A Visit to the Graveyard of the Atlantic, Chapter 1

It was July 1975. My friend Gordie Keen and I had been sent to the Anti-Submarine Warfare School at the Destroyer-Submarine Base in Norfolk, Virginia, for a two week tour of Naval Reserve duty. On the intervening weekend, we decided it would be fun to take a camping trip down the Outer Banks of North Carolina. So, we checked out a tent and other camping supplies from Navy Special Services and set out Friday evening in Gordie's Mazda sedan. By the time we reached Hatteras Island, it was raining pretty heavily, and we discovered our Navy-issue tent wasn't exactly waterproof. We had one or two bottles of Seagram's 7 and a cooler full of beer (Schmidt's of Philadelphia! Remember?), so we had no trouble getting to sleep, rain notwithstanding. We arose Saturday morning with clothing dampened but spirits undaunted and proceeded to the Cape Hatteras National Seashore Park, where we climbed the 268 steps to the light platform of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, a/k/a "The Big Barber Pole"... There, 208 feet above sea level, the wind was a mighty elemental force, as you can see...

The visibility was so poor you couldn't see much on the seaward side; but, looking straight down, you could see an amusing bit of seaweed graffiti on the beach... I don't know exactly what the viewer was being exhorted to do (jump off, perhaps?), but what we did was the only sensible thing to do on a day like that: Drive to Hatteras Village and eat breakfast.

Next we checked out the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station in Rodanthe. Fascinating place, those Outer Banks. Many ships came to grief on the treacherous Diamond Shoals off Hatteras and elsewhere along the Outer Banks, nicknamed "The Graveyard of the Atlantic." You can still see the skeletons of wooden and iron ships along the beaches -- which, by the way, in good weather are some of the loveliest beaches in the world.

As the day wore on, we took the ferry from Hatteras Island to Ocracoke, but I'll tell you about that next time.