May 3, 2003
“Ocracoke isn’t a place, it’s a planet,” Russ Newell tells me, as he leans against his open-back vehicle and pulls out a copy of his latest poem, just published in the local Ocracoke Observer. Propped against the car, he carefully places reading glasses on his nose and takes on the tone of a master storyteller. He reads to me of his friend Wahab, a perfect cadence of words floating across the island air.
Wahab was a man as tough as the sea,
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
Russ is accompanied by his dog, Downside Tack, who tosses curly, floppy ears to and fro and waits patiently for the reading to end. Downside Tack is responsible for eating at least half the interior of the car, Russ tells me.
He had a white skiff boat,
He was always looking at the ocean, the horizon and the sky.
When a tern bird broke on the water, he was quick to reply.
My trip to Ocracoke was impulsive, clinched by a phone call from Nags Head to Berkley Manor Bed and Breakfast, located in Ocracoke Village, the only portion of the 16-mile island that isn’t a part of Cape Hatteras National Seashore. A short conversation with Amy, the innkeeper, was enough for me to know I’d be missing something special if I passed up the chance to visit the island. Besides, if Ocracoke was good enough for Edward Teach, better known as the infamous pirate Blackbeard, it was good enough for me.
He might take a beer, and he might take a smoke,
But he was quick to laugh before you spoke.
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
Isolated and undeveloped, the majority of the island stands in sharp contrast to Ocracoke Village itself, which is packed with quaint shops, cafes and galleries. It’s a great combination: wilderness and small-town comforts rolled into one locale.
Early thick foggy morning as we headed down sound,
We were behind Portsmouth Island, first light of day.
He cut the motor and listened: something swimming in the water.
You could hear quite clear — might be a man and might be a deer.
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
I settled into a spacious room at Berkley Manor, with woodsy decor, sitting area and luxuriously soft bed. Originally built as a hunting and fishing lodge, this island retreat is now a perfect combination of rustic charm and modern amenities. Inside common areas offered additional places to relax, including a four-story tower with views of the island and water. Ice and refrigerator are easily accessed in the hospitality room, also where breakfast is served. A phone line in the central room allowed easy Internet access with my laptop.
We glided to the sound; it was quite hard to see.
But it wont no man and it wont no deer.
Just a bear who wanted to get in the boat with me.
For dinner, I took a short drive through the village to get to The Back Porch restaurant, a well-known island eatery which offers indoor and outdoor seating. With a floral tablecloth, oil lamp and jazz music playing, I feasted on mixed organic spring greens with a dijon-vinaigrette dressing, followed by scallops in a lime-cilantro butter sauce, which was delicious. Service, ambiance, and presentation were all excellent here. It was a good choice.
Wahab hit the throttle, leaving the bear behind.
Wahab said, “That bear just wanted to be a friend of mine.”
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
Breakfast at Berkley Manor was served buffet style, which allowed me to yawn my way into the morning with some flexibility of time, sneaking a cup of coffee back to my room before sitting down to scrambled eggs with herbs, biscuits, fresh cantalope and grapes, orange juice and last, but not least, apple turnovers. (These were fabulous and Amy was kind enough to send me off with extras when I left).
It takes two days to paint a boat; it took Wahab and me about a week.
We scraped her down and fixed every leak.
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
With only one day to explore, I still tried to see everything on the island. At this I failed, but given time limitations, I saw quite a bit, including a nice hidden beach and the Ocracoke Lighthouse. I had time to browse at Books to be Red and Island Ragpicker, plus do a little window-shopping at a few other stores.
We saw a hammerhead shark as long as the boat.
I was scared to move.
Wahab thought it was a joke.
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
At the recommendation of the innkeepers, I slid into Cafe Atlantic for brunch, a wood structure with seating areas both downstairs and upstairs. I landed at a great corner table and ordered shrimp and grits, served with a creole sauce and crumbled bacon. With excellent service from Tim, the waiter, and sweet potato biscuits alongside, it was wonderful. Why stop there? I indulged in some of their Coffee-Toffee ice cream on my way out.
I was looking at the shark
It was hard to see where the shark was looking
His eyes were three feet apart.
I caught the 6:00 Ocracoke-Cedar Island ferry, a crossing that lasts approx. two hours and fifteen minutes. Fifteen dollars got me across to the mainland. With a little exploring inside the ferry, I found a comfortable writing booth near the back, with a view of the setting sun out the window.
Elizabeth cooked the supper: fish, clams, crabs, scallops and evey vegetable we
hoped to see; cornbread, cakes, a pie, whipped cream.
The men ate first and there was an unexpected crowd, and the women ate, too.
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
I spent much of the journey in conversation with Daniel E. Dempster, a photographer working on a second book of lighthouses for Voyageur Press. His photographs in Lighthouses of the Great Lakes gave us plenty of subject matter for photo-talk. It was one of those serendipitous meetings that seems nothing less than perfect. The ferry ride passed quickly and Daniel soon headed for Cape Lookout, while I took off for the Beaufort/Morehead City area for the night.
Wahab got sick and we couldn’t fish anymore,
We sat on the porch and told of fish we caught before.
Wahab was a friend and a mentor of the sea.
We fished together, that Wahab and me.
I fell asleep with memories of an Ocracoke adventure, with images of lighthouses, small shops and galleries, and soaring egrets zooming across deserted dunes. As I drifted off to sleep, I could still hear the echo of Russ Newell’s words drifting through the island mist.
I might forget the fish.
I might forget the sea.
But I never will forget
That we fished together, that Wahab and me.
Wahab and Me, by Russ Newell (Reprinted with permission)