16x20
Oil on Linen
On display and for sale at Room Service on Bald Head Island, NC
On my last couple of trips to Nags Head, I’ve taken the old Highway 64 through Manteo on the way back home so that I could see the old boats and what used to be the marina on the west end of the old double lane bridge that was once the only road connection to Roanoke Island and the North Carolina mainland at Manns Harbor Marina. Before the land was sold and the building torn down during the mid-2000’s real estate “gold rush”, the marina bustled with sport fishermen buying bait and putting their boats in the water at the adjoining ramps that gave a boater easy access to the Croatan Sound. Inside the old beach club style structure were old grocery store isles converted into bait shelves that led to a bar in the back serving ice cold beer in the cans. In the middle of the room was a pool table and lighting up every corner of the cypress wood walls was an old timey pin ball machine.
In no particular rush to get home a few weeks ago, I pulled in in the old abandoned parking lot and sitting on what appeared to be marine drums and dry docked for repairs was an old trawler named “Baby Bug”. She was perched up in the sandy area where everyone used to leave their trucks and trailers while they were fishing. As I was checking out the sun and light shining on the starboard side of the vessel, I couldn’t help to remember an old fishing trip I had taken there with a couple of friends way back when.
Several years ago back in the mid-1990’s when the Striped Bass / Rock were starting to make a comeback from many years of virtual nonexistence, Robert Hoggard, his son, Lewis, and I hooked the boat up one late fall Saturday and off we went to Manns Harbor to try and catch a Rock. Trolling among the pylons with broken back rebels, we landed our limit on a beautiful crisp November morning. As we reeled in our lines and began a slow ride back to the marina, Mr. Robert, visibly excited to finally have a rock in his boat after so many years, pulled a pint of bourbon and three can cokes out of his cooler. The procedure wasn’t complicated, yet methodical nonetheless as he popped each top, slightly tilted each can over the gun rail of the boat for a few seconds to empty about a quarter of the soda, and then placed each one beside the other in a perfect row on top of a bait cutting board. He then cracked the seal of the bottle and poured the brown liquor evenly in each red can until it overflowed. We all three grabbed a can and toasted the return of the rockfish. I can honestly say that with the cool temps and the brisk northeast wind starting to pick up, there wasn’t a better tasting beverage to be had at the time.
