The Beach Road

For those on the island, the situation was frustrating. As the rest of the country picked up pace and the age of the automobile accelerated, plans for a highway on the island remained stalled.

Without a road, islanders were left to fend for themselves. A trip up the beach left the driver with two choices: the unpredictable beach side (''riding the wash'') or the even more unpredictable ''inside route.'' Neither was encouraging.

Taking the beach route was the choice of many. Long, pristine sections of the beach bore no mark of civilization, except for the many shipwrecks littering the sands.

''For every mile there was a wreck, for every wreck there was a deed of heroism and for every deed a dozen enchanting stories,'' former State publisher Bill Sharpe wrote in this magazine after a visit to the Outer Banks in 1952.

Travel along the oceanside was dependable enough, as long as the tide wasn't too high or the wind hadn't driven the sand into ''camelbacks.'' At low tide, with broad flat sections and plenty of space, it could even be a relatively quick and reliable route.

Along the first 20 miles below Oregon Inlet there were no villages. Only the Pea Island Lifesaving Station, abandoned after the war, gave any hint of human activity.

On the other side of the dunes, the ''inside,'' travel could be nerve-wracking. The rule of the day was to follow the most auto tracks, regardless of where they meandered. The road traces were there by custom only, as there were no right-of-ways or maintenance operations, just sand and scrub vegetation.

''The first 20 miles driving down from the Oregon Inlet ferry had a lot to do with determining whether you were suited for the Outer Banks or not,'' wrote Sharpe.

Sharpe visited Hatteras Island as the road was nearing completion. Only the final section between Rodanthe and the inlet remained incomplete, and the outside world was beginning to take notice. For the casual observer, the problem might seem easy enough. Start paving at one end of the island and stop at the other.

But there was more to the story than just paving a ribbon of asphalt along the moody and changing barrier islands of the Tar Heel coast. By building the highway, man drew a line in the sand and dared the ocean to cross it. The ocean has obliged many times over the past half-century.

Without a paved road, the seven villages of Hatteras Island were secluded and insular. Travel was at the mercy of the weather. Rumor and gossip moved faster than traffic.

The isolation fostered natural divisions among the residents of the different villages. People tended to stay in the villages, and many liked it that way.