Winds, Waves, and Legends: An Outer Banks Adventure
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.
Part Two: Lessons in Storms and Hospitality
While the sights and legends of the Outer Banks filled me with fascination, it was the people and the lessons they unknowingly taught me that left the deepest impression.
On our first day in Buxton, I asked the hotel clerk, a local, what there was to do in the area. Her answer stunned me. “Nothing,” she said matter-of-factly. I stood there blinking, unsure how to respond. I had two full pages of attractions I’d researched before our trip, yet here was someone in the hospitality business minimizing her own hometown. When I gently pressed, she admitted there were, in fact, things to do: lighthouses, ghost tours, museums, world-class surfing, and more. She even mentioned that Buxton hosted the world’s largest surf fishing tournament, drawing more than 800 anglers from around the globe. To me, that sounded like something to brag about, not hide.
Her answer reminded me of conversations I’ve had back home, where locals tell visitors there’s “nothing to do.” We become so accustomed to our surroundings that we stop seeing them. It’s as if familiarity dulls our sense of wonder. Yet to outsiders, our daily landscapes are often admired. This realization stayed with me for the rest of the trip, and it’s something I carried home: the importance of looking at your own community through fresh eyes.
Of course, the Outer Banks has a way of driving home its lessons in dramatic fashion. On our final day, we awoke to driving rain and a message from our hotel warning us to move our cars since the parking lot was flooding. Overnight, an unnamed tropical storm had swept in, and the island was already feeling its fury. We checked quickly, only to find ourselves driving north through 70-mile-per-hour wind gusts. One bridge closed behind us as a trailer overturned. Rain lashed the windshield so hard it felt like gravel, and at times the road seemed to disappear beneath the sheets of water.
For us as visitors it was exhilarating, terrifying, and a bit traumatic, all at once. For the people who live there, it is a way of life. These storms come often, sometimes without warning, ravaging the land and forcing residents to rebuild again and again. Yet they stay. Many families have been rooted here for generations, their love for the sea outweighing its risks.
That resilience struck me deeply. It takes a special kind of courage to not only endure such challenges but to embrace them as part of who you are. The people of Buxton, Hatteras, and Ocracoke embody that spirit: hardy, hardworking, and unshaken by the storms that try to drive them away. They reminded me that hardship doesn’t erase beauty; it accentuates and defines it.
For me, the Outer Banks was more than just lighthouses and legends, it was a living lesson in perspective. It taught me that we all need to stop and see the treasures around us, to not dismiss our own communities as “nothing.” It showed me that storms, though frightening, reveal the strength of both land and people. And it reminded me that sometimes the best journeys are the ones that catch us off guard, the ones that challenge our expectations and leave us with more than just photographs.
This trip to Cape Hatteras was more than a birthday gift; it was a gift of perspective. I left with stories of pirates and white does, memories of sunsets and ferries, and the taste of apple uglies still lingering. But more than anything, I left with a renewed appreciation for resilience of both people and places.
The Outer Banks showed me that beauty and hardship often walk hand in hand. It reminded me to see my own community with fresh eyes and to value the things I may take for granted. It taught me that storms, whether literal or figurative, don’t have to push us away, or frighten us, they can strengthen our roots and deepen our love for the places we call home.
The sea, I know, will call me back again, and the Outer Banks will remain etched in my heart as the place that shared many legends, tested its strength, and reminded me of my own. To quote John Denver, “To live on the land we must learn from the ocean, to be true as the tide and free as the wind swell.”
Rhonda S. Kelley, Executive Director
Juniata River Valley Chamber of Commerce