So we arrived in Hatteras, a spot we had been anxious to visit since we first heard about it in Texas. First we cruised down to the crook in the cape, where the famous Hatteras Lighthouse stands. We had a chat with the park ranger, who has been working at Hatteras National Seashore for 23 years. He told us about the recent relocation of the lighthouse, the tallest in North America. Built over a century ago, the last 100 years had brought the ocean right up to the base of the structure, and engineers feared that the pine beam foundations would errode if the salt water got into it.
So they moved it.
Twenty thousand extra people crowded onto the Cape to witness the lighthouse moved onto its new foundation. The process of unearthing the foundation, separating the structure, lifting it onto a trailer of sorts, driving it to it's new location farther back from the beach, and putting it back in the ground took three weeks.
The ranger told us you could still smell the sap in the pines—they probably had another good 100 years left in them.
So we asked him about where the kiters go. He told us of a spot just south of Avon, a few miles up from the lighthouse—a parking lot on the west side of the main road, known as Canadian Hole to the locals, because in the shoulder season it is filled with windsurfers from Canada. Officially, and historically, it's known as The Haulover. It's one of the narrowest spots on the Cape, so in days of old, fishermen used to take their boats out of the sound, hook them up to a horse, and "haul them over" to the ocean side.
So we headed to The Haulover, pumped up the kites and, after being informed that an outcropping of beach that jutted into the sound was known as Kite Point, walked up the beach and out to our designated spot. (Gotta have four-wheel drive and no trailer to get out there in a vehicle.) Low and behold, we met some Canadians there, too! Thomas and his oldest of seven kids Peter were thinking about getting into kiting, so Brant gave them a few tips. The wind was up and down, so finally we each got a few runs on our biggest kite and then calm settled in with the sunset. The water was wonderful, though...75 degrees, sandy bottom and not too salty.
Sands of Time in Kinnakeet
We headed out in search of a campground, and found Sands of Time. Tucked on the sound side at the second light north of The Haulover, the well-kept campground in Avon is run by Gracie and John Gray. We met Gracie our first night as we walked into her office to check in. She filled us in on a few local truths, and dispelled a few not-so-local myths.
She's always got to be on the lookout for mooches. Apparently it's a pretty common occurance for visitors in the area to try to sneak into campgrounds late in the evening and leave early so they don't have to pay. Some just come to steal water or take showers. Her favorite solution is to wait until their all soapy and then shut off the water.
The weather here is not all as bad as the media makes it out to be. In the very worst hurricane that ever came through while she's lived on the Cape (all her life), the water rose up a few inches in her backyard, but not a drop made it into the house. She's never evacuated, despite many opportunities, and she said most of the locals don't leave. Remember Hurricane Dennis last year? Huge news, right? Well, the weather reporters came out to Hatteras after the hurricane had passed through, and they couldn't find a single person who would claim the storm had been horrible. Everybody said it wasn't such a big deal. The reporter's solution? Shoot the footage in front of an overturned boat and report on the extensive damage that Hatteras had sustained from Dennis. "The thing is," Gracie said, "that boat's been sunk for two years like that!"
"One of the worst storms out here was in 1944." Gracie told us. "It picked up people's houses and set them down again a few blocks away. So John's house was in Sam's yard after the hurricane. But the thing is, back then, nobody cared. John just went and lived in his house wherever the hurricane had set it, and that was that. Nowadays people aren't too keen on someone else's house sitting in their yard, so it's a bit more complicated."
We asked her about the name of the town, because although on the map it's called Avon, the water tower and her business cards were stamped with the name "Kinnakeet." Well, apparently nearly all the towns along the Cape had been renamed to make them easier to spell and remember. Hatteras kept its name, but Chicamacomico, Kinnakeet and other equally colorful names didn't make it into the new millenium. However, the locals didn't like the change so much, they liked their towns named just like they were. In Kinnakeet it was put to a vote, and Avon passed by one. The locals said to Hell with that, and so they just keep right on calling it by it's proper name. The postal service agreed that as long as they throw the zip code on it, they can call the town whatever they like.
So that was our first meeting with Gracie, and we liked her right away.
