Outer Banks, NC

Another day I decided to paddle from Roanoke Island, which sits at the northern end of the Outer Banks like a stepping-stone from the mainland. Just 3 miles wide by 12 miles long, this is the commercial and tourist center of the Banks, with an aquarium, an Elizabethan garden, and a historical park. After lunch in the pleasant waterfront village of Manteo, I put in at a boat ramp by the Washington Baum bridge and paddled south toward the fishing village of Wanchese, experiencing a birding extravaganza and the largest network of marshes I had explored so far. At one point there were three layers of birds above me: two ospreys circling for prey, a line of pelicans passing through, and black-headed laughing gulls swooping at the water. Terns hovered and plunged nearby with an audible plop to emerge with small fish, and many great blue herons and egrets stalked the shorelines. If I'd organized the logistics right, the wind at my stern would have made it an easy all-day paddle across the sound to where I was staying, about 20 miles to the south.

Intrigued by being so close to the open Atlantic, I packed a picnic lunch on my last day, strapped on a surf rod, and went to explore Oregon Inlet, a passage to the ocean opened by an 1846 hurricane. The protected harbor is filled with deep-sea charter fishing boats that haul in yellowfin tuna, wahoo, marlin, sailfish, king mackerel, and bluefish. After putting in at the boat ramp, I first paddled north toward the 1872 Bodie Island Lighthouse, but again the shallows had other ideas. After towing my boat a couple hundred yards over a sandy bottom artistically rippled with dark plants, I headed west into the deeper water of the sound. Suddenly the clear water turned a beautiful azure blue, revealing a deep sandy hole perfect for throwing in a lure.

My first cast from shore drew a strike, and five minutes later I landed a shiny 22-inch striped bass. I caught a bigger one on my second cast, releasing both (they were out of season). In all that day, I caught seven stripers in areas where no one else fishes because of the shallows. An extravagance of birds-noisy black-and-white oystercatchers with their startling cigar-like red bills, a whimbrel with its long, slender down-curving beak, and a small tri-colored heron-entertained me near the shrubby low islands and mudflats.

As the sun headed down in late afternoon, I pushed off and headed back, the water wrapping around the bridge's concrete pillars hinting at a strong outgoing tide. But the paddling was easy, and once back in the sound, I soaked up the atmosphere and ocean smell, in no hurry to leave the Outer Banks behind. Around a marshy bend, an egret stood perhaps 50 yards away on a point. I quickly got out my camera, shipped my paddle, and sitting very still, let the wind blow me down in its direction. I was practically upon it and clicking frames before it seemed to notice me. Leisurely, it turned its back, flapped its huge wings, and legs dangling, flew off a short distance to resume fishing. I had gotten more than my catch of the day, happily preserved in film and memory, and paddled contentedly back to shore.