Sixty years ago this week, the most powerful hurricane to strike North Carolina devastated much of our coastline. Hurricane Hazel remains one of the benchmark coastal storms against which all others in the state are measured. This is the last of three stories that relive Hazel with people who lived through it and examine the lessons it taught us. This article was first published in the autumn issue of Coastwatch magazine, a publication of North Carolina Sea Grant.

Steve Pfaff, warning coordination meteorologist with the National Weather Service, says speed was the key to Hurricane Hazel’s sustained violence. The faster the storm moves over land, the less its wind can be disrupted, he says. Photo: Pam Smith

Most North Carolinians who lived through Hurricane Hazel — the only recorded Category 4 hurricane to make landfall in North Carolina — vividly recall the destructive force of the 1954 event as a major benchmark in their lives.

“People who were just four or five years old when Hazel struck seem to remember every detail of that awful day in their lives. Hazel was that terrible. She made a profound impact on their lives,” says Steve Pfaff, warning coordination meteorologist with theNational Weather Service in Wilmington.

Sixty years later, the National Weather Service still considers Hazel a meteorological anomaly — a destructive force that defied conventional wisdom and science. Born in the tropics, the storm struck the Carolina coast at 10 a.m. on Oct. 15, 1954. The storm reached the Canadian border at 10 p.m. and finally dissipated in the Arctic on Oct. 18.

Hazel defied expectations by holding her fury together long after initial landfall. National Weather Service experts say speed was the key to her sustained violence. Racing as fast as 50 miles an hour, she outran the normal weakening process. The faster the storm moves over land, the less its winds can be disrupted, Pfaff explains.

He points out that forecasting weather, communicating in formation to the public, emergency management and building codes for coastal areas all have changed exponentially in the past 60 years. These modifications were designed to save lives and property.

Back in 1954, volunteer observers such as the late Jessie S. Taylor of Southport, received, recorded and conveyed daily weather data from the U.S. Weather Bureau to the public. On Oct. 14, 1954, the then-75-year-old Taylor noticed Hazel’s unorthodox turn and hoisted storm flags to the top of the lighted waterfront signal tower to warn ships and local residents of the impending danger.

In those post-World War II years, the science and technology used in forecasting was rudimentary compared to what is available today. Reconnaissance aviation was just beginning to blossom, radar was in its infancy and communication was sparse.

“Today, forecasting tools are precise and immediate. And, we have multiple means of communicating reliable and useful information. The Weather Service partners with media professionals and emergency managers to help raise the public’s situational awareness — and save lives,” Pfaff says.

Twenty years ago when Pfaff began his National Weather Service career, it took five to seven minutes to gather information, type out the data and send reports to media outlets. Now, it takes a matter of seconds, he points out.

Much has changed since Hurricane Hazel, including state building codes for coastal construction, adds Spencer Rogers, North Carolina Sea Grant coastal construction and erosion specialist.

The widespread destruction of grade-level structures close to the ground was a wake-up call for North Carolina, Rogers explains. In the mid-1960s, following the lead of Florida’s Miami and Dade County, North Carolina adopted coastal building codes requiring elevated structures on open pilings to accommodate storm surge.

The code was updated again in 1986, with input from Rogers and Sea Grant researchers. The change required pilings to be buried 8 feet into the ground and rise 8 feet above ground to address erosion that could undermine pilings.

“If a storm like Hazel hit the coast today, there would be significantly less damage to buildings because of revised building codes,” Rogers points out.

“But, even the most sturdy and code-compliant building does not make it 100 percent hurricane proof. Coastal residents should heed messages from the weather service and local emergency managers,” he advises.

Have a Plan

Having a family evacuation plan in advance is essential, continues Jessica Whitehead, Sea Grant coastal community hazards adaptation specialist. She is working with stakeholders in Hyde County to identify and address coastal hazards threatening their community.

“Awareness is the best defense. Have a plan. Then get out of harm’s way. There is no such thing as ‘just’ where hurricanes are concerned. Even ‘just’ a Category 1 carries the threat of wind, surge and possible flooding,” Whitehead points out.

Burrell Montz, chair of the East Carolina University Department of Geology, agrees. “I would like to see the word ‘just’ erased from the public’s perception of weather-related hazards. Often people don’t take into account how large an area a storm may cover, or that a lingering system may cause widespread and dangerous flooding.”

Hurricanes also pose threats to people living along the sounds, as well as oceanfront residents.

Hurricane Hazel’s surge floods Morehead City. Sixty years later, the National Weather Service still considers Hazel a meteorological anomaly — a destructive force that defied conventional wisdom and science. Photo courtesy: Associated Press, East Carolina RENCI

Currently, Montz is conducting research that is funded by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, National Weather Service and New York and New Jersey Sea Grant programs. She is working with National Weather Service and emergency management professionals to review and adapt forecasting products and messages that help people understand the information and make life-saving decisions.

She worries that new residents to coastal counties from areas that are not prone to tropical storms or nor’easters may be less likely to understand the seriousness of severe weather watches and warnings.

Montz has good advice to people in vulnerable areas that reiterates North Carolina Sea Grant research results: Know how to get reliable information and trust emergency managers’ expertise.

For example, emergency managers know that bridges, which are the main evacuation route for many coastal areas, are not safe at certain wind velocities. Managers need to get people out sooner rather than later — and preferably during daylight hours.

“If emergency managers say ‘go,’ do it,” Montz says.

Sea Grant is one of several organizations that is partnering with National Weather Service to recall the impact and legacy of Hurricane Hazel. Throughout hurricane season in 2014 — June 1 to Nov. 1 — workshops, conferences and town hall meetings are raising public awareness and prompting communities to be prepared long before a named storm is barreling toward the coast.

Like the names they are given, each hurricane is different, but preparations should be standard. It’s important for people to know how to take care of themselves should emergency responders or disaster-relief teams be delayed.

“We have not dealt with a storm like Hazel for six decades, but we can’t be lulled into complacency,” notes Pfaff. “It’s all about spreading the word, educating the public about the vulnerability of coastal communities.”

Sixty years ago this week, the most powerful hurricane to strike North Carolina devastated much of our coastline. Hurricane Hazel remains one of the benchmark coastal storms against which all others in the state are measured. This is the second of three stories that relive Hazel with people who lived through it and examine the lessons it taught us. This article was first published in the autumn issue of Coastwatch magazine, a publication of North Carolina Sea Grant.

Charles “Skeeter” Trott stands in front of the Southport home that sheltered his family during Hurricane Hazel. Photo: Pam Smith

It was Oct. 15, 1954, the day Hurricane Hazel devastated Long Beach in Brunswick County.

“It was the day before my 13th birthday. Not many of the families we knew were lucky enough to live year-round on Long Beach,” says Charles “Skeeter” Trott, whose late father, Charles Moore Trott, was a Long Beach real estate developer.

With news of the coming storm, the elder Trott sent his wife, Vida Hood Trott, and son to Southport with neighbors Charlotte and Robert Jones, and their young son, Butch. They were to stay with the Arrington family in what today is the Brunswick Inn, a bed and breakfast facing Water Street.

“My dad stayed behind, saying he needed to keep things safe on the island. He woke up before daylight on Friday with the house shaking,” Trott says.

The rising ocean washed away the family car and he was stranded.

Soon the Trotts’ home succumbed to forceful winds, and the two-story house next door blew — or floated — across the road. His dad found refuge in a house the wind had wedged into the woods across the island. There, he waited out the storm clinging to a mattress atop a refrigerator.

“After the storm passed and the tide ebbed, Dad began the 4-mile walk to the swing bridge that would take him to the mainland,” Trott adds.

Meanwhile in Southport, the storm raged. It was too dark to see anything. “When the eye passed over, Butch and I sneaked out to have a look,” he remembers.

The boys were stunned to see what the first wall of Hazel had done to Southport’s waterfront — fish houses, Harrelson’s grocery store and most waterside structures were gone. Boats were pushed up into yards and houses.

A view of Southport’s waterfront along Bay Street after Hurricane Hazel hit on Oct. 15, 1954. Photo: Star Newsarchives

“The second eye wall bashed what was left standing and water pushed up into Bay Street and along the boat basin,” he says. “The storm was scary, but not knowing what happened to my dad was terrifying.

Was he dead or alive? Southport was ravaged. What must have happened on the island? We feared the worst,” Trott recalls.

As soon as they were allowed, they headed to Long Beach. As they got to the bridge they saw a figure walking toward them. It was his father. Tears of relief flowed freely.

Like most residents on Long Beach, the Trott family lost most of their possessions. Remarkably, they discovered a corner china cabinet lying on its side at the tree line. Looters had taken the family silver, but the china was intact.

“Long Beach looked like a desert. The dunes were leveled and Hazel’s surge cut a temporary inlet through the island. Only five houses remained. We felt lucky, even though we lost so much. We came out of it alive,” he says.

Trott graduated from Southport High School in 1960 and soon began a 36-year career as an ammunition inspector at Sunny Point Military Depot. He married in 1962. “And, by the way,” Trott adds, “my wife’s name is Hazel.”

New Hanover Beaches Hit

More developed than Brunswick County beaches at the time, New Hanover County’s Wrightsville Beach and Carolina Beach homes and businesses were ripe for the taking by Hazel’s wind, surge and waves.

On Wrightsville Beach, Hazel wiped out oceanfront cottages, promoting second-row cottages to front-row properties. The iconic Ocean Terrace and Seashore hotels were destroyed and popular fishing piers washed away.

The causeway was littered with fishing boats that broke loose from their moorings and were driven inland by the relentless wind and waves.

Newspapers reported that 14 blocks of Carolina Beach were flooded during the storm, with 362 buildings destroyed and another 288 severely damaged.

Kure Beach Bashed

Jean and Andrew “Punkie” Kure, now 85 and 87 years old respectively, say the ferocity of Hurricane Hazel took many Kure Beach residents off guard.

“It had been wonderful summer and fall seasons. Up to the day before the storm, fish were biting two at a time at the pier,” Jean Kure recalls.

They found themselves in the thick of evacuation plans by mid-afternoon on Thursday. Andrew Kure, volunteer fire chief and emergency manager, received word that the storm was fast-moving, hard- hitting and aiming at the Carolina coast.

He hustled his wife and six-year-old daughter, Linda, across the swing bridge to stay with relatives on the mainland.

The year-round population of Kure Beach at the time was about 100. But there were more than double that number of cottages and apartments in the burgeoning seaside community.

A powerful wave surge hits the Kure Beach Pier House during Hurricane Hazel. Photo courtesy: Andrew Kure

What is left standing of the Kure Beach Pier after Hurricane Hazel. Photo:Island Gazette archives

“I called the troops together — six volunteer firemen and one police officer — to begin knocking on doors to get people off the island. The wind was howling long before Hazel made landfall,” he explains.

“We continued to knock on doors until we were satisfied that everyone had left or was in the process of leaving. We received little resistance, except for one group of visiting fishermen who were intent on riding out the storm. We warned them that they were in peril, that neither they nor the cottage were likely to survive the storm. They sobered up quickly, packed up and left,” he says.

With warnings complete, Kure fought his way against the wind to retrieve his cat, Tom. They hunkered down with the rest of the crew in the church shelter to wait out the storm, listening to the sound of buildings being ripped apart.

There were some close calls, Kure points out. The bridge tender at the bridge over Snow’s Cut — a manmade canal that connects the Cape Fear River to Myrtle Grove Sound — reported seeing a house break loose and wash through the canal. When the eye passed and winds shifted to the opposite direction, the same house rode the rushing water back through. Somehow, the bridge was unscathed.

