he had just proposed.

Nevertheless, I suddenly felt that I had witnessed something very genuine.

As another couple strolled by, I continued to photograph. The overall scene had been intriguing, and not something that would typify my beachscape photography.

By late afternoon I was on the beach again, experiencing more of what Alex had left behind.

Other than Hurricane Earl missing us by 85 miles in 2010, Alex was about the last time there was any hurricane action around here. So far, so good.

The Catch

With nearly all the net gathered back in the skiff, the only part remaining in the water is the bunt, or the bagging end of the net. This is where the catch is contained.

The Gray boys tighten up the bunt, as the oils in the fish cause a slick on the water. Left to right is Belton, Collins, Belton Jr. and Charles Farrow.

Then the bailing begins.

Using his dip net, Collins Gray harvests the catch.

Belton Gray bails fish into the bow of the boat.

Now the fish are 2 feet deep in the bottom of the boat. They continue scooping fish. The high point of the day, I am amazed at what I see. It is one of the most incredible things I have ever experienced.

Knee deep in croakers, Collins radios Dale Midgett at the fish house in Rodanthe that they’ll be coming in with about 100 boxes. At 100 pounds a box, that’s 10,000 pounds of fish.

Belton coils the anchor line for the ride back to the creek.

At the fish house, the Gray boys pack out, with Belton Jr. working the boat.

Larry and Dale work at culling the catch.

In his Wanchese bedroom slippers and barefoot, Larry Midgett cleans up the last of them.

Those Gray boys really knew how to catch fish.

Longhauling

Almost like it was yesterday, I can still see the white longhaul boats on the water of Pamlico Sound. The Pamlico is one of the largest estuaries in the United States, and the longhaulers look for massive schools of fish that inhabit those waters near Rodanthe every Summer.

Nowadays this method of fishing is not as prevalent as it once was, but in 1980, I went out with a crew from Avon. The owners of that haul seine fishing rig were brothers, Collins and Belton Gray. Known as “the Gray boys”, they were dedicated, hard workers. You would not meet finer people anywhere. And they knew how to catch fish.

Dawn shines on Pamlico Sound as the Gray boys look for fish. Belton Gray operates the run boat as Charles Farrow sits in the net skiff.

Charles tends the net, as it begins to go overboard into the water.

Collins Gray steers the run boat using a bridle adjustment tied to the end of the net, as Belton Gray Jr. assists. Meanwhile, more net goes out as the other run boat pulls the net skiff farther away.

With a few thousand yards of net out, Collins watches as it is pulled in a big “U” shape along the shallow bottom. The “U” is then closed and tightened, encircling the fish.

Collins signals that it’s getting time to close the net, begin hauling it back into the skiff, and “bunting up”, putting all the fish in a neat little pocket, before bailing the catch into the boat.

The crew hauls the net back in the skiff.

This had already been a long day and the hard work was just beginning. With most of the net back in the skiff, Belton (center) was ready to bunt up and bail fish. Belton Jr. handles the staff on the end of the net.

Stay tuned for the catch of the day.

Longnet Rigs

One of my most memorable impressions upon moving to Hatteras Island was to see locals earning their living as commercial fishermen. I had never seen anything like it before, and harvesting a bounty from the sea seemed a miracle. In the northern villages where I lived, the focal point of fishing activity was at the harbor in Rodanthe, known as “the creek”.

I used to hang out at the fish houses where the boats came in to pack out their daily catch. It amazed me to see them returning with hundreds of pounds of bluefish, trout, croakers and a myriad of other species.

When the longhaul rigs came in, they had catches in thousands of pounds. Longhauling, also referred to as longnetting, is a haul seine technique utilizing a huge length of net, sometimes a mile long. A longnet rig consists of three boats, two engine powered boats and a net skiff. At times, there would be four or five rigs working out of Rodanthe at the same time.