81: Coastal Resilience
H A T T E R A S I S L A N D, N C
I’m heading south from Nags Head, leaving its tourism gaudiness behind, cruising down the Outer Banks National Scenic Byway. The ride is idyllic. Sand, seagulls, and sunshine as far as you can see amid dunes covered in sea oats, salt-pruned live oak, and bright orange firewheel flowers. The Pamlico Sound on one side, and the Atlantic Ocean on the other – sometimes just a few hundred feet apart. Further down the island, this byway is twenty-six miles out to sea - the mainland no longer visible across the sound.
One of the best attributes of the Outer Banks comes via the U. S. Department of the Interior (DOI) in places like Cape Hatteras & Cape Lookout National Seashores and Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge. Once south of Nags Head, these lands encompass most of the islands. Smaller, more-authentic beach towns are dotted in along the way like Rodanthe, Avon, Frisco, and where I’m heading – Salvo. There are few signs of development between the small towns. It’s truly wild and pristine. But beautiful as it is, this byway leads through a battleground.
The barrier islands of the Outer Banks are tenuous and shifty. The unrelenting rising and falling tides chew away at their shorelines, pulling handfuls of sand out to sea with each lapping wave. Hurricanes occasionally sweep through, sledge-hammering shorelines even more, splitting entire sections in two, adding millions to department of transportation budgets.
Exacerbating matters in this battle is a rising sea. The scenic byway is a mere two feet above sea-level in places. And that sea is rising at a rate of 1.75 feet per one hundred years according to the National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration. You do the math; basic algebra predicts when this byway will be under water.
I’ve been visiting the Outer Banks since the 1970’s. The first house I stayed in no longer exists – swept out to sea. Over the years, I’ve rented a home at the very northern end in Corolla, camped on the eastern-most tip of Cape Hatteras; and crossed Ocracoke Inlet in a tiny skiff to visit uninhabited Portsmouth Island near the southern end. I’ve hiked through shrubby, bug-infested woods, driven on the beach, climbed high dunes, kayaked at sunset, gotten chased by a water moccasin, spotted a rare red wolf, and unfailingly, every time here, risen ridiculously early to photograph sunrises and other coastal landscapes. Some incredible experiences have been had. I’d argue that in the eastern U.S., there is no better coastal experience than the Outer Banks, especially south of Nags Head.
The Nature Conservancy (TNC) understands the beauty of this place too, and certainly understands the battle being waged. One of their strategic areas of focus as a world-renown conservation organization is sea-level rise. Their efforts have led to the formation of an amazing partnership with NOAA, ESRI, Microsoft and others to create the Coastal Resilience program (link here) which consists of an approach, mapping tool, and network of practitioners supporting hazard mitigation and adaptation planning. This resource has been used by the towns of Hatteras Island and Nags Head, as well as the DOI’s Cape Hatteras National Seashore. If you’re a geographic nerd like me, I’d encourage you to click the link and get lost in its mapping power for a few hours and learn about the science of sea-level rise.
On the last full day visiting Salvo, my two adult daughters join me for a sea-level rise tour. It’s a chance to share my passion for TNC. Our first stop is the sunrise at Avon. Beside the pier we watch the sky light up in an array of wonderful colors. It’s a classic Outer Banks experience. Most head back to bed after watching the sunrise, but we continue our tour at the old site of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. The exact spot where the lighthouse used to sit is now nearly in the ocean. In 1999, the lighthouse was moved 2,900 feet back away from the rising sea to live another day. It was a harrowing and impressive engineering challenge to move the nation’s tallest and most iconic lighthouse to a safer location… for now.
Next, we follow the Outer Banks as it turns due west around the cape. We drive through the Cape Hatteras National Seashore campground I stayed at long ago and find an access trail leading to Hatteras Bight. The beach here is dramatic and impressively wide. Though we can see the ocean, it’s a long sandy hike to its edge, feeling more like crossing a desert than an east coast beach. The cool, late-summer morning air though makes this a pleasant meander.
At sea’s edge, we wander about poking at shells in the morning’s golden light. I grab a keepsake; another trophy-in-the-case of amazing TNC-related places visited. We also come across multiple cordoned off sea turtle nest sites – the work of other conservation organizations here on the Outer Banks. It’s a beautiful beach at a very unique location, and I’m thrilled to be able to share this time with my daughters. Why is the water’s edge such an attraction?
Before leaving, I stop and stare out over the water. The smooth curve of the bight meanders southwesterly toward Frisco; the shoreline is mostly barren and pristine. The lapping waves mesmerize as always. Beautiful as they are though, there’s a slightly sinister aura in them; not as idyllic as they may seem. They’re creeping, millimeters at a time, grabbing sand, causing lighthouses to move, re-routing roads, flooding lands, and causing not just municipalities but all of us to confront a rising sea.
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