Andrew and Jean Kure have not seen a storm like Hazel before or sine that event. Photo: Pam Smith

Hazel downed most oceanfront structures. The Kure Pier was destroyed and the pier house left on toothpick-like stilts. Five feet of sand covered U.S. 421 in most places.

The fishermen’s rental cottage? As Kure predicted, it did not survive Hazel’s fury — nor did the Kures’ own oceanfront rental properties.

“I had never seen anything like it before — or since,” Jean Kure says.

Her father, a lineman with the power company, worked day and night for weeks to reset power poles and lines downed by the storm.

“Everyone pulled together. The Red Cross and Salvation Army stayed for a long time with shelter, food and water. And the Health Department came to all affected communities to administer typhoid shots to prevent waterborne diseases,” she points out.

The day after Hazel, Andrew Kure, who had retired from the Marine Corps as a pilot not long before the storm hit, was asked to fly a plane for Jim Jeffries, a photographer with The Greensboro News and Record. They followed Hazel’s course along the southeast coast for an aerial survey of her destruction.

Sixty years later, Kure is still at a loss for words to describe what he saw. “It was hard to take in all that devastation,” he says shaking his head. “It was shocking.”

Carteret County on the Edge

Carteret County, some 120 miles north of Hazel’s landfall, was not spared the storm’s wrath. Surging waters flooded waterfront homes and businesses, including the landmark Sanitary Seafood Market and Restaurant, where John Tunnell, now 83, worked.

He remembers the early warning “of a big one coming our way,” heard through radio messages from ships at sea. Tunnell helped restaurant owner Tony Seamon Jr. prepare for the worst. “We lashed the building to pilings and cut holes in the floor to equalize pressure if the water came in. It came in all right,” he says.

After the storm, he helped the owners clean up. “We set up the Sanitary as a round-the-clock feeding center for work crews from as far away as Tennessee and Alabama doing cleanup in the area,” says Tunnell, who still reports for work at Sanitary.

Margaret Daniels of Williston, who lived with her family on Cedar Island in 1954, remembers Hazel very well.

“The wind was howling while we were eating breakfast. The house was shaking and the walls were swaying. Suddenly the chimney fell through the roof — right into my plate,” she says.

John Tunnell cut sections in the floor of the Sanitary Fish Market and Restaurant in Morehead City to equalize the water pressure of Hazel’s surge. Photo: Pam Smith

“In the middle of all this, a neighbor came by to ask if she could pick up the pears that blew off the tree in the high winds. Can you imagine that?” Daniels asks.Natalie Willett Johnson, of Harkers Island, will never forget her wedding day to her late husband, Reis.

They were supposed to be married on Oct. 15 at the home of the groom’s aunt. It had been a whirlwind romance. He was 25. She was 18, spending the summer on Harkers Island before she was to begin her freshman year at what was then East Carolina College.

“We fell madly in love and decided to marry before he entered the Coast Guard that fall,” Johnson relates. It would be a double wedding with Reis’ cousin Coreen and her fiancé Ronnie Chadwick.

On the day of the storm, the wedding party braved the treacherous wind to drive across the bridge to the aunt’s mainland brick home.

Of course, the preacher couldn’t make it. So, the couples married the next day. But when the storm washed out the North River Bridge, plans for a honeymoon in Beaufort or New Bern were dashed. Instead, the newlyweds — both the Johnsons and the Chadwicks — honeymooned at the Sea Level Inn.

After her husband’s Coast Guard career, the Johnsons returned to Harkers Island in 1969, where they resumed life as a commercial fishing family.

Down East fishing communities, including Sea Level and Atlantic, also suffered losses and close calls.

Mildred Willis Gilgo of Atlantic, who was eight years old at the time, recalls what happened to her father, Julian Willis. “My dad left the fishing grounds to get ahead of the storm. The current was cut off on shore early to prevent electrocution, and that meant there would be no lights on shore to guide him as he crossed the shoal. He would be in serious trouble,” she says.

The alert went out through the fishing community, and dozens of people lined up their vehicles along the shore, lights on, to guide him in safely.

“It’s the way we ‘neighbor up’ in a close community,” Gilgo observes. “If you choose a life on the water, you learn to be resilient.”

Sixty years ago this week, the most powerful hurricane to strike North Carolina devastated much of our coastline. Hurricane Hazel remains one of the benchmark coastal storms against which all others in the state are measured. We’ll take the next three days reliving Hazel with people who lived through it and examining the lessons it taught us. This article was first published in the autumn issue of Coastwatch magazine, a publication of North Carolina Sea Grant.

FRIDAY, OCT. 15, 1954. The date is seared into the psyche of those who lived through what many describe as the most destructive hurricane in N.C. history.

Hurricane Hazel made landfall on that fateful morning at the peak of the highest lunar tide as a Category 4 hurricane near Calabash, at the South Carolina line. With winds as high as 140 miles an hour and a storm surge of up to 18 feet, Hazel changed the face of the coast — leveling dune fields and cutting inlets on barrier islands — as well as perceptions about hurricanes being purely coastal events.

Hazel’s rampage lasted another three days, roaring as far inland as Raleigh and Chapel Hill, and as far north as Lake Ontario on the Canadian border, still packing speeds of 100 mph in some places. Torrential rains flooded streams and rivers, adding misery and loss to Hazel’s destructive path. The storm finally weakened as it arced across Canada, raining itself out in the Maritime Provinces.

Though a teen at the time, Southport’s Jim Harper says, “I recall the sound of the wind and broken glass until this day.”

Harper, former editor and publisher of The State Port Pilot, would remember Hazel in his paper’s 50-year retrospective as “the most transforming event of the 20th century for this community.”

Days before coming ashore in North Carolina, Hazel swept over Haiti, where heavy rains caused massive landslides — taking lives, homes, businesses and valuable sugarcane crops.

While the mountainous island tamped down Hazel’s fury temporarily, warm surrounding waters intensified the storm. Early forecasts had predicted that Hazel would track offshore along the U.S. East Coast. But, by Oct. 14, she shifted course and headed for the Carolinas.

The white line shows Hurricane Hazel’s path. On Oct. 15, 1954, Hazel made landfall as a Category 4 hurricane near Calabash. With winds as high as 140 miles an hour and a storm surge of up to 18 feet, Hazel changed the face of the coast — leveling dune fields and cutting inlets on barrier islands — as well as perceptions about hurricanes being purely coastal events. Map: NOAA Coastal Services Center

All told, Hazel claimed between 400 and 1,000 lives in Haiti; six in the Bahamas; 95 in the U.S., including 19 in North Carolina; and 81 in Canada. Its trail of destruction caused an estimated $350 million in property damage from the Caribbean to Canada. Those 1954 dollars translate to roughly $2.8 billion today.

Stories of death, destruction and survival emerged from a storm that took many in Hazel’s path off guard.

Calabash Resilience

Calabash, the small fishing village best known today for its distinctive seafood cuisine, first felt the effects of Hazel’s landfall. Residents there recall their losses, but also manage to count their blessings.

For William Dixon, 15 years old at the time, the day began with bad news.

“I had planned to go hunting that morning, but Mom came in to say there would be no hunting. A bad storm was coming. Fishermen already were bringing their boats up into the canal in advance of the storm, so I stayed put. By 9 o’clock, the winds were howling and we sat out the storm in our house in the Hickman’s Crossing area,” Dixon remembers.

“When it was over, the shrimp house was gone, a three-mast schooner was sitting in our front yard, and we began to hear horror stories of people who died out on Ocean Isle,” he says.

Hazel took lives, property and livelihoods. “After the storm, people grabbed a hammer and nails and did what they could to make a living. Dad helped tear down what was left of the motel in North Myrtle Beach. In return, the owner let him take pine paneling and hardwood flooring. We managed to pull a house out of a pile of rubble,” continues Dixon, who later owned and operated a restaurant in Calabash. He now is a member of the town commission.

Now-retired Calabash commercial fisherman Samuel “Shorty” Thomas worked on his father’s 40-foot boat, Louise B, at the time. “The tide was so high, the boat sank at the dock,” Thomas says. “After the storm, we hauled her out of the water, repaired her and went back to fishing. Oddly enough, shrimping was better than ever after the storm.”

Salt water runs in his veins, says Thomas, who operated tugboats for dredges up and down the Southeast coast before returning to Calabash to resume shrimping for 10 years. Now retired, he opts for a rod and reel, and meets old friends every morning at Capt. Nance’s Restaurant “to see who can tell the biggest lies.”

Count on Anthony Clemmons to be at the table.

“Most in Calabash had never experienced a hurricane. We just didn’t know what to expect,” says Clemmons, who was about 14 at the time Hazel hit.

“My family went inland, where houses may have been sturdier than the rickety houses in Calabash, mostly built in the 1920s and 1930s and of uncertain storm worthiness. Surprisingly, our house and some of the old shack houses withstood the wind force and tide,” he says.

Clemmons recalls one Calabash shrimper, Capt. “Kinky” Coleman, who rode out the storm on his boat. Coleman told Clemmons that the Shallotte River looked like the ocean.

“As the eye passed and all got calm and quiet, he thought the worst was over. He looked behind him, and here came a big wave — Hazel’s other side. Somehow, Kinky made it through safely,” Clemmons adds. “Fortunately, no lives were lost in Calabash.”

It took Calabash more than a year to get back to normal — a new shrimp house, a new restaurant and one surviving oak tree left standing testified to the resilience of nature and people, Clemmons says.

Clemmons and his wife, Frances, returned to Calabash after he retired from a career in the Navy. A former town mayor, he is writing a book on Calabash history.

A man reorients himself in Ocean Isle after Hurricane Hazel hit. The storm moved boats onto the streets and left only the bare bones of storefronts. Photo courtesy: the Family Collection of Bryant Spencer

Ocean Isle Tragedy

Brunswick County’s south-facing barrier islands, including Sunset Beach, Ocean Isle, Holden Beach, Long Beach and Caswell Beach, took the full brunt of Hazel’s winds, 18-foot storm surge and treacherous waves.

For Ocean Isle, the loss was staggering. In just one incident, eight of the state’s 19 victims perished on the small barrier island across the Intracoastal Waterway, or ICW, from Shallotte.

Southport’s The State Port Pilot reported the tragic story of Sherman and Madeline Register, their 10-year-old son, Buddy, and their daughter and son-in-law, Sonja and Bunky Bellamy. The family had gathered for Thursday evening dinner at the Registers’ Ocean Isle cottage.

By 6 a.m. Friday, Oct. 15, with Hazel’s winds pushing onshore, it was too late to return to the mainland. The two-car ferry had stopped operating once its pulley cables went under rising waters.

Within two hours, winds exceeded 100 mph and angry ocean waters were advancing across the low-lying beach. Three couples from High Point, also stranded on the island, made it to the Registers’ cottage seeking help. In a last-ditch effort, all 11 of them piled into Sherman Register’s work truck to attempt the drive to the highest point on the island.

With winds reaching peak force by 10 a.m., their efforts were no match for the deadly storm surge that washed over the truck, dumping all 11 into the roiling waters. Seven were lost. Somehow, Bunky Bellamy, barely conscious, landed on a road west of the ICW; an unconscious Sonja Bellamy floated ashore elsewhere; and one of the three High Point couples survived.

The Oct. 20 edition of The State Port Pilot editorialized that “by some miracle death was cheated” with their survival.

However, along with Sherman, Madeline and Buddy Register and the two High Point couples, death claimed one more life: Southport’s Joe Dock drowned during his heroic, but unsuccessful, attempt to rescue the stranded Ocean Isle people by rowboat, the paper reported.

