Will a Bridge Narrow the Gap? 



Currituck is a county divided. 



Along the banks, planned communities 

 of expensive beach houses line grid streets, 

 forcing conformity on an environment that 

 is otherwise wild and changeable. 



Manicured lawns roll up to ornate brick 

 entrance signs that proclaim these subur- 

 ban outposts— Monteray Shores, Ocean 

 Sands and Corolla Light. 



Stores selling T-shirts and tanning lotion 

 are spelled s-h-o-p-p-e-s, and residents are 

 weekenders who have fled crowded north- 

 ern beaches for the cheaper, more isolated 

 shores of Currituck. 



Between these communities are stretches 

 of uninhabited beach and marsh owned by 

 the federal and state government, the Na- 

 tional Audubon Society and a remaining 

 hunt club. 



Here and there, mostly in the old Co- 

 rolla village, you'll see an older home 

 without yards of decking, skylights or 

 stained glass portholes. Here, native Cur- 

 rituckers maintain residence on their 

 home sands. 



But they are few. 



Across the shallow expanse of sound lies 

 mainland Currituck County. Here the 



names of communities are simple— Barco, 

 Coinjock, Grandy, Maple and Sligo— names 

 not designed to roll glibly off the tongues 

 of realtors. 



Here, communities are marked by green 

 highway signs and clusters of wood-sided 

 houses. Stores are called stores, and 

 neighbors are folks who know your grand- 

 mother's name on your father's side. 



Here, hunting was a livelihood not a 

 pastime, and ducks were tomorrow's din- 

 ner not a mounting on the wall. 



They're different, mainland and beach- 

 front Currituck County, as different as 

 homemade and store-bought bread. 



And for now, each is isolated from the 

 other. 



To reach the beaches of Currituck, you 

 can boat across a sound that changes 

 depths faster than a fly changes direction. 



Or you can take Highway 158 down the 

 length of the mainland; cross the bridge 

 that spans the tip end of the sound; take 

 Highway 12 north through the Dare County 

 communities of Southern Shores, Duck 

 and Sanderling; and finally reach the Cur- 

 rituck shore. 



The trip from Currituck, the county 

 seat, to Corolla, the stopping point for 

 Highway 12, can take an hour or more. 



But if you own a house at Swan, North 

 Swan or Carova beaches, then the beach 

 and a low tide offers the only road home. 



Two wildlife refuges north of Corolla 

 have denied access through their boun- 

 daries and forced residents to consider the 

 beach their link to others. 



Developers still talk of negotiating an 

 easement through the government prop- 

 erty, but most consider the topic moot. 



To alleviate some of the problems of ac- 

 cess, many in the county and the region 

 would like to marry the beach and the 

 mainland with a bridge that would span 

 the middle of Currituck Sound. 



State Senator Marc Basnight, who rep- 

 resents the county, says the bridge is 

 13 years deep in the state Department of 

 Transportation's long-range plan. Develop- 

 ers and some county residents are pushing 

 for an earlier start. 



Many county natives support the bridge, 

 hoping to inject some prosperity into a 

 mainland that can no longer count on 

 clouds of waterfowl and stringers of 

 largemouth bass to sustain it. 



Man-made and natural factors have 

 reduced the populations of ducks and fish 



