The coastland times with which is combined the pilot and herald of Belhaven and Swan Quarter. [volume] (Manteo, N.C.) 1959-1973, 1961-03-24

some of these folks.
We rush now to make the Halter
as Inlet ferry to Ocracoke, like the
others it is toll-free, North Caro-
lima doesn' believe in charging tolls
to those who visit it's scenic land
scapes.
The water is slick calm as we
cross Hatteras Inlet. A safe distan-
cross Hatteras Inlet. A safe dis
lance from the ferry we can view
the sea in its never ceasing pound
ing, white-crested and running free
as the breakers dash against the
off break.
The beach we are driving over
The landing we are about to
make is quite unique. The ferry
goes up to the shore and lowers a
ramp on the. beach. Steel landing
mats, laid on top of the sand, runs
for three miles and connects with a
modern highway direct to Ocracoke
village just fourteen miles away.
The beach wer are driving over
is about two miles wide and sixteen
miles long. With the exception of
the village on the southern end of
the island, the rest is a continue
ton of the Cape Hatteras National
Seashore.
AS we come to the highway there
are sand dunes on each side;
scraggly cedars, myrtle bushes,
scrub oak, yaupon bushes and salt
marsh. Several acres of this is fen
ced in as a feeding ground for the
small horses or banker ponies that
used to roam the island at will.
Seven bridges span small salt
water creeks through this section
and we come to the part of the
highway that is laid on top of white
beach sand. The wrecks of old ships
as far back as the early 150O's, and
the bony ribs of some, origin and
vintage unknown, are strewn along
this beach. The first six masted
sail vessel ever built. the George
w. Wells. was wrecked here in
September, 1918.
Some of Sir Walter Raleigh's
ships are though to be here some
where beneath this islands surface.
Expeditions have so far failed to
find a trace.
! The low sun, red-hued now, is
painting a FURNISHED gold tint on
the fast approaching Ocracoke viii
Ilage, home of our youth. Where
once we studied by the smelly dim
\ flicker of whale oil lamps; and
trudged over muddy roads; and got
the belly ache from stolen green
apples; and were sent to cut swift
ches to be whipped with when we
|displeased our elders.
Our elders, alas, have passed on.
Green apples no longer tempt US.
Modern highways ribbon the once
muddy roads. Electric lights bright
en- every home. Hotels and motels
| and modern restaurants serve the
| tourists. And yet, there is still the
rustic, the away-from-it-allness.
Deep within us all think, is a love
for our homeland. We can still see
things that are not there anymore.
they are only in our memory, and
we hope they will never be erased.
We forgive our elders, the whip
weilders, even though they were
strict to the point of cruelty. MY
good friend Harvey Wahab. put it
this way: They were strict because
of the times and the way their
sires had raised them. Deeply reli-
gious to the best of their know
ledge, they thought they were do
ing right, and, perhaps they were
God rest their souls.
At long last we pull up before
orr cottage. We have been seen.
Friends rush out and surround our
car. The Midgetts', Spencers. o.
Meals, Tolsons' and we get invited
to supper. Yes, its supper here.
they have dinner at noon. Hospital
llity, indeed, we know we're home
now. among plain folks, yep, our
people.
While the folks are getting that
good old fashioned southern fried
chicken, corn pone and blackberry
Idumnling with egg sauce ready fol
the table, I am going to give YOU
a ric+ure of this sunset.
The bottom tip of the golden
lglobAd sun is just touching the cop
Iper-tinted slick-calm waters Of
lPamlico Sound. II seems to melt ra.
'ther than sink, spreading liquiS