point lay the first unoccupied campsite 

 and beyond it a tight-woven collar of 

 shrub thicket. I dropped to my knees 

 and peered in. A good two feet of open 

 space separated the ground from the 

 bush canopy and seemed to reach 

 forever. A startled marsh rabbit high- 

 tailed it into the distance. 



It was only a glimpse, but enough 

 to set me planning. For now, I had a 

 ferry to catch. But I'd be back. 



Bear Island is 3 1/2 miles of sand 

 bank dotted with a dynamic cover of 



plants, shrubs and trees. It's a half-mile 

 at the widest. Early maps refer to "Bare 

 Banks," and it's speculated that an error 

 in transcription — not the presence of 

 bears — gave the island its current 

 name. Unlike many barrier islands, 

 virtually no water washes over the body 

 of the island. Rather, the wind blows 

 mobile fields of sand upward into crests 

 topping 60 feet. Approaching from the 

 marsh side, you can see the tallest one 

 overtaking the maritime forest like a 

 white wave. Sand movement by water 

 is confined to the inlets and more 

 pronounced at the northeast end. Here 



the inlet "breathes," expanding and 

 contracting over time as sand shifts. 

 The island comprises the majority of 

 the Hammocks park — 880 odd acres. 

 Thirty-three acres on the mainland 

 house the ferry dock, boat ramp, park 

 office and parking lot. 



The island is bound by the 

 Atlantic Ocean on the south and the 

 Intracoastal Waterway and various 

 creeks and marshes to the north. At 

 the northeast tip, Bogue Inlet empties 

 the White Oak River and divides Bear 

 Island from the developed shores of 



Continued 



COASTWATCH 3 



