Part One: Discovering the Spirit of Cape Hatteras

For all the traveling I have done in my life, across oceans, and through many parts of the United States, there was one destination surprisingly missing from my list: the Outer Banks. It was a place that I heard a lot about since many of my friends vacation there, but I had never visited. That changed this year, when my husband, knowing how much I love an adventure to someplace new, surprised me with a birthday trip to Cape Hatteras.

Since we’re the kind of couple that enjoys exploring national parks, we were excited to discover that Cape Hatteras is part of the National Park Service system, officially designated as the country’s very first national seashore. There are only 10 national seashores in the United States, so to be the first meant this place must be something remarkable. The designation was not only about scenic beauty, it was also about caring for the environment, preserving history, and protecting oceanfront land from over development and commercialization.

Our base was the small town of Buxton, situated between Nags Head and Cape Hatteras. As we quickly learned, Buxton is more than just a quaint coastal community, it is a barrier island, a thin strip of land running parallel to the mainland. That geography makes it breathtaking, but it also makes it vulnerable. Buxton is the first to feel the brunt of passing storms. The scars of nature’s wrath were still visible from Hurricane Erin, which had slammed into the coast just weeks earlier. Enormous sandbags were stacked forming a giant barricade behind our hotel, and the skeletal remains of old foundations sat exposed in the sand, a reminder that the ocean is not a force to be trifled with.

But for travelers like us, the beauty and adventure far outweigh the threats. We set out early the next morning to begin exploring. Our first mission? Breakfast. Following the old rule of thumb, find the busiest parking lot, we discovered the Orange Blossom Bakery. The little building looked ordinary enough from the outside, but its popularity spoke volumes. A line of people stretched from the front door, and every person leaving had the same happy expression as they reached into their white paper bags. Their claim to fame, the “big apple ugly,” was something to behold. Imagine a fritter the size of your head, crisp, sweet and loaded with chunks of juicy apple. My husband, Blain, proudly accepted the challenge but needed three days to finish it.

After filling ourselves with sugar and caffeine, we stumbled upon another local treasure: Buxton Village Books. Independent bookstores have always been one of my favorite places to explore, and this one was no exception. For over 40 years, this bookstore has nurtured a love of reading for residents and travelers. It was here that I discovered a book by Charles Harry Whedbee, a North Carolina judge who spent decades collecting stories and legends from the Outer Banks. His book, Pirates, Ghosts, and Coastal Lore, is an entertaining look into the area’s past and includes tales of lost colonies, shipwrecks, pirates, and spirits that allegedly still haunt the land and sea. The cover was adorned with the outline of a lighthouse and a ghostly skull, which convinced me that it was a necessary purchase.

The first story I read was about Virginia Dare, the first English child born in the New World. According to legend, after the Lost Colony vanished, she was taken in by a Native American tribe, where she grew into a beautiful young woman. A powerful medicine man, jealous of her love for a young chief, cursed her and turned her into a white doe. Her lover tried everything to break the spell, but in the end, she was hunted and killed. Some say her spirit still wanders Roanoke Island in the form of a ghostly white deer. This haunting tale felt even more real when we later visited the Elizabethan Gardens in Manteo, where a marble statue of Virginia Dare, dressed as a Native American princess, stands quietly among the trees and flowers.

Of course, no trip to the Outer Banks would be complete without lighthouses. Each one has its own personality. The striped grandeur of Cape Hatteras (which is currently undergoing repairs), the picturesque Bodie Island, the quiet Roanoke Marshes, and the Currituck Beach Lighthouse with its unpainted brick tower. These tall, man-made guardians once stood watch, safely guiding sailors away from the perils of the “Graveyard of the Atlantic,” a stretch of coast that has claimed between 3,000 and 5,000 shipwrecks over the centuries. Standing at their bases, gazing upward, I couldn’t help but marvel while recalling the important role they played in our maritime history.

Later that evening, we found ourselves at Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, just in time for sunset. To our surprise, no one else was there. It was just us, the marshes, and the eclectic collection of wildlife including herons, egrets, turtles, and ducks. The sky shifted from blue to fiery orange to deep purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. In that quiet moment, with the sound of the water mingling with sounds of the birds flying overhead, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility. It was truly hard to leave this place.

The following day’s adventure was just as memorable. We boarded the ferry from Cape Hatteras to Ocracoke Island; we chose to stand on the deck so that we could feel the salt wind whipping against our faces and smell the salt air. For a fleeting moment, I wasn’t on the ferry, I was transported back in time. I was the captain of a battle-hardened Brigantine, the deck boards creaked beneath my boots as I gripped the wheel, navigating the tempestuous waters in search of pirates. There is just something about being on the water that makes you feel so alive! The endless expanse of sea, the pelicans diving gracefully, the hum of the ferry as it cuts through the waves, made for an exciting commute.

On Ocracoke, we learned about Blackbeard, the notorious pirate who met his end there. At Springer’s Point Preserve, we stood overlooking the spot where British forces finally defeated him. According to legend, after being beheaded, Blackbeard’s body swam three circles around the ship before sinking. Even today, some claim his ghostly form can still be seen wandering the waters, searching for his lost head. We also stopped to see some of the remaining wild horses on the island, descendants of Spanish horses that arrived there in the 1500s!

By the time we returned to Buxton, the Outer Banks had already wormed its way into our hearts. It was a place rich in history and legend, beauty and danger, peace and tranquility as well as conflict and danger. Every day seemed to offer a new story, waiting to be uncovered.

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Rhonda S. Kelley, Executive Director

Juniata River Valley Chamber of Commerce