Long Beach Succumbs

In the early 1950s, Long Beach was just becoming a destination for people who loved the beach, and good surf and pier fishing. With only a handful of pay phones on the island, it was a good place to “get away from it all.”

By October 1954, there were 357 houses on the beach. One of them was the newly completed “dream home” of now-deceased Sam and Mattie Carr and their 14-year-old son, Sam “Butch” Carr.

Butch Carr recalls, “We moved in just days before Hurricane Hazel struck.”

Long Beach, now part of Oak Island, was beach sand, dirt roads and lots of maritime woods.”

Sam ‘Butch’ Carr recalls how Hazel affected Long Beach. Photo: Pam Smith

Carr and his friend, Charles “Skeeter” Trott, learned of an approaching storm — and possible evacuation — after school on Thursday.

“Dad and my grandfather turned on the shortwave [radio] for a weather update. They were predicting that the storm would be 75 miles off shore. So, no one seemed fazed,” Carr remembers.

That is, until dawn on Friday when the family’s parakeet escaped its cage and woke Carr’s sleeping parents. By then, Hazel’s wind, waves and rain were pounding the shore.

“Our 1953 Buick wouldn’t start, so we drove our 1949 station wagon to my grandparents’ house. I kept watching the ocean rolling and churning toward the house. We heard the screen porch creak and begin to separate from the house.

We knew it was time to go,” Carr recalls. His grandparents, the late C.C. and Sadie Carr, built the first permanent residence on the island, part personal home and part boarding house.

“It was about 7 a.m. There were about four or five cars in our group — my grandparents, aunts, Ellen Gilmore (postmistress). The water was rising fast on the full-moon tide. We encountered standing water, but managed to get across the old swing bridge to the mainland,” Carr says. “We may have been the last people off the island before Hazel made landfall.”

They waited out the storm at Southport’s First Baptist Church, which had been turned into an American Red Cross shelter.

When Hazel passed, the family returned to Long Beach to search for remnants of their lives. “After the storm, everything was gone. We followed the debris field from where our house had been to the edge of the woods,” Carr says.

Looters had emptied one chest of drawers, but hadn’t discovered his mother’s cedar chest under a heap of rubble. Mattie Carr’s fur stole was inside — a bit damp, but not damaged. She hung it on a tree branch to air while the family continued searching for other possessions. When they returned, looters had stripped the fur stole from the tree.

The only clothes any of them had were on their backs, Carr says. “I wore the same clothes and my galoshes for a week until my cousins came from Goldsboro with clothes for us. My grandparents’ friend offered us an apartment.”

Carr’s parents, grandparents and aunts, now deceased, rebuilt their homes on Long Beach and moved back in 1955 — safely on the second row.

Carr graduated from Southport High School in 1959 and joined the Air Force. He and his wife, Susan, returned to the area in 1995 and reside in Boiling Springs.

Dan Baden cultures the brevetoxin at the Center for Marine Sciences on the UNCW campus. Photo: Pam Smith

WILMINGTON — Stroke is a leading cause of long-term disability in the United States. According to the Center for Disease Control, some 795,000 people suffer strokes each year. And yet, there is no drug treatment for post-stroke rehabilitation.

But that could change thanks to, of all things, marine algae toxins known to kill fish and cause serious respiratory illnesses in humans.

Researchers are using brevetoxin-2, a neurotoxin produced by marine algae, to stimulate nerve cell growth and increase plasticity for existing nerve cells in laboratory-cultured mouse neural models. Plasticity – the ability of nerve cells to adapt to an event – is what allows the brain to “rewire” itself after a stroke or other brain trauma.

“The brain can’t revive dead nerve cells, but it can find ways to work around them,” says Thomas Murray, professor and chair of the Department of Pharmacology at the Creighton University School of Medicine.

The research team from Creighton University School of Medicine, the University of North Carolina Wilmington and Scripps Institution of Oceanography published their findings in November in the online edition of the prestigious journal, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

“Our research suggests that compounds such as brevetoxin-2 have the potential to provide a neural repair therapy for stroke recovery. This would have an immense impact on what is now a non-treatable condition,” says Murray.

A stroke occurs when a clot blocks the blood flow in the brain and interferes with how nerve cells communicate. Their study shows brevetoxin-2 causes sodium channels to open and a neuron to fire – resulting in nerve conduction and growth.

“Causing the sodium channels to open is the key. For example, dentists use a local anesthesia to deaden pain by blocking sodium channels,” Murray explains. “On the other hand, we are attempting the opposite. We want to turn the volume up to open the channels.”

The challenge is finding the right “volume” to apply, says Dan Baden, director of the Center for Marine Science at UNCW and study co-author. The brevitoxin-2 used in the study is cultured at UNCW.

In high concentrations, brevetoxins can cause all the nerves to fire at the same time – a potentially lethal situation.

Their ongoing research is about determining the concentration that is therapeutic, not toxic.

No overnight breakthrough

Thomas Murray

The study results are being hailed as breakthrough, but Baden and Murray are quick to explain that research successes are incremental, years in the making and often serendipitous.

Baden has been studying brevetoxins found in Florida’s frequent red tides for three decades.  He is pursuing pharmacological applications for the treatment of cystic fibrosis.

“About 15 years ago, I was invited to give a presentation on my work at the University of Georgia, where Dr. Murray was on the faculty at the time,” Baden recalls.

“Afterward, we had a long conversation about the possibility of using brevetoxins for his work in nerve regeneration. Serendipitous,” Baden says of their longstanding collaboration.

Partnerships are essential to progress in research, especially when funding is fading and competition for research dollars is keen, they say.

Fortunately, their current project is funded through 2017, Murray points out. “The strength of this project is that it is multidisciplinary, with each of us bringing distinct skills and approaches to a complex medical issue,” he adds.

The Next Step

The marine dinoflagellate Karenia brevis produces a brevetoxin, which in high concentrations is responsible for the harmful algal blooms known as red tides that occur off the west coast of Florida. This is the toxin in the lymph node of a Florida manatee. Photo: University of Florida

At Creighton, Murray will continue to develop mouse models to further treat with toxins, assessing and refining procedures and “doses” for best repair and recovery functions.

For his part, Baden’s laboratory will provide ample cultures of the marine algae toxin compounds for the future tests, tweaking samples to adjust toxicity levels according to Murray’s needs.

The marine dinoflagellate Karenia brevis produces a brevetoxin, a neurotoxin which in high concentrations is responsible for the harmful algal blooms known as red tides that occur off the west coast of Florida.

Brevetoxin is one of a multitude of ocean organisms cultured in UNCW’s Marine Biotechnology in North Carolina, or MARBIONIC, for use in biomedical research.

MARBIONIC soon will move its cramped laboratories into a new, modern 69,000 square-foot facility on the marine center campus.  The program focuses on the applications of marine biotechnology for health, food and energy.

The new facility will optimize university-industry interactions, and expedite the transfer of technology from the laboratory to the marketplace.

Ultimately, the researchers working on the brevetoxin/stroke therapy application hope to compile enough convincing data to attract a pharmaceutical company to bring their therapy to clinical trials – and production.

MARBIONIC could provide the right time and place to help that happen. Serendipity.

A 3-D image looking up the Baltimore Canyon, which is one of the larger submarine canyons along the East Coast. With  a typical V-shaped cross-section, it cuts 17 kilometers into the continental shelf and is 700 meters deep and 8 kilometers wide at the shelf break. Photo: Atlantic Deepwater Canyon Expedition.

WILMINGTON — With more than 70 percent of the Earth’s surface covered in ocean waters, it’s little wonder that some scientists have dubbed it Planet Ocean.

Yet, the oceans’ depths remain a vast wilderness of mountains, canyons, plateaus, creatures and untapped resources that scientists are just beginning to discover and describe.  In fact, it’s estimated that only about one percent of this deep frontier has been explored.

Nine submarine canyons cut into the continental shelf from Cape Hatteras to the Gulf of Maine. Map: Natural Resources Defense Council.

But Steve Ross from the University of North Carolina Wilmington and Sandra Brooke from the Oregon Institute of Marine Biology and Marine Conservation Institute are nudging that one percent up a notch.

Ross and Brooke are leading an ambitious, four-year project to unlock the mysteries within and adjacent to the Atlantic’s Baltimore and Norfolk deepwater canyons off the coasts of Maryland and Virginia.

The objectives include locating cold seeps and vulnerable habitat, describing the canyons, investigating the biology and ecology of different types of seafloor communities and identifying archeological sites – including shipwrecks.

To meet these multiple objectives, they assembled an international multidisciplinary team of marine scientists and technicians to explore and document unique habitats and inhabitants – work that will help guide future uses and/or protection of these ocean resources.

Just two years into the project, Ross and Brooke describe preliminary results as “productive” and “remarkable.”

Among the findings from the 2012 research cruise: the “rediscovery” of a methane cold seep first encountered 30 years ago; the first documentation of the presence of Lophelia pertusa, a deepwater coral, in Baltimore Canyon; the discovery of a possible new species of mussel; and, the documentation of World War I German warships sunk by Gen. Billy Mitchell’s mission to demonstrate air power.

Ocean research is costly and partnerships help stretch limited research dollars. The deepwater canyon exploration is funded by the U.S. Department of Interior’s Bureau of Ocean Energy Management and the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration’s Office of Ocean Exploration and Research. The NOAA ship, The Nancy Foster, is providing a platform for operations at sea.

In addition, the project is supported by contributions of both personnel and equipment from the U.S. Geologic Survey and partners from several institutions and agencies from the U.S. and Europe.

Mapping a Work Plan

Mike Rhodes, right, pours while Steve Ross holds the filter bag, purifying Gulf Stream water for coral physiology work. Photo: Atlantic Deepwater Canyon Expedition.

Ross and Brooke launched the first phase of the Atlantic Deepwater Canyon Exploration Project in 2011, producing high-resolution maps of the seafloor of the targeted research areas.

Those maps guided the 2012 research cruise that ran from Aug. 15 to Sept. 30.

The cruise was divided into three legs. The first two concentrated on natural ecosystems and habitats found within and around the canyons, while the final leg examined historical shipwrecks and their biological communities.

The mission is being carefully orchestrated. Ross and Brooke reconfigured each research crew to match the scientific objective of each of the first two legs.  Rod Mather, an archeologist from the University of Rhode Island, supervised the third leg.

To maximize valuable ship time, the researchers conducted round-the-clock operations. In daylight hours, they deployed Kraken II, a remotely controlled vehicle, or ROV, to survey habitat, biological communities and canyon characteristics.

Ross describes the canyons as “extremely rugged and as awesome and grand as the well-known Grand Canyon. They can be miles wide and in the scale of land canyons,” he says.

The ROV also was employed during the final leg’s daytime operations. Video images are being analyzed to determine the type, mission and ownership of the ships. If eligible, the shipwrecks could be nominated for the National Register of Historic Places.

The shipwrecks also are being assessed for their value as “artificial habitat” for a variety of fishes and invertebrates – not surprising considering the fact Mather’s team documented an aggregation of spawning catsharks at one of the wreck sites.

Night crews launched equipment to take core samples from the seafloor and from incremental heights of canyon walls.  Crews also used small trawls to collect fauna and sediments. Water samples from various depths also were collected during night shifts.

“We also maximized our sampling efforts as well,” Brooke points out.  “For example, one sample of bubble gum coral could be snipped into a dozen slices for different analyses – reproductive, genetic, isotopic, paleo, and so forth.”

The plethora of samples – from fish to water to corals – are being analyzed in laboratories of participating marine researchers from across the country from Oregon to Connecticut and Louisiana,  as well as Ireland and the Netherlands.

More to Come

Goosefish, also called a monkfish, are common in Baltimore Canyon. Photo: Eric Hanneman, Atlantic Deepwater Canyon Expedition.

