Drawing Conclusions: 



Meditations on an Old-Fashioned Bridge 



ByJulie Ann Powers • Photos by Scott D. Taylor 



I f living at the edge of the ocean 

 isn't reminder enough of human 

 humility, consider the Grayden Paul 

 Drawbridge. 



The creaky little span over Gallants 

 Channel near Beaufort splits open three 

 times an hour when the weather is warm 

 and boat traffic busy. 



When it does, it becomes the great 

 leveler on land. All cars are created 

 equal. Everybody has to stop where they 

 are. Everybody has to wait, be patient 

 and take their turn. Everybody has the 

 time to consider that they are neither the 

 center of the universe, nor is their 

 mission of great cosmic importance. 



This powerlessness, however 

 impermanent, is unbearable for many. 

 The campaign to rush construction of a 

 high-rise replacement grows louder by 

 the day. 



But some of us in Beaufort are 

 quite fond of that old bridge. Some of us 

 savor its influence on daily life. We 

 don't desire improved connection to the 

 mainland. We see the drawbridge as a 

 welcome line of demarcation from it. 



To us, the drawbridge is more than 

 outdated engineering. It is a philosophy 

 of simplicity. It is a metaphor for 

 minimalism. And it is indisputable 

 evidence that this is an altogether 

 different sort of place. 



Every 20 minutes as its siren wails 

 and its draws lift skyward, it announces 

 that here, at least for some, the rhythm 

 of life is still dictated more by tides than 

 time clocks. That here, boats and what- 

 ever business they are about still matter. 



A deep affection for boats often 

 coincides with a soft spot for this bridge. 

 For some of us, it is impossible to look 

 upon a sailboat and not wonder where 

 it's bound and where it's been. It is 

 impossible to watch a stout fishing 

 trawler rumble by and not wonder, even 

 just a little, about the wife or daughter 

 whose name it bears. 



We do not see just vessels going 

 through the bridge. We see romance. 

 We see adventure. We see destiny. 



Even if not beguiled by boats or 

 beholden to them, the bridge offers 

 frequent opportunity to inventory the 

 infinite wonders of where we are. 



The tides that wash so fast beneath 

 the draws are part of the sea itself. 

 Beaufort Inlet, a portal to all the world's 

 oceans, is so close you can often count 

 the waves. Beyond its deep channel, 

 great ships bound for the state's ports 

 rest at anchor. Even these giants look 

 small against the endless, bottomless 

 salt water. 



Closer at hand, dolphins and 

 shorebirds move in graceful arcs across 

 the waterscape. A turn toward Town 

 Creek in summer adds the delightful 

 sight of a dozen tiny sailboats seeking 

 the sea breeze. The young sailors are 

 students of the Maritime Museum's 

 junior sailing program, the wee wooden 

 boats lovingly built by volunteers. 



This, too, is where I often take my 

 own little boats. So sweet is the sailing 

 of a fine small boat in this pretty harbor 

 that the periodic lifting of the draw- 

 bridge is the only hint of passing time. 



My diminutive craft can easily pass 

 beneath the closed drawbridge. But I've 

 spent some time — lots of time — on 

 bigger boats waiting for the Beaufort 

 bridge and others along the Atlantic 

 Intracoastal Waterway to open. 



Like the Grayden Paul, most of the 

 aging Intracoastal bridges are subject to 

 increasing car traffic. And, like the 

 Grayden Paul, most are under pressure 

 to further limit openings until big 

 bridges can be built. 



Many drawbridges will not open at 

 all during land rush hours now. But 

 having done both, I can say that waiting 

 is far more trying on the water than on 

 the highway, especially in an open 

 cockpit and a cold wind. Just a little bad 

 luck or bad timing can rearrange plans 

 for the whole day, the whole voyage. 

 My indulgence of drawbridges at these 

 vexing moments sometimes wavers. 



Unpredictability, however, is the 

 nature of boat travel, and by necessity 

 those aboard usually are patient and 

 easygoing. Otherwise, we wouldn't 

 choose a method of transportation far 

 older than the covered wagon and just as 

 slow. 



If I have to leave Beaufort at all, I 

 prefer to do so by boat, even if it means 

 waiting for the bridge. I often fail to 

 execute the departure by land. The 

 drawbridge is a conspirator in this, 

 particularly when the motivation is 

 material goods not available on my side. 



A sign on the approach reads 

 simply "Drawbridge," but it seems to 



Continued 



COASTWATCH 25 



