I love the Outer Banks, especially Ocracoke!

In August 1980, I finished my doctoral dissertation. Because of the timing, I wouldn’t actually graduate until January. For the first time in years, I had a bit of time to breathe and revitalize. 

At that point in my life, I drove and often lived in a Volkswagen camper, “Victor Von Volkswagen.” (Thanks for the name, Wolbe!) Some people thought of Victor as a vehicle. I didn’t; he was my best friend. Victor and I planned a post-dissertation adventure: a week on Okracoke Island at the southern tip of North Carolina’s Outer Banks. We made reservations at the National Seashore Campground.

The beaches and sights of the northern Outer Banks – Kill Devil Hill, Kitty Hawk, Nag’s Head – were gorgeous but way-too populated. Okracoke was perfect. My campsite was a parking space on the beach with a picnic table and fire pit. The shower was open-air: a stand pipe with a shower head, pull cord, and wooden platform. Nudity at the shower prevailed; there was no privacy and no apparent self-consciousness. Wild ponies roamed the island and the campground freely; pods of porpoises frolicked in the surf. The heat and sun were oppressive and splendid.

My daily schedule never wavered. I woke up early and ate breakfast. Then I hit the beach.  First , I needed bait: sand crabs. Like a human sanderling, I following the surf and dug furiously. With a full cup of sand crabs, I waded waist deep into the ocean and cast as far as I could. Except for a couple of dogfish – small sharks that fight like crazy – I don’t remember what I caught. I just remember that I caught a lot of fish! Sometime around mid-day, I’d pack up my gear, go back to my campsite, clean the morning’s catch, and get the fillets on ice. Then I’d head into the village to re-provision at the Okracoke Variety Store (unchanged in 43 years): a sack of ice, some beer, a few groceries, then back to the campground for a nap. Sleeping allowed the hottest part of the afternoon to pass unnoticed. Then, around 2:30 or 3:00, the morning routine repeated: a cup of sand crabs, a few hours of fishing, fish cleaning, and a sack of fillets.

For a whole bunch of us crazy hippies, the campground came to life as the afternoon waned. Throngs of us became friends and prepared to party. Every evening turned into a community potluck. I provided lots of fresh fried fish. By the time we finished eating, someone had built a campfire on the beach. We told stories, communed with the waves, and played music until Mr. Sandman called us to bed. For seven days, the schedule never varied. I departed Okracoke sorry to see the island fade away, but happy that I had discovered and experienced a true paradise

As Rebecca and I planned this trip, a big part of the lure was knowing that we would spend several days on the Outer Banks, including a night or two on Okracoke. We had a perfect room in Nag’s Head: a funky Comfort Inn right on the ocean with our own private balcony for all of $82. On our first day, February 10, the thermometer hit 72.

February 11 was Super Sunday. Neither of us are real football fans, but every wannabe sociologist has to love the Super Bowl, one of the great annual societal moments of collective insanity.  During the pandemic when traveling didn’t exist, Rebecca and I hosted our own Super Bowl parties for two, complete with chili, wings, guacamole, veggie platters, etc., etc., etc.  This year, we couldn’t host because we’d be on the road.  So we counted on the Outer Banks for a venue.

Alas, the Outer Banks let us down.  Most places were closed, so we chose the upstairs bar at Mulligan’s in Nag’s Head.  The bartender couldn’t wait to get out of there, and the other people at the bar had a “What game?” attitude.  The hushpuppies were doughy and lousy. (Steamed shrimp and salad came through again.  We have our go-to staples, you know.) We bolted in the middle of the second quarter, returning to the practice of hosting our own damn SB party.  Fortunately, this year’s game actually had the very rare quality of being good, and seeing Taylor getting excited about Travis made everything else irrelevant.  Don’t you agree?

Ours were the only footprints in the sand for miles at low tide. Off-season travel is the best!

When the phone rang on Tuesday with a North Carolina number, I hoped. ”Mr. Mirvis,” the man said, “I have some bad news. This afternoon’s ferry has been cancelled.” ”WooHoo!!!!” I blurted, thrilled to be stranded in Ocracoke.

We spent the afternoon making friends … with John “The Pirate” MacKenzie, the guy who sold us our ferry ticket and jawboned us about the island and retirement and being 75 and his comfy home in a small RV and the chili he makes; Kim, one of the desk clerk’s at the Pony Island and the partner of Grayson the General Manager who wasn’t sure she wanted to live on Ocracoke but loves it now; Jordan, the other desk clerk who wanted to learn more about WordPress, loves to fish, and has an epic number of food allergies; Grayson, who manages the Pony Island Inn and cannot understand why the Rescue Squad and Fire Department on Ocracoke don’t have a better relationship; Valentine aka “Rambo,” the maintenance guy at the Pony Island who washed and folded our laundry for us since Ocracoke does not have a laundromat; Danny and Jimmy, our waiters at Jason’s who waited on us three times since it is the only open place on the island; and Melissa, the Postmaster, who is simply delightful. Ocracoke is a true gem. You will never find yourself there by accident; it is 1.5-hour ferry ride north to Hatteras and a 2.5-hour ride south to Cedar Island or Swan Quarter. Man, is it worth it!!

Obligatory dumb road stuff