A cusk enjoys his home under a bed of cold seep mussels in the Baltimore Canyon. Photo: Atlantic Deepwater Canyon Expedition.

Lophelia was found in the Baltimore Canyon, the first time the coral had been seen in the mid-Atlantic. Photo: Atlantic Deepwater Canyon Expedition.

Sampling from the 2012 research cruise is ongoing, thanks to the deployment of benthic landers and sediment trap moorings placed at the head, middle and base of the Norfolk and Baltimore canyons.  The high tech gear is now hard at work collecting data on temperature, salinity, oxygen, chlorophyll, currents and monthly sediment deposition.

The landers are also equipped with settlement plates to assess recruitment and colonization rates of benthic fauna and experiments to measure growth and survival of deepwater corals.

The scientists will retrieve the landers and sediment moorings when they return to sea for the 2013 research cruise.

Ross and Brooke agree that it’s hard to stay professionally cool when you are part of research team documenting “firsts,” such as sighting Lophelia in the Baltimore Canyon. The deepwater coral is well documented in the Gulf of Mexico, the South Atlantic and the Atlantic waters off of the New England coast. But, there had been no observations in the Mid-Atlantic waters.

“The discovery filled a gap in our knowledge of the distribution of this important coral species,” says Brooke, who has studied deepwater corals for more than a decade.

It also was exciting to “rediscover” the Baltimore Canyon methane cold seep that was first discovered more than three decades ago by Barbara Hecker, a lead scientist exploring the Baltimore Canyon.

“She was using a towed camera to survey the seafloor,” Brooke says.

When Hecker processed the film later, she spotted images of mussel beds – indicative of a methane cold seep.

Hecker was using very old technology that produced unreliable sea coordinate readings, so her 1980’s description gave Ross and Brooke only a “sort of” location.

However, going by Hecker’s more reliable depth sensor records, they had starting point for navigating the ROV dives over transects around the approximate coordinates and known depths.

“We began to see carbonate and thick batches of mussels and thought we might be on to something,” Ross says.

Methane seeps are of special interest because they are a possible indication of the presence of oil.

“Oceans run the planet – they provide our food; steer our weather; support our commerce; and drive Earth’s water cycle. It’s the largest ecosystem on the planet. Yet, we don’t know much about what makes it tick,” says Ross, who has been studying the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico deep sea environments for about three decades.

The researchers say it’s important to protect the oceans’ resources for the long term good of humankind.

*Editor’s note: this story was completed prior to Hurricane Sandy’s arrival on the East Coast. Once again the Outer Banks experienced transport disruption and flooding. Our thoughts are with everyone in North Carolina and up the coast affected by the storm.

North Carolina’s Outer Banks – that string of narrow islands that wrap a protective barrier between the Atlantic Ocean and the mainland’s inner coast – is the first line of defense against devastating effects of winds and surging flood waters from hurricanes, nor’easters, and other coastal storms.

By default, those barrier islands also are on the front line of the effects of climate change and sea level rise.

A recent study by the Natural Resources Defense Council (NRDC) and the Rocky Mountain Climate Organization (RMCO) looks specifically at the threats of climate change to seven national seashores along the Atlantic coast from Cape Cod to Cape Canaveral.

North Carolina’s Cape Hatteras National Seashore and Cape Lookout National Seashore – which together comprise nearly 200 of the state’s 325-mile ocean shoreline – are among the most vulnerable,  according to the study titled “Atlantic National Seashores in Peril: The Threats of Climate Disruption.”

Human-caused climate change is the greatest ever threat to Cape Cod (Mass.), Fire Island (N.Y.), Assateague Island (Md.), Cape Hatteras, Cape Lookout, Cumberland Island (Ga.), and Canaveral (Fla.) national seashores, according to the 2012 report.

“Protecting the resources and values of these special places is among the many reasons for acting now to protect our climate,” the report states.

For the study, the researchers considered seashore temperature records and long-range projections, historical weather patterns, sea-level rise vulnerability, visitor access and economic impacts.

USGS images of Pea Island over time 2008-2011.

The seashores are year-round destinations for tourists who enjoy access to miles of undisturbed beaches, history, culture, nature and wildlife.  Bird watchers, in particular, are drawn to unique spectacles of colonial and migrating shore birds.

National Park System records for 2010 show that more than 11 million visitors spent more than $5.6 million at all Atlantic Coast national seashores. That includes close to 2.2 million visitors to Cape Hatteras National Seashore and more than a half-million visitors to Cape Lookout National Seashore spending about $150,000 in combined local economies.

Rising temperatures and seas

For the report, the Rocky Mountain Climate Organization researchers compared seashore temperatures from the single decade – 2000-2011– with temperature trends from 1961-1990.  They found temperatures rose 1.2 degrees Fahrenheit at Cape Hatteras and 1.8 degrees Fahrenheit at Cape Lookout.

Alarmingly, the heat-up will continue – unless future emissions of heat trapping pollutants can be held to lower levels.

For example, with medium-high future emissions, average temperatures by 2051-2060 could increase by 3 degrees Fahrenheit at Cape Hatteras National Sea Shore; and, by 3.1 degrees Fahrenheit at Cape Lookout National Seashore.

And, by 2081-2090, temperatures could increase as much as 5.4 degrees Fahrenheit at Cape Hatteras, making it “as hot as recent summers in Galveston, Texas”; and by 5.6 degrees Fahrenheit at Cape Lookout, making it “as hot as Fort Meyers, Florida.”

The RMCO study indicates that some computer models project even higher averages for those same decades.

The researchers assert that the future heat-up would negatively impact seashore visitation: When temperatures are in the 100s, the outdoor experience could be a lot less enjoyable.

The study also underscores the vulnerability of these low-lying seashores in the face of rising sea levels.

Rising sea levels are attributed, in part, to the melting of land-based ice, including mountain glaciers and Arctic ice caps. Also, warming sea-surface temperatures make the waters expand and rise.

The researchers looked at a recent U.S. Geological Survey assessment that ranked the relative vulnerability of different portions of the Atlantic coastline based on tidal range, wave height, coastal slope, shoreline change, geomorphology, and historical rate of relative sea-level rise.

As a result, RMCO researchers suggest that Cape Hatteras, Cape Lookout and Assateague Island – with lands that are less than a meter (39.4 inches) above current sea level – are “in a top tier of vulnerability.”

The National Academy of Sciences project that even with lower future emissions, the global average sea-level rise could be about 20 inches by 2100; with higher emissions, 55 inches.  (Many coastal scientists say the most likely scenario for North Carolina is at least 29 inches by 2100.)<

“Higher seas especially make a difference in magnifying the effects of coastal storms.  With a higher initial sea level, storm surges push farther inland than they did when beginning atop earlier, lower seas,” RMCO researchers say.

Increased risks

The study suggests that human-caused climate change is delivering a one-two punch to the national seashores: rising seas and more frequent and severe coastal storms.

Hurricane Sandy does damage to Cape Hatteras National Seashore. Photo by Kermit Skinner

“As a result, the seashores now are being shaped not just by natural forces, but by a new mixture of natural and unnatural forces, which yield different consequences,” the study states.

Visitor access to the national seashores may be at risk in the face of potential loss of roads and bridges.

“In the long term, the current transportation infrastructure may not be adequate, forcing permanent closures of the current roads and their replacement with alternative methods of access,” the study states in general.

The authors single out the repeated and costly efforts to rebuild washed out sections of roads leading to and through Cape Hatteras National Seashore.  And, they cite boat and ferry service to Cape Lookout National Seashore as alternative access methods.

An altered climate affects historic and cultural resources, including lighthouses and other physical assets.  Already, the National Park Service relocated Cape Hatteras Lighthouse in 1999 at a cost of more than $11 million.  Additionally, the historic lightkeeper’s station and Coast Guard Station at Bodie Island Lighthouse, also on Cape Hatteras National Seashore, have been moved out of harm’s way in recent years.

Hotter temperatures, stronger storms and rising seas also pose threats to ecosystems and wildlife, including nesting endangered sea turtles and birds, and the myriad wildlife dependent upon each unique coastal habitat.

Additionally, marine life will most certainly feel the effects of climate change as ocean waters become warmer and more acidic.

Stemming the tide

To stem the tide of threats to national seashores, RMCO researchers and the Natural Resources Defense Council officials say new actions are needed on “an unprecedented scale.”

They call for reducing emissions of climate-changing pollutants, which come mostly from burning fossil fuels. Key steps include:

• Establishing mandatory limits on carbon pollution by at least 20% current levels by 2020 and 80% by 2050;
• Protecting the current Clean Air Act authority of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency;
• Overcoming barriers to investment in energy efficiency to lower emission-reduction costs; and
• Accelerating development and deployment of emerging technologies to lower long-term emission reduction costs.

Responding to challenges

Change is a constant at national seashores. And planning for change is constant, say Cape Hatteras Acting Superintendent Darrell Echols and Cape Lookout Superintendent Patrick Kenney.

“Climate change is indeed part of the National Park Service long-range planning strategies. That includes concerns with sea level rise,” Kenney says. “The rate of acceleration may be uncertain, but what is certain is that we are at the leading edge of the sea and it’s an obvious concern.”

Both men have been involved in developing adaptive management strategies to apply the best science available to address climate change and sea level rise.  For starters, each site is going through a self-examination process to identify ways to reduce its “carbon footprint.”

“There are many areas of concern for national seashores, including storm frequency and intensity.  Beaches are eroding, structures behind the dunes are threatened,” Echols points out.

Those structures behind the dunes include lighthouses and other historic buildings.

As the RMCO report points out, Hatteras Lighthouse and the Bodie lightkeeper station already have been moved at considerable expense.

“There is no guarantee that there will be enough money to move all structures in the future. It may come to making priorities based on historical and cultural significance.  Perhaps beach nourishment will be part of a long-term remedy in some situations where retreat is not an option.  The point is, there is no one-size-fits-all solution to managing these dynamic environments,” Echols says.

For example, the responses to climate change, sea level rise and extreme coastal storms is quite different at Cape Hatteras versus Cape Lookout.

“It’s quite complicated in terms of long-range planning, considering Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge and eight unincorporated villages are located within the boundaries of the Cape Hatteras National Seashore,” Echols adds.

When Hurricane Irene in 2011 cut new inlets through Pea Island and ripped open multiple sections of Highway 12 – the only road on the island.  It stranded about 2,500 people on Hatteras Island.  Local, state and federal expertise and resources were cobbled together to rebuild what local residents call “our lifeline.”

Meanwhile, at Cape Lookout National Seashore, Hurricane Irene pushed open an old inlet. In time, wind and waves closed the breach. With no roads or residents, officials could let nature find a remedy.

To Kenney, “We are laboratories for studying change.  Barrier islands are dynamic systems with moving sands, constantly being shaped, reshaped and relocated.”

Researchers from the National Park Service and several universities are involved with monitoring and studying coastal processes, habitats and wildlife at both sites.

Last of two parts

MOREHEAD CITY — Researchers at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill’s Institute of Marine Sciences are looking past the ragged edges of oyster reefs to explore the role such complex habitats play in extracting and storing carbon in the estuarine environment.

Carbon dioxide, a byproduct of burning fossil fuels, is the predominant so-called “greenhouse gas” that acts as sort of an atmospheric blanket, trapping Earth’s heat. Over time, an abundance of carbon dioxide can change the global climate, according to generally accepted scientific theory. A warmer climate melts polar ice and glaciers, causing sea levels to rise.

Joel Fodrie at one of the oyster reefs near Beaufort. Photo: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences.

