Above is a map with Portsmouth Island, a barrier reef island off Ocracoke Island in North Carolina. Along with Cape Hatteras and other islands, these form the Outer Banks. What you are about to read is a true story and believe it or not, it’s understated.
A Biblical Journey
“When we were in the Outer Banks we went to Portsmouth Island – they had the most amazing shells I’ve ever seen. And it’s really historical.” My sister exhibited her usual extreme enthusiasm for anything related to the past.
“How do you get there?”
“Well, you have to find someone to take you and pick you up later on because no one lives there and it’s deserted, but”
“Wait. What do you mean I have to find someone to take me? Like who and where and”
“There’s just people with boats all over Ocracoke. You’ll find someone.”
“Well, I might try, if I have –“
“No, you have to go. That’s all there is to it. The most amazing shells I’ve ever seen were all over that beach!”
So I’d go. It did sound like an adventure and I was planning a trip to North Carolina, a major adventure in itself. We used to live there and I hadn’t been back in forever. Traveling just wasn’t in our budget, what with three teenage girls and a dearth of extra funds. But when The Boys said they were moving to North Carolina, I blurted out, “I’ll come visit you!”
The Boys were actually men – Michael and Bryan – and they were actors. Supposedly North Carolina was a hotbed of the film industry at the time, being cheaper to film in than California, and they could get their SAG cards more easily there. The Boys were a little quirky, as most interesting people are, and I was having a hard time envisioning them crossing the country in their small white pickup truck. But they did, so I would come.
To me, “I’ll come visit you” was a promise even though I didn’t say the words I promise. I planned, flew, rented a car, and was on my way to visit the Boys, with stops planned along the route. One was Portsmouth.
The day of the big Portsmouth Island adventure arrived. I set out from Ocracoke, one of the islands of North Carolina’s Outer Banks, former hangout of Blackbeard the Pirate.
I started asking around.
“I’d like to visit Portsmouth Island – do you have any ideas of how to get there?”
“Why would you want to go there? It’s deserted, there’s nothing there, and”
“But my sister said there are great shells on the beach.”
“Are you sure? I don’t think…”
“I need to go.” I hadn’t learned the lesson yet that maybe the locals would know more than I do.
“Ok then, ask Rudy. He can take you out there and pick you up. You’ll find him down at the docks.”
So I found Rudy but I got a little nervous – who was this Rudy anyhow? What if he didn’t come back for me? What would I do? How’d I contact anyone? This was way before cell phones. I had no idea what to tell him about where to drop me off, so he suggested dropping me at one end of the island and picking me up three hours later at the pier.
The die was cast and I was going to Portsmouth Island. Bug spray in hand to counteract those North Carolina mosquitoes, I climbed in the little boat with the little motor and felt like I was in a bathtub toy. But it got me there.
Brimming with excitement, I began walking along the shore ready to scoop up those fabulous sea shells. But there weren’t any. There wasn’t even anything to consider – was it a shell or wasn’t it? There were no broken shells to pick up and discard. I found a dead horseshoe crab and took a picture of it in case it turned out to be the main attraction, but truly, there was nary a shell in sight. I wish I could show you the picture, but it was a bad one and I threw it away. Did Rudy take me to the wrong place?
Resigned, I headed inland towards the deserted town so I could make it to the pier on time. I slogged through marshy land, squishy mud, and scratchy brush. It was hot and humid. I mean HOT and humid. I wasn’t having fun yet. My clothes were soaked with sweat, my shoes covered with squishy stuff, and there were bugs all around me. I sprayed on some more bug juice just in case.
The closer I got to the town, the denser the swarms of mosquitoes and gnats got. I kept spraying as I walked faster and faster. I looked at my legs and they were black! There were bugs stuck to my legs, stuck to the bug spray. It killed them all right, but ensnared them and now my legs looked like something out of a science fiction movie. My arms were turning black, too. I futilely sprayed, brushed bugs off, and had to spray again. It was no use. Starting to panic, I was practically running and saw the town ahead.
Now I was running – and I saw an actual house with an open door! People were there! Hallelujah, I was saved. No time to knock – I burst through the screen door yelling, “Is anybody home?”
“We are.” A youngish sort of couple appeared.
“Forgive me for bursting in but I’ve been walking through the slough and I’m covered with bugs and hot and, I mean, I’m a former Peace Corps volunteer and I can deal with a lot but this is the worst…”
“What in the world are you doing here? No one comes to Portsmouth in the summer.”
“You’re here.”
