"I suppose we all shared the feeling that no action by a 

 single individual or developer could possibly have an 

 appreciable effect on the so-called balance of nature," he 

 writes in Striking a Balance, a publication of the N.C. 

 Division of Coastal Management. 



But pretty soon Stick saw the folly of people building 

 too close to the ocean. And he shook his head when 

 property for sale frequently flooded. 



He saw houses fall over because of erosion, and hurri- 

 canes create disaster 



Common sense and an inherited eye for conservation 

 told him something could be done. 



He began telling folks at meeting after meeting about 

 respecting nature, the powers of storms and citizens' 

 rights. 



By the late 1950s, North Carolina and the nation 

 began realizing the need to protect coastal resources. 

 Stick heard the term "coastal zone management" for the 

 first time about then. 



In the 1960s, "when the environmental stuff was get- 

 ting big anyway," Stick joined some T^r Heel legislators in 

 a push for the Coastal Area Management Act. 



Opposition abounded. 



The new bill restricted development, banned 

 bulkheads, outlined setbacks and called for planning. 



It took more than 10 years, but in 1974, the largest 

 coordinated land use planning effort ever undertaken in 

 this country passed. 



After the victory, Stick was appointed vice chairman, 

 then chairman of the policy-making body created by 

 CAMA. 



Today Stick is proud to have been a part. 



CAMA made local officials and developers take a closer 

 look at what was happening to our coast. Stick says. 

 Gains have been made to protect our economy as well as 

 our natural resources. 



But development pressures continue. 



"These fragile islands can accommodate only a certain 

 amount of people without losing the very things that 

 made them attractive in the first place," Stick says. 



"Nothing is wrong with development; it's overdevelop- 

 ment." Stick believes the answer is in planning. 



"People say Southern Shores is a well-developed com- 

 munity," he says. "As I developed each area of Southern 

 Shores, I tried to envision the best I could when there 

 was total build-out. 



"Would there be trees? Would there be roads, and 

 would there be adequate services?" 



The mistake many planners made, he adds, is that they 

 looked only five years ahead. 



Stick also advocates better enforcement of the laws 

 dealing with the coast, and improved ways to inform the 

 public of the issues. 



Newspapers, politicians or public hearings won't do, he 

 says. 



One-on-one discussion, neighbors discussing their 

 problems, will bring about change. • 



Ti 



I here was a time when Lena Ritter couldn't name the 

 Onslow County commissioners. She didn't attend public 

 meetings, and she wouldn't have dreamed of making a 

 speech. 



Like the seven generations before her, Lena was a 

 fisherman. She and her husband Graham lived 300 feet 

 from where she was bom and half a mile from the sound 

 that had always fed and clothed her family. 



She had only seen the mountains twice, and Graham 

 was 50 before he ever spent a night in a motel. 



But in December 1982, a newspaper article trans- 

 formed Lena from a complacent fisherman to a civic 

 activist. 



The headline read, "Plans for new marina, condo proj- 

 ect unveiled." 



A developer wanted to turn pristine Permuda Island 

 into a planned community of 383 condos, four tennis 

 courts, two swimming pools and a marina. 



The developer touted his plan as an Onslow County 

 version of South Carolina's Hilton Head— a description 

 that didn't appeal to Lena and other local fishermen. 



Permuda Island is a slender, mile-long strip of 

 undeveloped land nestled in Stump Sound between Top- 

 sail Island and mainland Onslow County. 



The island is small, but it is surrounded by some of the 

 state's most productive clam and oyster beds. Lena knows 

 because she's spent the better part of her 51 years fishing 

 those waters. 



She and other local fishermen believed rainwater and 

 silt running off the development's roofs, roads and park- 

 ing lots would harm nearby shellfish beds. 



"I wasn't going to stand by and let developers rob us of 

 that," Lena says. 



She didn't. CONTINUED 