Containing carbon dioxide, then, is an essential line of defense against further degradation of the climate and marine resources.

Scientists are just beginning the understand the ability of  salt marshes, sea grass beds and mangroves to remove large quantities of carbon dioxide gas from the atmosphere and lock it away in sediments below the plants. They call them blue carbon habitats.

Now, the UNC team points to their preliminary findings to suggest that, in certain settings, oyster reefs may qualify for inclusion on that exclusive list.

They say that shallow subtidal reefs and salt marsh-fringing reefs are net carbon sinks, especially when dominated by organic rich material and associated with moderate vertical growth.

“In such conditions, oyster reefs can sequester carbon on par with recognized carbon blue sinks,” reports Joel Fodrie, assistant professor of biological oceanography and co-principal investigator for the ongoing study.

Fodrie is collaborating with Antonio Rodriguez, associate professor of coastal geology, to explore carbon burial as another dimension of oyster reefs’ ecological services.

Oysters, a foundation species in estuaries, are considered nature’s engineers. These hard-working bivalves produce their shells as they mature and band together to build multi-dimensional habitats in intertidal waters. There, they filter and improve water quality, help stabilize shorelines, protect marshes, provide habitat and food sources for myriad marine life and supply delicacies for the table and livelihoods for watermen.

While oysters are celebrated for these value-added benefits, not a lot is known about oyster reef accretion, in part, because of traditional harvesting and dredging practices, Fodrie says.  And, less is known about the role oyster reefs might play in sequestering carbon as a hedge against acidification of oceans associated with climate change.

Changes in reef height and volume are “seen” from left to right with high-tech tools at intertidal sandflat, subtidal sandflat and saltmarsh-fringing experimental reefs. All initially were the same size, but evolved differently over the past decade based on landscape setting. Source: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences.

Location, location, location

“There are many unknowns in oyster-reef research, like how rapidly they grow and how reef composition changes as it grows,” Rodriguez adds.

To help address the research void, the team is working in the undisturbed waters of the Rachel Carson Estuarine Research Reserve near Beaufort. There, a decade earlier, Jon Grabowski, a graduate student at the institute, built experimental oyster reefs in varying estuarine landscape settings and depths.

“Basically, we know the birth dates of these reefs,” Fodrie notes. “So we have a known starting point to measure growth at each of 19 sampling sites.”

Their interdisciplinary research approach enables them to use a combination of biological (quadrant counts for live oyster density) and geological (vertical through-reef coring and analysis) methods to compile data.

With a terrestrial laser scanner and a Global Positioning System, the team is compiling a detailed topographical map of each reef at the centimeter scale.  These precise images provide data for comparisons over time.

Not all their tools are high tech instruments, though. They use a gas-powered jack hammer to pound pipe through each reef and a car jack to extract the sediment-filled pipe.

Antonio Rodriguez uses GPS technology to  get a fix on a reef. Photo: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences.

The cores of shell and sediment, like rings on trees, help researchers calculate annual carbon burial rates as well as changes in reef composition over time.

Whether an oyster reef is a carbon source or a sink is one of nature’s balancing acts that comes down to location, location, location.

Core analyses show that oyster reefs next to salt marshes have far more carbon in the sediment between shells than those on sand flats.

In other words, reefs in messy, organic-rich matrix trend toward a carbon sink designation – even factoring in oysters’ carbon dioxide respiration.  In these settings, oysters offer a fast track to capture, filter, process, secrete, vent and bury carbon, Fodrie notes.

Additionally, the research findings show that salt marsh fringing reefs facilitate localized seaward expansion of the adjacent carbon blue salt marsh habitat.

As for oyster reef accretion, initial findings indicate that reefs built higher up in the water column increase in volume much faster than those built lower in the column. These fast growers are mostly shell and the biosynthesis of shell is a carbon dioxide source.

The next step

Rodriguez is taking the lead as principal investigator for the next step in the oyster reef research project, which is focusing on natural intertidal reefs in different settings in the Core-Albemarle-Pamlico estuarine system.

“Moving into natural reefs brings new challenges because we have to develop new methods for measuring reef growth. Unlike a restored reef, we don’t know when a natural reef was born,” Rodriguez says.

“We want to see if naturally occurring oyster reefs are facilitating the evolution of marsh islands as we observed in salt marsh fringing reefs in Rachel Carson Estuarine Research Reserve,” Fodrie adds.

Ultimately, the IMS researchers would like to try out their methodology in the Gulf of Mexico or the Chesapeake Bay.

Fodrie and Rodriguez believe they are creating a framework for asking questions about shellfish reef conservation as part of the larger issue of carbon sequestration and climate change.

“The subject of oyster reefs as carbon sinks has not had its day in court, so to speak,” Fodrie says.  “We would like to have our work published in an environmental journal and put it out there for other scientists to validate – or poke holes in.”

The IMS oyster reef research is funded by grants from the Albemarle-Pamlico Estuarine Program, North Carolina Sea Grant, the N.C. Division of Marine Fisheries and the National Science Foundation.

The Seneca Guns – mysterious booms that rattle windows and nerves of coastal residents – have been quiet in recent months.

The fearsome rumbles occur with no warning and leave no clues to reveal their origins.

To be sure, the next Seneca Guns event will trigger frantic calls to local emergency management agencies. It probably will rekindle front porch debates about the source of the aberrations that have stymied scientists for centuries.

Big boom theories abound: earthquakes, offshore storms, jets breaking the sound barrier, Navy maneuvers, gaseous releases from the ocean floor, shifts in tectonic plates, or even meteoric explosions.

Marlene Varnam grew up in Varnamtown and has heard the mysterious booms all her life. Here, she stands with her grandson Mickey Fulford in the family fish market.

Absent convincing scientific conclusions, the strange soundings of the so-called Seneca Guns have become the stuff of legends and literature.  In 1850, James Fennimore Cooper wove the phenomenon into his short story, The Lake Gun. The story goes that for centuries Seneca Lake in New York’s Finger Lakes region, emitted loud explosive sounds, which white settlers said, came from “the lake gun.” Members of the Seneca Tribe, however, considered the powerful sounds to be the angry voice of their god, Manitou.

The prevailing version of the legend holds that irate ghosts of Seneca Indians fire their guns to disturb the descendants of the people who drove them from their land.

The Seneca Guns term has become synonymous with the unsettling salvos that occur well beyond Upstate New York.  The guns are heard up and down the East Coast, but seem particularly concentrated off the Carolinas, according to United States Geologic Survey, or USGS.  Similar booms occur along coastal India, where they are called Barisol Guns.

Marlene Dixon Varnam has experienced Seneca Gun episodes all of her life. Growing up in Varnamtown, a Brunswick County fishing village on the shores of Lockwoods Folly Inlet, the occasional rumbling folds into other unexplained mysteries the ocean holds, she says.

Varnam owns and operates Carson Varnam Seafood Market, a business she and her late husband launched back in 1955.

“As a child I was curious about what they were. My first thought, of course, was that there might be a storm. But, then, there would be no clouds in the sky.  Our house might shake, but I was never frightened,” she recalls.

“Through the years, we heard a lot different things that might be causing the booms – earthquakes, part of the continental shelf slipping away and jets breaking the sound barrier,” she says.

“There are no definitive answers, and the booms have become part of our lives.  We just go about our business when it happens. Some mysteries you just can’t solve,” Varnam concludes.

Testing Theories

She may be right, says Jack C. Hall, professor of geology and chair of the Department of Environmental Studies at the University of North Carolina-Wilmington.

Nevertheless, it is compelling – and fun – to explore the science behind the ephemeral sounds. It may be less challenging to point to what the Seneca Guns are not, says Hall.

Jack Hall discounts theories that the booms have geologic origins. Photo: Pam Smith.

It’s safe to rule out tectonic plate movement. “The Mid-Atlantic Ridge is not going anywhere.  Its movement is so slow, it is not measureable on seismic charts,” Hall explains.

Some scholars estimate that the Mid-Atlantic Ridge – the underwater mountain range that splits the entire Atlantic Ocean nearly in half from north to south – is spreading at an estimated 0.08 feet per year, or 15 miles in a million years.

Hall points out that seismic records don’t support the theory that Seneca Guns events are indicative of continental shelf landslides.  There have been none recorded.

Nor do Seneca Gun episodes match seismic earthquake records.

“We definitely know when it’s the real deal, such as the earthquake that occurred in August, 2011, in Virginia. Tremors were felt from Connecticut to North Carolina.  That’s because the quake struck in the North American craton – the backbone of the continent. The shock waves reverberated through the solid mass in many directions.” Hall explains. “Most people heard it and felt it.”

Looking Up

To Hall, with no measurable movement in the earth’s crust to attribute to Seneca Guns, it makes more sense to look to the atmosphere for answers.

“The right atmospheric conditions, such as an inversion layer, can put a lid on the atmosphere, so to speak.  It would create a situation where sound waves bounce from the ocean surface to the air layer and continue to bounce back and forth until the wave of sound reaches the shore,” Hall points out.

A thermal inversion could amplify distant sounds to create the booms.

Temperature inversions occur in coastal areas when upwelling of cold water decreases surface air temperature and the cold air mass stays under warmer ones.  What’s more, North Carolina’s coast juts out into the Atlantic, essentially creating a microphone effect.

“Sound waves travel long distances and can generate a wall of sound like a base player at a Black Sabbath concert,” Hall quips.

With that in mind, it seems feasible that Seneca Guns boom loudest when an inversion layer amplifies a natural event, such storms far past the horizon; or a man-made situation, such as breaking the sound barrier.

“It all comes down to stratification,” Hall surmises.

“I’m also inclined to attribute the occasional booms to military games offshore as the source of an occasional eruption of Seneca Guns.  Of course, the military folks are not predisposed to commenting on secret maneuvers,” Hall points out.

Some have suggested that much of the guessing about the source of Seneca Guns bursts could be eliminated by installing an array of sensitive seismic instruments along the coastline to record and analyze each event.

However, since there is no evidence that Seneca Guns do little more than rattle windows and nerves, it’s unlikely to find institutions or individuals willing to pick up the $20,000 tab for the equipment that may – or may not – solve the mystery, Hall says.

Crab pots are placed in a line in the Rachel Carson Reserve near Beaufort. Photo: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences.

MOREHEAD CITY — Derelict crab pots, once destined for landfills, are back in coastal waters with a new lease on life.

Marine scientists from the University of North Carolina’s Institute of Marine Sciences in Morehead City, are working with commercial fishermen to transform abandoned or lost crab pots into novel “artificial reef balls” that could enhance oyster habitat – and future oyster populations.

The trash-to-treasure project underscores the connection between healthy habitats and healthy fisheries, says Joel Fodrie, a UNC assistant professor of coastal biological oceanography, who is heading up the research effort.

“Many of my commercial fishing friends lament about disappearing substrate for oyster larvae to settle and survive,” Fodrie points out. “Yet, out on the water we all come across abandoned or lost crab pots covered with oysters.”

With their observations come questions: Could derelict crab pots be revamped to provide suitable material to capture oyster larvae in the water column? Would young oysters be better protected from predators raised above the flat bottom?  And, where would such experiments work best?

“It seems likely that survival rates could increase if we keep young oysters higher in the water column by creating a vertical refuge, as it were,” Fodrie says.

The ongoing study to quantify the team’s hypothesis is funded in-part by grants from the Albemarle-Pamlico National Estuary Program, or APNEP, and the N.C. Fisheries Resource Grant Program.

Deliberate Design

A commercial fishermen handles a derelict crab pot covered in oysters during a survey of Back Sound in Carteret County. Photo: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences.

