Huggins Island

As the previous post indicated, we are indeed fortunate to be able to spend January and February here in Atlantic Beach.  It is because of the generosity of Martha's Aunt, Lizette, that we are able to stay in this condo and pursue the running and other outdoor activities that we enjoy, as well as the many other cultural and educational activities that we have discovered over the years.  We have joined Friends of Fort Macon and the N. C. Maritime Museum, and so we have access to the many activities there.  Martha has also learned how to discover additional activities, such as at the N. C. Aquarium in Pine Knoll Shores.  We buy the weekly paper on Sunday, and that's where she learned about an excursion to Huggins Island.

Huggins Island History Tour, the notice in the paper said.

I had noticed that "Dress for the weather" sentence.  Temperatures were in the 60s but there was a brisk 17 mph wind from the southwest.  So we prepared for the outing by wearing Goretex hiking boots and windbreakers.

It was a beautiful morning, and I found myself awaking before dawn, just in time to witness another sunrise from the dune-top deck.

The ocean had calmed down overnight, and overhead I watched several squadrons of pelicans, one after another, flying in formation from east to west, as if they had been released from captivity at the same time as the sun. 

We had visited Hammocks Beach State Park last year for the first time.  It is located on the other side of Swansboro, about a 45-minute drive from Atlantic Beach.  The Park, named the Coastal Park of the Year two years ago, covers 1,611 acres  and consists of the relatively large Bear Island (where there are campsites and hiking trails) and three smaller islands, Dudley, Huggins, and Jones, located in the nearby mouth of the White Oak River.

We arrived at the handsome Visitors Center early and had plenty of time to look at some of the historic artifacts and displays, including a Civil War-era cannonball discovered on Huggins Island which our guide later told us had been determined to be a live one; it had been defused and was resting safely in a glass case.

Our fellow passengers began to arrive and we enjoyed chatting with them while waiting for our guide.  One couple said they lived "right over there," and gestured toward the west; their home was on the banks of the Intracoastal waterway, and the woman had lived there since the Second Grade.  She had visited Bear Island often but never Huggins Island.  We thought we might be the most far-flung passengers until we met some folks from upstate New York near Syracuse, one of them a runner only a year younger than I am.

Our guide, Renée, had been at Hammocks Beach since 2009 and was very knowledgeable, although she said that when she arrived she had to learn to drive a boat.  Most of the State Park is scattered among the nearby islands.  Huggins lies east of the Visitors Center on the mainland.

The boat was a small, flat-bottomed ferry that held thirteen of us, including Renée.  That's an unlucky number, I thought to myself, but although the Intracoastal Waterway seemed a little choppy, Renée seemed to know what she was doing.  And there were life jackets under the seats.

We were surprised to find ourselves out in open water approaching the waterfront in Swansboro on our way to the eastern shore of Huggins Island.  We could see the familiar sights of the "Friendly City by the Sea" which we had visited many times (see post of January 14), including the tall two-story Saltwater Grille from which we had often seen boats passing by while eating lunch, perhaps even this very one.

Renée was a font of information, and as we approached the shore she told us that the island had been settled for farming in the 1800s.  Old photos she had seen showed it clear cut of trees, with houses and barns.  The channel had been dug out by hand, along with several small coves.  It was now uninhabited and had been acquired relatively recently by the State Park system for $1 million.  It was home to wild pigs, deer, possums, many species of birds, and at least one coyote.  During the summer, she said, it was also well-populated with chiggers, ticks, and snakes.  We were glad that it was February.

We circled around to the north side of the island, and the water was pretty choppy out in the open water, throwing up sheets of spray over several of the passengers.  I had brought a light windbreaker and it served its purpose well, although my Goretex rain jacket would have been a better choice.  One or two of the passengers looked miserable, soaked in their blue jeans and sweatshirts.

We pulled up to the shore and walked up into the woods, where the remains of the earthen-walled fort from the Civil War were still visible.  The White Oak River had been the dividing line between Union and Confederate forces, and artillery had been placed here, but it had not suffered the bombardment that Ford Macon had received before its surrender.

The woods were a tangle of live oak trees.  Martha and another man, among the first ashore, saw a large dog-like creature running away through the woods, which they were sure was a coyote.

We climbed up on top of one of the earthen walls, sheltering a bunker, while Renée told us a little about daily life for the 80 soldiers garrisoned here in wooden buildings.  It is hard to believe that this little island was inhabited by farmers and then by an army those many years ago.

We were hoping to see some birds, but although we heard them high in the trees, we did not spot any.  Renée said she had been told that one particular bird inhabited the island; she had tried to see one for a year or two - often hearing its high, flute-like call -  before finally spotting one:  a painted bunting.  She passed around a photo of this beautiful bird, that looked like an artist's palette.

It was growing late in the afternoon and the wind had picked up as we boarded the little ferry again and crossed the Waterway toward the Visitors Center.  The water was rough and we all got pretty wet, so it was a relief to finally return to shore and a heated building before going our separate ways.  One woman who had sat next to me, huddled in a soaking wet sweatshirt, said she was cold and wet.  "But you had a great time, didn't you?" I asked, and she instantly agreed.