Portsmouth Island, an uninhabited island along North Carolina’s Outer Banks, has been called the “hidden jewel” of the Outer Banks and is part of the Cape Lookout National Seashore. Boasting a real ghost town of about 20 buildings, the last permanent residents left the island in 1971.

Portsmouth Island is only accessible by boat, which keeps the number of annual visitors relatively low. For years, I had wanted to be part of that number, to immerse myself in an interesting aspect of history. Early this October, I received that chance. But unexpectedly, the lessons learned were less about history and more about endurance, less about what was than about what is.

After an incredibly bumpy boat ride across the incoming tide and windswept surface of Pamlico Sound (a ride that made me send up a prayer of thanks that my pregnant sister-in-law choose not to accompany us), my husband, my two boys, and I, along with my parents and a handful of other passengers disembarked at the Haulover Point Dock on Portsmouth’s northern shore. Just ahead of us, beyond the long wooden dock and clumps of bayberry and other foliage, lay the pristine, whitewashed buildings of the abandoned village.

But like any good ghost town, this village had residents. We met them as soon as we stepped off of the dock.

Mosquitoes.

And more mosquitoes. Of the giant variety. Which literally swarmed and coated one’s clothes, skin, and hair. Smacking our legs and waving the insects off our boys, we ran several yards to the Welcome Center, where we donned mosquito nets and borrowed bug spray with DEET. The health-conscious Avon Skin So Soft that we had brought did nothing to deter these beasts.

My husband took off at fast clip with our youngest son, intent on getting through the village and out onto the beach as soon as possible where our boat was supposed to meet us. My older son and I decided to make the best of the situation. Although we passed on visiting the School House—the path to it was bordered by the mosquito-infested foliage—we did visit the Post Office, the Methodist Church and the Lifesaving Station, even climbing two flights on a wooden ladder there to get an impressive vista of Pamlico Sound to the north.

Outside of the buildings, the mosquitoes were relentless. My son and I hurried along, eager now to reach the beach as well. Instead, our path ended at a stretch of water a mile long: the Tidal Flats. We stopped and stared at the impasse silently. My son and I were completely alone at this point; my husband was long gone ahead. We studied a posted map and determined together that the path we needed was straight through the water. We waded into the brackish murk, our shoes sticking in black sludge, which we found snakes tended to favor.

After pushing through the estuary for close to an hour, we came again onto dryer ground, where the mosquito assault began again in full-force. My son was crying by this point. I was trying to find the larger meaning in all of this.

Ahead, we saw sea oats waving. We climbed over a dune and down onto the widest and possibly the most beautiful beach that I had ever seen. The wind blew steadily from the south, which created little mounds and sculptures of powdery white sand around bits of shell and wood debris.

But again, we were completely alone. It was not difficult at all to imagine being stranded on a deserted island. We turned left—the park ranger had stressed to turn left, not right when we reached the ocean—and trudged across the barrenness. Sunlight shimmered and created mirages ahead of us. We’d think we saw our family ahead, but there was nothing there. “Mom,” said my son. “The boat can’t pick us up in the ocean.”

He was right. But not knowing what else to do, we walked. And walked.

Up ahead on the left, we caught a shimmer of water. And people. Another mirage? No, it was the rest of our family, waiting in the sand along the shore of Wallace Channel.

We had walked almost five miles, with no food and one bottle of water, my wearing only CurvesÒ sandals. We encountered the worst swarms of mosquitoes I’d ever seen. We walked through essentially a swamp infested with snakes. And made our way alone up an abandoned beach.

While Portsmouth Village was interesting in a historical sense, what I took away from this excursion was much richer than historical knowledge. I learned:

·         The Boy Scout motto to always be prepared means to always carry extra food, water, sunscreen, and bug repellent.

·         It is very wise to research an area to which you will be traveling—and obtain a good map ahead of time.

·         CurvesÒ sandals are extremely comfortable and waterproof, and highly recommended for walking long distances.

·         A mosquito can be the size of a small dog.

·         Not all snakes will bite.

·         A kid and a parent can make a great team.

·         There can be great beauty in the midst of mayhem.

·         I can do much more than I would have thought I could do.

All in all, not bad lessons to learn from a ghost town.

http://www.portsmouthnc.com/austinmap09.pdf (the map I should have found before the trip!)