Obtaining raw material for the ongoing project is hardly an issue for the research team that includes Fodrie’s IMS colleagues Niels Lindquist and Tony Rodriguez, APNEP staff member Jim Hawhee, and downeast commercial fishermen David “Clammerhead” Cessna and Adam Tyler.

From 2010 through 2012, N.C. Division of Marine Fisheries’ Marine Patrol officers pulled more than 1,800 abandoned or lost crab pots from the state’s internal waters. They are happy to share the bounty from their annual sweep from Jan. 15 through Feb. 7 – the period fishermen are required to remove all pots.

However, some pots are abandoned by fishermen, others pots are dislodged by water currents and storms. Either way, derelict pots become navigation hazards for boaters and continue to trap crabs and other marine life that eventually starve to death.

That’s not likely to happen with the pots being used for the study, Cessna says.

“We cut out the bait traps and cut plenty of exits to eliminate unintended by catch. The critters can swim in and out of the pot,” Cessna says. “The pots are secured to the sandy bottoms using rebar. And, we’re working sites out of the way of the public, where there would be little or no interaction with other vessels.”

Cessna and Tyler help prepare, deploy and monitor 36 revamped pots at each of eight environmentally diverse sites – one in Manteo and seven in Carteret County.  The Manteo experimental site is on the sound side of N.C. Aquarium, and the Carteret County locations include private oyster lease and protected research reserve sites.

“The study sites are distributed across varying environments and at different depths in the water column. From the outset, we knew the idea might work in some areas, but not in others, based on an array of environmental conditions,” Fodrie explains.

And, there is a mix of pot materials at each locale. Some pots have PVC coatings, some are bare wire, and some have been dipped in cement to provide a more complex surface for larvae to settle.

“In essence, each pot is an experimental unit,” Fodrie asserts.

Encouraging Results

The map shows the 8 sites in which sets of 36 crab pots were deployed: 1. Gales Creek. 2. Middle Marsh (Rachel Carson National Estuary Research Reserve). 3. North River Marshes. 4. North River – South Causeway. 5. North River – North Causeway. 6. Oyster Creek. 7. Cedar Island Bay. 8. Manteo (N.C. Aquarium).  Source: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences

The research team monitors research sites regularly since deployment in May 2011, and are ready to react to disruptive weather events, such as Hurricane Irene.

“Irene did a number on our Manteo site,” Fodrie says. “I guess you could say it was a victim of too much exposure. And at the Rachel Carson Estuarine Research Reserve (near Beaufort), the pots were in a high energy area where Irene sunk them in sediment. We moved the pots behind the marsh where less energy may affect settlement success.”

Preliminary results from the team’s first full year of sampling are encouraging:

For starters, no by-catch has been snared in any of the revamped crab pots at the eight study sites; cement coated pots seem to be more successful; and  intertidal locations show the most promising oyster settlement results.

Fodrie believes sponge borers and other predators are more apt to prey on young oysters in high salinity, subtidal areas, whereas, such “bad guys don’t survive well in lower salinity, intertidal zones.”

At first glance, the project may seem to be all about oysters. “But when you look at other fish communities gathering around each crab pot artificial reef, you see surprising results,” Fodrie points out.

Cessna agrees, saying, “Each pot is a colony of life.  Not only are the pots beneficial to oysters, but they become habitat for finfish, crabs and other small marine organisms. Larger fish congregate around these sites, feeding on smaller fish and marine life.”

Besides, the project is keeping hundreds of crab pots from adding to bulging coastal county landfills; and oysters that congregate on and in the newly created artificial reefs benefit water quality by filtering hundreds of gallons of water.

More to Reefs Come

And, there is more to come.  Sampling, data collection and analysis will continue for another year – with some tweaking and adding new dimensions along the way.

“Along with getting a handle on the success of oyster settling, we want to provide an economic analysis – what is the economic value, especially for lease holders.  We can see an immediate application for citizens who raise oysters under their docks.  But, we’ll take a closer look at whether this is a way to work leases more efficiently,” Fodrie says.

Recycled crab pots in North River Marsh are colonized by oysters. Photo: UNC Institute of Marine Sciences

The revamped crab pots also may become portable laboratories that can be placed at the mouth of small creeks to catch the larvae and then moved further up the creek into intertidal, low salinity areas to foster survival.

The team also will pay close attention to the growth plates attached to inside and outside of each pot to measure stress in an oyster reef community. So far, it appears that more are settling inside. If this holds with each unit, there is reason to surmise that the pots could provide a good foundation for oyster rock growth.

The partnership between commercial fisherman, university researchers and state environmental agencies is a formula for success and based on mutual respect.

“Our lab is committed to interacting with people who interact with the water. It’s enlightening for all of us. We learn from people who have a wealth of experience in and on local waters. In turn, we teach them scientific methods to collect data – a useful tool when trying to influence fisheries policy,” Fodrie says.

For Cessna, who holds one oyster lease and manages two others, collaboration “brings hope that we can fix some of the problems that threaten the commercial fishing industry. The bottom line is that we are working together to save our precious resources for all citizens.”

Last of two parts

HAMPSTEAD — Vic French steps across a meadow of wire grass and gall berry at the Holly Shelter Game Lands Preserve to draw a distinction between the tidy, longleaf woodland and the adjacent jumble of a Carolina bay community.

Pond pines and loblolly bays jut above the dense, impenetrable understory of red and sweet bay, wax myrtle and unending twists of greenbrier.

Unlike the sandy longleaf pine woodland floor, soils here are deep and rich in organic matter – the by-product of undisturbed cycles of decomposing plant material – as much as six feet deep.  The densely intertwined vegetation provides perfect cover for all manner of wildlife, including black bear, wild turkey, nesting birds and reptiles, such as frogs and turtles.

Unfortunately, this preferred habitat proved fatal for wildlife caught in the lightning-sparked wildfire during the summer of 2011. The fire, which began in June, smoldered relentlessly in mostly inaccessible areas where drought had turned deep organic soils to tinder. By the time Hurricane Irene extinguished the embers in August, more than 30,000 acres were reduced to ash.

“Pond pines are not fire resistant. They fell over and burned, along with the dry understory. The fire was so intense, the soils burned away. The ground level dropped significantly and the seed banks and roots were destroyed,” says French, a biologist with the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission. “It all will be under water when the heavy rains come.”

Recovery From Fire

The fire last year burned deep into the peat soil. Photo: Pam Smith

Recovery in the vast devastated area seems doubtful any time soon.

The drought that caused a drop in the water table also dried up creeks and streams that might have helped lessen the path of destruction. Fire-fighting became a matter of containment efforts, French explains. To box the fire in, wide corridors were cleared of vegetation along existing roads and power grids, exposing bare soil and removing burnable material, in order to break the fire’s spread.

Another fire that started last weekend outside the preserve threatened to cross over into the game lands.

Oddly, protected plants such as the Venus fly trap and sun dew are showing up in random spots and pitcher plants are making a comeback along disturbed areas at the fringes of the fire zone.

The rare carnivorous plants commonly grow in Holly Shelter savannas – the transition zones between dry longleaf woodlands and wet pocosin habitat.

Don’t ask French to name his favorite part of Holly Shelter.  It’s a bit like asking a father to choose his favorite child.  “It changes with every season,” he says.

Case in point: As French pulls his pick-up truck alongside the Ashes Creek impoundment, the crunch of tires on the gravel road results in a flurry of activity nearby. Nearly 500 green-winged teal ducks frantically rise from the water, circle the marsh, and settle onto a more secluded spot to renew grazing the smorgasbord of grasses and insects in the shallow fresh water.

“They showed up a couple of weeks ago,” French notes with an edge of excitement in his voice.  “I’ll show you another recent arrival.”

He drives a couple hundred yards and points across an open field to the edge of a burned out Carolina bay community. A newly built eagle’s nest sits at the top of a singed, skeleton of a tree.

“It’s a mystery why the eagle chose that nearly dead tree,” French muses.

Nor can he account for the pair of wild turkeys that scurry along one of the plowed over fire break lines – not their usual preferred habitat.

A Good Place for Frogs

This pond is perfect breeding habitat for the rare Carolina gopher frog. Photo: Pam Smith

Still, he knows for certain why rare Carolina gopher frogs choose to do their spring courting in bog ponds – some natural and some provided by wildlife personnel.

“We help Mother Nature out a bit by providing a clear pond with no fish to eat eggs or tadpoles during breeding season,” French says.

The good news is that most of the Holly Shelter Game Land was unscathed by last year’s fire. It continues to be a popular destination to observe the array of native plants, butterflies and beneficial insects that inhabit its diverse ecosystems.

Holly Shelter also is a birder’s delight: Along with the celebrated red-cockaded woodpecker, it is the year-round home to the Bachman’s sparrow; and, the preferred breeding habitat for the Acadian flycatcher, as well as Prothonotary, Swainson’s, hooded and yellow- throated warblers.

Many backyard gardeners are considering native plants in their landscapes because they are suited for the local climate and soils; are aesthetically pleasing; control invasive species; and provide habitat for a host of birds. If you’re one of them consider attending he N.C. Coastal Federation’s Native Plant Festival, April 27-28, at the group’s main office in Ocean in Carteret County.

Typical native plants that thrive in coastal counties include sweet bay magnolia, loblolly bay, bay laurel, sweet bay, gall berry, titi, fetterbush, zenobia and a variety of ornamental grasses.

• Watch a video on pond life in the game lands

From left: sun dew, Venus fly trap and Confederate jasmine. Photos: Pam Smith

What You Should Know

Providing public hunting opportunities has been a major focus of the N.C. Wildlife Commission for decades.

Holly Shelter Game Lands’ origins can be traced to 1939 with the reallocation of 38,000 acres of untamed land from the N.C. Board of Education to the N.C. Conservation and Development Division – the forerunner of the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission.

Since its creation as the Holly Shelter Wildlife Refuge, as it was known, the site has been expanded as a result of continued acquisitions and cooperative agreements with other state, federal, corporate and private landowners. The Federal Pittman-Roberson Act of 1937 enables ten percent tax on ammunition and firearms sales to go toward acquisition and preservation of wildlife restoration sites for hunting and fishing.

Much of the site is remote and inaccessible. A series of roads are open to the public for seasonal hunting in designated areas. Licensed hunters may arrange to stay at a primitive campsite for their quest of deer, squirrel, quail, wild turkey and black bear. And, handicapped sportsmen may use four-wheel recreational vehicles at two accessible game lands’ sites.

Two access points into Holly Shelter offer hikers and birders a chance to enjoy some of the game land’s diverse habitats.

Take N.C. 210 east from I-40 and cross the Northeast Cape Fear River. Drive less than a mile past the river and turn left on Shaw Highway (SR 1520). Go 7.3 miles to the Wildlife Commission boat access area by the river. Follow the trail along the dike between the river and the swamp forest.

From the intersection on N.C. 210 and U.S. 17 in Hampstead, drive north on U.S. 17 4.4 miles. Look for a N.C. Wildlife Commission sign on the left at the entrance to Lodge Road. The road is gated and closed from March 1 through Aug. 31, but you can walk into the game land here and walk through the flatwoods.

For additional information about Holly Shelter Game Lands, go here.

First of two parts

HAMPSTEAD — Vic French knows Holly Shelter Game Lands Preserve like the back of his hand.

The rest of us better have a detailed map, a GPS device and a good compass to take a walk on the wild side in this 65,000-acre biological cornucopia in Pender County.

French, a biologist with the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission, has been associated with the preserve in various capacities for most of his 30-plus years with the commission.

He’ll tell you upfront that while the commission, governmental agencies and environmental groups play a role in protecting its natural wildness, Mother Nature is very much in charge of its distinct design.

