Coastal commentary 



Felix Gets a Rise Out of Vacationing Editor 



Where does the managing editor of 

 Coastwatch go for vacation? 



The beach, of course. 



People always ask why I don't 

 escape to the mountains or elsewhere 

 when it comes time for a few days of 

 rest and relaxation. Sometimes I do, but 

 I least once a year I must spend a few 

 days along the North Carolina coast. 



The rhythmic crashing of the surf 

 somehow erases all the days 

 when the phone rings nonstop, 

 the laser printer won't work, 

 the color on the booklet just 

 delivered from the printer is 

 two shades off the one speci- 

 fied and my boss casually 

 mentions that he has AN- 

 OTHER new project that has to 

 be on the streets tomorrow. 



There's something 

 inherently soothing and 

 timeless about the eternal roll 

 of beach waves and the rise and 

 fall of the tides. The urgency I 

 face most days slips away and 

 is replaced by a more laissez-faire 

 attitude of "It'll still be there tomor- 

 row." 



This year, we packed the car with 

 everything from stuffed animals to cans 

 of X-men noodles and headed to 

 Topsail Beach for a week. 



Our rental cottage was perfect — 

 plenty of room for children, parents and 

 grandparents. The kitchen was fully 

 equipped, a washer and dryer were 

 neatly hidden in a second-floor closet 

 and the air-conditioning worked 

 efficiently. We could see the ocean and 

 the sound from the top deck, and we 

 were only a half block west of the 

 nearest beach access ramp. 



It was all I could ask for and more. 



I was anxious to delve into the bag 

 of books and magazines that I had 

 squirreled away in my canvas tote. 

 Finally, I would have time to read good 

 fiction, ponder the appeal of new 

 recipes, drool over glossy pictures of 

 color-coordinated perennial gardens 



and determine if there really was such 

 a thing as a "trend" in fall fashions. 



But there was a hitch. 



A hurricane named Felix was 

 churning the Atlantic Ocean southeast 

 of Cape Hatteras, and forecasters were 

 saying its path put it on a collision 

 course with the North Carolina coast. 



North Carolina hasn't looked a 

 hurricane squarely in the eye in almost 



Scott D. Taylor 



30 years, and Felix picks my one 

 week of vacation to come calling. 

 The audacity. I was mad. 



As I hit the beach at full stride, 

 ready to walk off my anger and 

 frustration at the possibility, I quickly 

 noticed the vulnerability of South 

 Topsail Beach. 



In some areas, there was virtually 

 no dune between the ocean and the first 

 line of houses or road. In other places, 

 a hill of sand had been pushed from the 

 beach to sit at the base of beachhouse 

 porches or pilings. The sand was not 

 anchored by beachgrass, sea oats or 

 any other plants. 



My Sea Grant knowledge, thanks 

 to coastal erosion specialist Spencer 

 Rogers, told me a few good waves and 

 a minimum storm surge would wash 

 that hill of sand away in minutes. 

 Already, high tide was pushing water 

 to the base of the dune. 



Behind the man-made dunes, a 

 line of 50 or more houses stood at 



attention like 18th-century infantrymen. 

 An odd assortment of flags flapped 

 from their decks, silently proclaiming 

 the houses ready for battle. 



But I knew that these houses, built 

 ever so close to the ocean, would be 

 easy targets for the first volley of wind 

 and waves that Felix might fire. 



It was sad to think that a single 

 storm might wipe away so much. But it 

 is also foolhardy to build so 

 close to an ocean so powerful. 

 Why can't we give the ocean 

 some space instead of parking 

 ourselves in its face? 



Recently, I traveled to 

 Minneapolis — the land of the 

 lakes. Several lakes were 

 encompassed within the city's 

 boundaries. City officials and 

 residents had resisted the urge 

 to build houses along the shores 

 of these lakes. Instead, they 

 opted to rim each with 

 greenways and parks. Any 

 housing sat behind roads that 

 formed the outer boundaries for these 

 public access areas. 



Why can't we do the same with 

 our beaches in North Carolina? Why 

 not leave the first 200 to 300 yards of 

 oceanfront vacant of housing? It would 

 improve beach access, provide a view 

 of the dunes and ocean unmarred by 

 buildings and offer a small measure of 

 insurance from hurricanes named Felix 

 and Hugo. 



I know this is wishful thinking, 

 that real estate rules over common good 

 and the dollar can buy anything — 

 except maybe an alternate course for a 

 hurricane. 



Alas, Felix knocked but didn't 

 come calling. My thoughts slipped 

 from thinking about beachfront 

 development to pondering the choices 

 for dinner and deciding the next book 

 to pull from my tote bag. 



No big storm huffed and puffed 

 and blew the houses down. But it could 

 have. 



Kathv Hart 



22 SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1995 



