A long walk on a beautiful day

I enjoy walking, it's a good thing too, as the love of my life loves to walk.

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The 27th and 29th were two of the prettiest days I have seen in a long while. Particularly in the winter, almost 70 F by lunch, cloudless skies and light winds. The first day we were in shorts and walked bare foot on the beach, for six miles. I got a blister on my big toe.

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The second day we drove down the beach to the edge of a State Natural Area (didn't know there was such a thing), and walked down the beach from there. There were no vehicles and almost no people. We saw a total of six or so in five hours.

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Some where about two hours into the stroll, I took leave of my senses and thought it would be cool to walk to the next village for coffee.

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The round trip was thirteen miles, give or take.

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Thank God most of the sand was hard, slogging that far in soft sand would be a real nightmare.

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The first picture above is the Outer Banks pretty much as Stead Bonnet must have seen it a few hundred years ago.

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If you look closely Ft. Caswell and Old Baldy can be seen, as well as the mouth of the Cape Fear River. Those places were vacant in Bonnets time. Just to the right of this picture is Southport and Bonnets Creek, where the pirate hid his vessel, until his capture and hanging in Charleston.

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The second picture captures your humble scribe in winter plumage, standing on a dune, under the bluest sky I have seen in ages, with the wind at my back. Shortly after this was taken it warmed to the point that the jacket had to come off.

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I wish I could grow hair on my head like I can on my face, I'd look like wolf man. I already have the hair on my ears.

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To my left as you view the picture is Bonnets Creek.

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The third picture is a view of one of the few pristine beaches left, about five miles of strand with nothing on it except tracks.

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One of the things we do used to be called "beach combing". In our case, the search is for "sea glass", broken bottles that have washed in like sea shells, smoothed and frosted. We use them to fill the bottom of clear bowls for decoration.

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There is no point to our excursions, we just go and walk or wander for miles, soaking up the sun getting wind blown and hot or cold as the season dictates.

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The Ft. Fisher Hermit lived near here in a WWII bunker. He was there for twenty or so years, alone except for his dogs, until he was murdered for something he didn't have.

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I think I know why he stayed.