Red-cockaded woodpecker dig nesting cavities in live pine tree. The sap helps protect the nest from predators. Photo: Pam Smith

Holly Shelter encompasses an expanse of longleaf pine woodlands, savannas, Carolina bays, pocosins and black water streams. Each unique habitat hosts equally unique plant and wildlife, including several threatened or endangered species found exclusively in the state’s southeastern coastal plain.

Much of the site is remote and inaccessible, but a series of roads are open to the public for hiking, birding, biking and seasonal hunting in designated areas.

The main road into Holly Shelter Game Lands, off U.S. 17 just north of Hampstead, serves as an introduction to the preserve’s varied ecosystem scenarios. An initial tangle of vegetation atop a sandy ridge gives way to a flat, open stretch of golden wire grass dancing in the wind beneath a stand of longleaf pine trees.

Many of the stately longleaf are marked with a pair of painted stripes, indicating active red-cockaded woodpecker cavities – “government housing,” as French jokingly calls them.

About 10 percent of the endangered red-cockaded woodpecker population in southeastern North Carolina nest among the site’s longleaf pines. That’s no accident, French explains. Wildlife biologists follow a prescribed protocol to protect the iconic endangered species that relies on open stands of mature longleaf pines for nesting. At Holly Shelter, specialists conduct periodic controlled burns to maintain suitable habitat.

The controlled burns also promote the regeneration of beneficial plant species that attract other wildlife, including squirrel, quail, snakes and myriad reptiles. Along with native wiregrass, the longleaf pine understory may feature spikes of yucca, bluestem sedge, reed grass, Joe-pye weed and toothache grass. Confederate jasmine, roughleaf loosestrife, goldeneaster or roundheaded lespedeza may add dots and dashes of color.

Gall berry, an evergreen shrub, seems to thrive in a range of Holly Shelter ecosystems. Its tiny sweet-smelling flowers attract honey bees galore. Gall berry honey, French attests, is prized nectar.

Tuesday: A year after The Fire

Species Profile: Red-Cockaded Woodpecker

North Carolina Status: Endangered

U.S. Status: Endangered, listed in October 1970.

Description: About the size of the common cardinal, the red-cockaded woodpecker is approximately 7 inches long (18 to 20 centimeters), with a wingspan of about 15 inches (35 to 38 centimeters). Its back is barred with black and white horizontal stripes. The red-cockaded woodpecker’s most distinguishing feature is a black cap and nape that encircle large white cheek patches. Rarely visible, except perhaps during the breeding season and periods of territorial defense, the male has a small red streak on each side of its black cap called a cockade, hence its name.

The red-cockaded woodpecker feeds primarily on beetles, ants, roaches, caterpillars, wood-boring insects, and spiders, and occasionally fruits and berries.

Range: Historically, this woodpecker’s range extended from Florida to New Jersey and Maryland, as far west as Texas and Oklahoma and inland to Missouri, Kentucky and Tennessee. Today it is estimated that there are about 6,000 groups of red-cockaded woodpeckers, or 15,000 birds from Florida to Virginia and west to southeast Oklahoma and eastern Texas, representing about 1 percent of the woodpecker’s original range. They have been extirpated in New Jersey, Maryland, Tennessee, Missouri and Kentucky.

Life History: Red-cockaded woodpeckers roost and nest in cavities of live pine trees. Cavities are built only in large, old pines. These woodpeckers live in family groups that may include the male and female, their chicks and young adult “helpers.” These “helpers,” typically related young from previous nesting seasons, help build cavities and care for the future chicks. Pecking a cavity in a live tree takes a long time, since the wood is very hard. The birds peck the bark around the entrance to get the sap (resin) flowing around the hole. The sticky sap keeps predators like snakes away from the nest cavity. The birds also eat insects found under the bark and along the branches of pine trees. Females lay two to four eggs during breeding season. A woodpecker group roosts and nests in a cluster of up to 30 cavity trees. Most clusters have some cavities under construction, some completed and in use and some abandoned.

Habitat: Open pine forests with large, widely-spaced older trees provide essential habitat for the red-cockaded woodpecker.

Distribution: The red-cockaded woodpecker can be found in the piney woods of Eastern North Carolina.

Other: Red-cockaded woodpeckers are endangered because the open forests with big, old pine trees have been replaced by forests with younger, smaller pines. Also, periodic natural fires, which historically kept the pinewoods open, have been suppressed since settlement. Periodic fire is needed to control the brushy understory and keep the pinewoods open.

By Pam Smith

Last of three parts

It’s not all bad news for the Lockwoods Folly River. Last month, The Nature Conservancy announced the acquisition of nearly 500 acres at the river’s headwaters. On the southeastern edge of the Green Swamp Preserve, the unique parcel includes a 50- to 60-foot remnant sand dune, created when the ocean retreated to the current coastline.

The ridge is surrounded by equally unique terrain with rare flora and fauna.  Freshwater from Green Swamp pours into Pinch Gut Creek and thus begins a journey toward becoming a river.

It’s easy to see how Pinch Gut Creek got its name. From this tangle, the Lockwood Folly River is born. Photo: Pam Smith

According to Dan Ryan, the conservancy’s Southeast Coastal Plain project director, the acquisition is being funded by an anonymous donor, along with an Environmental Enhancement Fund grant from the North Carolina Department of Justice.

In addition, the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission is negotiating the purchase 500 adjacent acres from the Natural Heritage Trust Fund.

Mike Giles, the N.C. Coastal Federation’s coastal advocate for the Cape Fear Region, says partnerships will hold the key to the future of the Lockwoods Folly River.  Fortunately, there is growing awareness  of the river’s importance among individuals, government agencies, conservation organizations, homeowners associations, developers and real estate groups.

The population of Brunswick County now stands at about 108,000 and is expected to grow to 118,000 by 2020. But, the recent economic slowdown is providing opportunities to acquire environmentally important tracts of land; time to establish new environmental partnerships; and space to develop strategies ahead of the predicted resurgence in growth.

On a recent mild winter day, Giles points the federation’s center console boat upriver. On board are Phyllis Evans, a long-time volunteer on the river, and Rich Peruggi, who is a federation board member and one of the members of the Lockwoods Folly Roundtable. The long-term effort, spearheaded by the federation and Brunswick County officials, began at the peak of county growth, when Brunswick was among the fastest-growing counties in the country. The partners wanted  to get a handle on the state of the river.

From 2007 to 2008, an army of citizen scientists, affectionately dubbed the “Lockwood Army,” worked with the federation to gather water quality data. Evans and her husband, Kevin Talon, joined the army. Hans Wagoner, their neighbor in River Run Plantation, joined them. Rounding out the samplers were Tom Hetherington, Fred Leopp and Peruggi, all of another subdivision on the river, Winding River; Sunset Harbor’s Joe Taylor and Dave Pelizzari; and Varnamtown’s  Hans Forester. The volunteers helped collect and analyze water samples from more than a dozen sights through all seasons

The data form the foundation for a comprehensive plan to address – and hopefully reverse – pollution trends in the Lockwoods Folly River.  Solutions include encouraging the adoption of low-impact development (LID) techniques by developers to control stormwater and small-scale adaptations by homeowners. The Brunswick County Board of Commissioners approved LID as an option for developers two years ago.

Nature and Nurture

A journey on the river: Phyllis Evans, left, Mike Giles, center, and Rich Peruggi. Photo: Pam Smith

Phyllis Evans and other volunteers built this rain garden in the River Run Plantation subdivision to control stormwater. Photo: Pam Smith

Giles guides the boat further upriver toward Varnamtown.  There, a pod of dolphins briefly surface and dive – too busy feasting on the catch of the day to put on a show.  Out on the mudflats, a handful of men in waders are filling croaker sacks with freshly dug oysters from one of the remaining areas open to oyster harvesting.

At Buoy 6, Giles points out the area called Eastern Bend, where the Federation soon will expand oyster habitat with 15,000 bushels of recycled oyster shells.  The project is funded by an Estuary Restoration Act grant, which also will underwrite the construction of a living shoreline project along the Lockwoods Folly River. The federal law, passed in 2000, makes restoring estuaries a national priority.

Evans gestures across the river toward River Run, where she and fellow River Run residents worked with the federation’s Tracy Skrabal to create two rain gardens near the community boat ramp and fishing pier. The gardens intercept and filter stormwater flowing from the development’s roadways before it reaches the river.

Passing Winding River Plantation, Peruggi calls attention to waterfront parcels where some homeowners have maintained natural, living shorelines.  Another has built an experimental, semi-open bulkhead that buffers wave energy and fosters the growth of natural marsh grass close to shore.

Peruggi recruited fellow Winding River residents, including Pam Duncan, to work with the federation to create two rain gardens near the community’s 21-slip marina to help prevent stormwater from rushing into the river from adjacent parking areas.

Hetherington, who serves on the marina committee, continues to champion the river’s cause. He is researching the most environmentally sound way to proceed with a needed marine overhaul. One possibility is to replace part of the bulkhead with a living shoreline to mitigate sediment deposits in the boat channel.

Peruggi serves on the environmental issues committee for the Alliance of Brunswick County Property Owners Associations. He is spreading the word about how homeowner associations and individual homeowners can protect water quality across the county.

Along with the construction of rain gardens, individuals may opt to install rain barrels to harvest rainwater for lawn and garden irrigation; plant native plants, trees and shrubs that are suited to local conditions; or simply redirect downspouts away from sidewalks or driveways and into landscaped areas.

The Eagle Has Landed

Just past Winding River Plantation, lies a stretch of waterfront property the long-time resident and owner placed into conservancy a number of years ago.  It is a magnificent expanse of thick marsh accentuated by water sparkling around and through the waving grasses.

A trip up the river ends with the stirring sight of a bald eagle. Photo: Pam Smith

“There is no telling the extent of wildlife that is hidden in that acreage,” Giles notes.

Beyond the bend sits remnants of Brunswick County’s past and recent history: a crumpling house, the victim of time; and, an abandoned fishing dock, the victim of a crumpling economy.

Further on, Giles passes a make-shift boat launch.

“That’s what the locals call the fishing hole,” Peruggi says.  “It’s actually about 20 or 30 feet deep at high tide. This is the deep-water area where the shrimp boats tie up when a storm threatens the coast.”

From here on, the scenery is wild and wonderful. Cypress trees – their lives cut short by saltwater intrusion and countless storms – stand tall above the banks of the deep and winding water.

Evans spots the silhouette of a large bird atop a “toothpick” of a tree in the distance.  It may be an osprey, hawk or perhaps a buzzard.  But as the boat rounds the curve in the river, the tall stick of a tree is right there within a few feet from the bank.  The treetop occupant clearly is a bald eagle.

Giles slows the boat to a near stop for a longer view while the eagle patiently poses, waiting for the viewers to believe their eyes.

“Now, where else can you have nature come right to you,” Giles observes.

When Giles reaches the N.C. 211 Bridge, he’s tempted to stretch the tour a bit further.  The river is wide and promising beyond the bridge.  But, he doesn’t want to take the chance of losing the tide. After all, it’s a 12-mile return trip to the boat launch at Sunset Harbor.  Running aground would put a damper on the day.

After all, the nature score card is pretty amazing – dolphins, pelicans, egrets, assorted waterfowl – and three eagles – and no mosquitoes, snakes or alligators.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

• Learn more about efforts to protect the river

Second of three parts

SUNSET HARBOR — There was a time when this little community on the Lockwoods Folly River was not quite as gentrified as it is now, recalls Miles Edge, a charter member of the Brunswick County Fishing Club.  One of the oldest fishing clubs in the county, it was formed to assist boaters and to promote ethical recreational fishing practices.