“We work for the State Park Service and we’re the caretakers. But neither of us would think to venture outside without full mosquito netting, I mean head to toe, and covered with 100% DEET.”
Great.
“Here, why don’t you wash your legs off and we’ll give you some DEET to put on, but how are you getting to the main island?”
I explained, I washed my legs, I put on DEET, and waited for the helpful park caretakers to invite me to sit on their sofa until it was time to go to the pier, but they turned me out. And I had to wander the deserted town until the appointed meetup. It was an inferno. Not a whisper of a breeze. I tried gamely to see the historic buildings but it was so stifling inside that I thought the heck with it, I’ll go sit on the pier and wait. I was silently cursing the caretakers for not letting me wait on their living room sofa. It’s possible I wasn’t silent.
Oh well, I’d been through plague and pestilence, what more could happen? I’ll tell you what more could happen. A huge thunderstorm could happen, and did. I was already feeling very biblical, what with the plague and pestilence bit, but now I was out in the open in howling wind, torrents of rain, and thunder crashing all around me. I supposed I was being tested with the flood, and soon Moses, or Rudy, would part Pamlico Sound and rescue me.
I huddled on the pier, soaking wet and steaming at the same time from the humidity. There was enough steam to get out any wrinkles I might have had. Too bad I wasn’t older! At the moment, I saw nothing redeeming whatsoever about the big adventure.
It could have been worse. I found out afterwards that I was lucky – I’d been there at low tide. In fact, I had been walking through a tidal marsh! Had it been high tide, I would have been wading through three feet of water to reach the town. And who knows? There may have been creatures under the water come in with the tide to torment me. With my luck, there would have been a jellyfish invasion.
Now, over twenty years later, I still can’t say I find anything redeeming about the adventure of having the adventure – or the story I can tell. I don’t know what my sister was thinking. I swear, I’ll bet she had the wrong island and the wrong state or something because nothing about that godforsaken place had value. It was historic, sure, but do we have to preserve every old town and place just because they existed once? I say, no.
Adendum: Now, with the internet, I see that Portsmouth can be a nice place to visit but NOT in the summer. Here’s a description from North Carolina Outdoors. Note that to escape the mosquitoes they ate lunch sitting in the surf! Also, these people were transported by someone named Rudy, and I’ll bet its the same guy.
“So my wife and I were totally unprepared for the blitzkrieg that erupted almost the moment we left Rudy Austin’s charter boat (from Ocracoke) and started for Portsmouth Village. Sure, we had several bug sprays containing DEET in various concentrations, but even the strongest would only keep them from biting. Hundreds, (I promise I’m not exaggerating) swarmed us even after we were lathered in DEET. Like the dust cloud that trailed Pig Pen of Peanuts fame, they followed us everywhere we went, trying to fly into our eyes, noses, ears and mouths, and biting any shred of skin that wasn’t heavily lathered with repellent.
Despite the torment, we did a perfunctory tour of the village and then made our way across the tidal flat to the beach. Finally, thanks to an ocean breeze, we were able to enjoy our lunch relatively unmolested while sitting in the surf.
What did I learn? Next time I go to Portsmouth, I will wear mosquito netting. The people I saw who had netting covering their head, neck and torso, and wearing long pants, were strolling around like it was a day in the park. (Well, actually it was a day in the park.) And nothing I have endured in the outdoors has given me a greater appreciation for the hardships our ancestors endured than our encounter with the mosquitoes of Portsmouth Island. Imagine living here in the 1700′s without screens on your windows!!
On the positive side, I have talked with people who have visited the island in March and April who had no problems with the the insects. But I would be prepared for insects in every season.”
Tags: biblical, CED2010, Creative Every Day, mosquitoes, north carolina, portsmouth island, stories, travel
Portsmouth Island is a wonderful, marvelous place! And it is worth preserving. It was a unique and fascinating community. And…the mosquitoes can be horrendous. No argument there. But you just need to pick your visit carefully…or come prepared. I have walked through the village in July in just my swim trunks — no bugs at all. And I have been there when the skeeters drove me back to the dock. If you’re going, ask around the village at Ocracoke to find out how the bugs are across the inlet. Oh yes, I have found great shells on the beach at Portsmouth.
Funny story! But I have to disagree about the shells; you just didn’t go far enough down the beach. I go to Portsmouth every summer just to hang on the beach for a while. We lucked out the one time we did go to the village (in July); it was a drought and the tidal flats were DRY! Very few mosquitoes.