Leaving The Island

Last night’s deluge left the narrow, sandy streets of Ocracoke underwater and the RV surrounded by a shallow lake. I tip-toed on the high spots avoiding the floating dog poop, unplugged the electricity and headed out early under promising skies. My first stop was for a flock of ducks swimming across the Back Road. After enjoying latte and the morning paper in the comforts of an over stuff couch at the Coffee Shack, the day started to shape up. Ahead of me was a two hour ferry ride across Pamlico Sound to Cedar Island. Destination Beaufort – pronounced bow (as in bow-tie) ford – otherwise one might think you were asking for directions to South Carolina where it is pronounced as one might expect.

Before getting in line for the ferry, I took a quick trip to the beach to see a still angry surf take a chunk out of the shore line. On my return to town, I once again ran into a Harley Club, this time visiting the Lighthouse.
I was tempted to sleep on the ferry. The night’s rain pounded on the RV and the forty mile an hour gusts rocked my little home. But I had no fear of the captain falling overboard. Thunderstorms were in the forecast, but they never materialized. Instead of napping, I read a newspaper catching up on the news which featured Democrat verse Republican strategies. I amused myself with the crossword, suduko and The Jumble.

In Beaufort I stopped in at the visitor’s center for information on campsites. Two gentlemen companions were buying china in the gift store that is a part of the center. I patiently waited for the clerk to find a box for the blue and white piece when the one gentleman sitting behind me asked if he could ask me a question. I did not have the faintest idea what he might ask, but the first thing that came into my head which I said out loud, “You want to know why my hair is so messy?”

Actually he wanted to know if that was a natural curl I was sporting. Of course it is, accentuated by the fact that this morning I did not wash it, or even brush it, but slapped a ball cap on until noon, and then let the strong breezes on the ferry blow it all around. He complimented my hair saying if it wasn’t natural he wanted to know who set the perm. His friend engaged in the conversation informing me that he was a hair dresser.

“Was that really the question you wanted to ask me?” He said it was. I thanked him, saying he made my day. Now if I could only find a camp site.

Back tracked nine miles to Coastal Riverside Campground in Otway, NC. The RV is parked next to the South River, overlooking the west where the last traces of daylight sit. Red washes the low horizon, a harsh contrast to the black waters in the tidal marshes. Higher in the sky hangs a first quarter moon. The winds have died down, but has left a whispered hush in the oak leaves above the RV. Now this is camping.