Edge, 88, recalls when the community was mostly dirt roads and had few permanent homes.  “It had a fish camp atmosphere with a lot of tents, converted school buses and trailers,” he explains. “The old boat ramp was the only access to the Lockwoods Folly River and inlet other than Varnamtown.”

Members of the Brunswick County Fishing Club promote ethical fishing practices. Photo: Pam Smith

The community played an important role in boater safety for several decades, adds Tom Maugans, the club’s president. “Long before cell phones and other modern communication tools, boaters relied on CB radios to communicate emergency messages to Daisy and James Butler, whose home sits near the ramp,” he says.  “When they received a distress call, they would relay the information to the Coast Guard.”

One major change to the Lockwoods Folly River came in the 1930s with the construction of the Intracoastal Waterway, which crosses the river just above the inlet.  During construction, the water flow through the inlet was altered by diverting the original channel and dredging and widening a new channel.

Other changes came abruptly at the hand of Mother Nature.  In 1954, Hurricane Hazel’s storm surge rearranged the waterfront.  The clubhouse, then an arcade, was pushed about 100 yards back from the shore to near its current location.

The most recent change in Sunset Harbor was the renovation in 2010 of the boat ramps managed by the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission — complete with floating docks, a fishing pier and a paved parking lot with added spaces.  Also, eco-friendly features include permeable paving surrounding the launch and other stormwater techniques that direct runoff away from the river and treat it.

The fishing club membership, once as high as 500, now hovers at about 300. The decline came with the increase in waterfront communities with their own boating facilities. The men see a correlation between the decline in fish abundance and increased shellfish closures in the river and estuary with stormwater runoff from those newly developed areas upstream along the river.

“We preach ecology with our members,” Maugans says. “We talk about the environment and how damaging the environment damages the river and its fish habitats. It’s important for people to understand the land-water connection.”

Across the River

It’s said that if you throw a rock in Varnamtown, you’re likely to hit a Varnam, a Dixon or a Galloway.

Marlene Varnam won’t dispute the point.  She was a Dixon before her marriage in 1955 to Carson Varnam.  Her dad was pastor of Dixon Chapel – home of the famed Annual Varnamtown Oyster Roast.

“Just about everyone’s related up and down Varnam Road,” she says with chuckle.  “My husband and I grew up here.  The Lockwoods Folly River provided a livelihood for us and most of the families here.”

When her husband passed away not long ago, her grandson Carson “Mickey” Fulford stepped in to help her run the business that still bears her husband’s name: Carson Varnam Seafood Market.

Alex Kwiguire, left, Marlene Varnum and Mickey Fulford of the Carson Varnum Seafood Market have no doubts that their oysters are the best on the coast. Photo: Pam Smith

Their lives are dictated by the tide clock that hangs on a kitchen wall. At near low tide, her nephew, Alex Kwiguire, launches his boat and heads for Galloway flats.  He digs for tasty treasures, oysters, until the tide rolls back in and then helps Fulford tumble, wash and bag the catch.  Fulford orchestrates distribution, while Varnam handles marketing and bookkeeping.

“We have regular customers,” she says. “Some come all the way from Raleigh and Winston Salem for our fresh-from-the-river oysters.”

“That’s because Varnamtown’s fat and salty oysters are hands down the best on the coast,” Fulford says matter-of-factly.

Varnam recalls a time when there were no restrictions to when and where you could dig for oysters. Now, about two-thirds of the river is permanently closed to shell-fishing and runoff from an inch of rain conditionally closes additional areas.  So, when the rain comes, they close shop until state inspectors give the green light.

Kwiguire agrees with his neighbors across the river.  Stormwater runoff hotspots coincide with development patterns along the N.C. 211 corridor in the heart of the Lockwoods Folly watershed.

“When you tear one tree down, that’s one tree that’s not filtering stormwater.  Development has not been good for estuaries.  Oyster harvests have definitely slacked off here.  Stormwater runoff washes into the river and sediments bury oyster beds,” Kwiguire asserts.

Inlet a Lifeline

Clear passage to the ocean for the Varnumtown fishing boats is critical to the survival of the commercial fishing industry along the river. Photo Pam Smith

Sedimentation and shoaling also contribute to Varnamtown shrimper Danny Galloway’s woes.  Shallow conditions in the Lockwoods Folly Inlet mean he can’t navigate his 80-foot trawler through the inlet to the ocean.

“It’s so shallow, you can walk across the inlet,” he says. “Even small boats risk running aground at or near low tide.”

For nearly two years, he has been forced to steam up the Intracoastal to Southport and enter the Atlantic through the Cape Fear River. And, extra miles mean extra fuel costs.

While Hurricane Irene exacerbated navigation problems last year, she also precipitated the recent authorization of emergency funding from the Army Corps of Engineers for dredging this spring. That’s good news since the inlet is the lifeline for commercial and recreational boaters.

Clear passage also is critical for many fish species that travel in and out of the estuary through the inlet at various stages of their lifecycles.  Sandbars that may block their passage also may cause stagnation of estuarine waters, stifling oxygen for finfish and shellfish alike.

Here’s how Sunset Harbor on the Lockwoods Folly River got its name. Photo:Phyllis Evans

First of three parts

SUNSET HARBOR — Picture this:  As evening approaches, a parade begins.  In the lead are folks on foot.  Some follow on bikes; others, on golf carts.  They are heading toward “the point” for the regularly scheduled show – a stunning sunset.

No, it’s not Key West, where musicians, mimes and magicians entertain the gathering crowd.  Rather, it’s Sunset Harbor, a tiny coastal community, whose residents are drawn to the water’s edge for the sheer delight of watching the luminous horizon transform the Lockwoods Folly River into a kaleidoscope of shimmering color.

“They call it Sunset Harbor for a good reason,” says Joe Taylor, describing the nightly ritual with obvious pride.

Taylor says he never tires of the recurring spectacle and is not shy about declaring his love for the close-knit community – and the Lockwoods Folly River.

Joe Taylor, left, and Dave Pelizzari enjoy the simplicity of life on the river. Photo: Pam Smith

His neighbor and friend Dave Pelizzari is in full agreement.  “There is simplicity and beauty here.  You can sit and watch the river for hours and not be bored.  There are surprises in any season – boats, fish, dolphins, birds – we have it all,” he notes.

As though to prove the point that crisp afternoon, an osprey circles overhead and announces its midwinter presence with a familiar high-pitched chirp.

While Taylor and Pelizzari say they leave Sunset Harbor only when they have to, they do make exceptions.  For example, they frequently launch their boats onto the Lockwoods Folly to explore the multi-faceted gem of a river that Mother Nature designed expressly for – and entirely in – Brunswick County.

Diverse Lockwoods Folly

Diversity marks the full course of the Lockwoods Folly River, which drains a 150-square mile watershed in southeast Brunswick County.  From the river’s headwaters in the pristine Green Swamp Preserve to its inlet that discharges into the Atlantic Ocean between the Oak Island and Holden Beach barrier islands, it winds through a full range of habitats – pinelands, hardwoods, wetlands, blackwater creeks and tributaries, deepwater runs, marsh, mudflats, estuary and shallows.  Each unique habitat sustains countless bird species, game and non-game wildlife, rare plants and an array of finfish and shellfish.

As a coastal river goes, it’s the total package.  Its diversity offers something for everyone.

Moreover, the Lockwoods Folly River is personal to diverse folks who understand its place in history and culture; love to explore its natural wonders; depend on it for their livelihoods; and work to protect its biodiversity for generations to come.

The river is central to the history of the region, says Danny Galloway, a third generation Varnamtown waterman.

“There would be no Varnamtown if it weren’t for the river. When it was settled in the 1800s, the river was the highway. There were no roads – the people depended on the river for transportation, their living and trade and commerce with the outside,” Galloway explains.

The Galloways, it turns out, are “newcomers” to the town.  It wasn’t until North Carolina mandated public education in the late 1800s that Galloway’s grandfather relocated the family from “across the river”  so his children could attend Varnamtown’s one-room school house.  By then, the Varnam and Dixon families already had established themselves as premier boat builders and watermen in the region.

Gary Galloway on the deck of his fishing trawler in Varnumtown.

“My grandfather and my father both made their living on the Lockwood – oysters, clams, shrimp and the whole spectrum of fisheries,” says Galloway.  His brothers still do some oystering.  But, his livelihood depends on shrimping offshore aboard his Varnam-built, 80-foot trawler, the Andrea Dawn.

“No doubt about it. The river is tied to the community and the community to river,” he adds with certainty.

What is not so certain, though, is the origin of the river’s name – which appears on a map dated as early as 1671. The most familiar story goes that a Mr. Lockwood built a big ship up the river. Unfortunately, it was too big to pass through the inlet to the ocean. Thus, Lockwood’s Folly.  A second version claims that Lockwood attempted to establish a colony by the river, but had to abandon the site because of “issues” with local Indians.  Hence, the Lockwood Folly.

A third version, according to The North Carolina Gazetteer, suggests that the name harkens to a time when landowners added “Folly” to the names of their manors – from the French word folie, meaning “delight.” Thus, Lockwood’s Folly would translate Lockwood’s Delight.

The quandary is reflected in personal references to the river as well as spelling variations on road signs at certain river crossings.  Diversity aside, a recent trend seems to lean toward Lockwoods Folly River as the quasi-official name.

Naturalists’ Delight

But if you asked Emma Thomas, she might tell you that Lockwood’s Delight is a fitting title, given the river’s natural wonders.  Thomas says she is lucky to have turned her passion for the coastal environment into an ecotourism venture.  As the owner-operator-guide for The Adventure Kayak Company in Southport, she paddles the Lockwoods Folly River for both business and pleasure.

The river is tidal, she warns. So, it’s best to launch with the incoming high tide for a less strenuous journey.  From a public boat launch at Varnamtown, it’s about a 12-mile trip upriver to the N.C. 211 Bridge, close to Ocean Highway.

And, prepare to be amazed. “Kayaking offers an opportunity to embrace nature and the most incredible scenery along the way.  Near Varnamtown, the mudflats provide habitat for shellfish and the marshes provide nursery grounds for a host of finfish,” she says. “You see a lot of critters – from fiddler crabs scurrying in the mud to dolphins bobbing for fish in the bay. Pelicans and osprey swoop in for a share of the seafood buffet.”

Paddlers follow the deepwater route that once carried goods from downriver to landings near current-day N.C.  211. Today, the upper portion of the river serves as a safe harbor for commercial fishing vessels when hurricanes threaten to batter the coast.

But for paddlers, the lure of the Lockwoods Folly River lies beyond the 211 bridge – where little development has disturbed the natural flow and processes of the river.

A kayaker skims through the still water of the upper river. Photo: Emma Thomas

The river narrows and the surrounding habitat takes a decided turn.  Here, cypress trees – some said to be a 1,000 years old – rise above the black water flow.  Beavers, otters, deer, water fowl, wading birds and song birds are abundant.

“It’s not unusual to see crowned night heron and even wood storks in this stretch,” Thomas says.
“And, yes, it’s a good idea to keep a watchful eye for alligators.  I spotted one that was at least 13 feet long – no tall tale.”

Thomas says she also meets the nicest people on the river – some ready to share a tall tale or two.  “An oldtimer in Varnamtown once told me that he remembers a time when the tide was so high, the sharks were eating his collards,” she recalls.

The people in places like Varnamtown and Sunset Harbor are an important part of living history.  They share a mutual love and respect for the Lockwoods Folly River.

“My mission is to get more people out into this unique environment so they become partners in protecting the river and a way of life,” Thomas says.

Tuesday:The communities and commerce of the river