Over 300 years ago, early Spanish explorers found themselves shipwrecked or nearly run aground near the outer banks of North Carolina. During major storms, Spanish horses onboard were either thrown overboard to loosen the load, or they survived the shipwrecks. Either way, the horses swam to shore and made a home on the islands. Their descendants still live there and thrive.
This brings me to my husband’s bucket list. He has a list of things he wants to do before he dies, and seeing the wild horses on Shackleford Banks, North Carolina, was on that list. Never mind that his list and my list don’t mesh.
So because of the stupid hurricane, my bucket list dream, to visit the northern states and see the Autumn leaves, was replaced by his trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Bummer.
I tried to be a good sport about the whole thing. Really, I did. But I had been to the Outer Banks before and knew that other than seeing the wild horses, in the winter there was literally NOTHING TO DO. And he wanted to stay for four days.
On day one, we arrived too late to do anything other than eat supper, find a hotel that accepted pets, and an open restaurant that didn’t require reservations. That was easier said than done. So we ate at Dairy Queen and got a hotel room off the beaten path with no ocean view.
I was seriously on my way to sulking by then.
But the next morning we had reservations to catch a ferry that would take us to the island to see the horses. I summoned up a little enthusiasm and was actually getting in the spirit of things when we arrived at the dock. On the ferry, I looked around at my fellow passengers and enjoyed the brisk wind and informative guide.
When we arrived at the shore, the guide reminded us to be careful. “These horses are wild animals!” he said with a chill warning. “They WILL bite you and kick you, so you must be wary and proceed with caution if you see them!”
We got off the boat with fear and more than a little caution, and we began to walk towards the huge sand dunes and brush just ahead. We climbed to the highest dune where I had hoped to see horses from a distance, but the trees and brush were too tall and thick. So we had a little picnic overlooking the beach. Finally, my husband stated that it was time to leave. We had 30 minutes to catch the ferry back to the mainland.
Bored, I made the suggestion that we take a shortcut and off we went. We cut through brush, between low hanging tree branches and up and down dunes. Now, I was actually having a good time trying to navigate the landscape and get to the other side of the island.
And THAT’S when my husband began to kill my fun.
“We. Are. Lost!” he shouted.
“No we are not,” I said scoffingly.
“Yes we are, and the ferry is going to leave us!” he groused. “And what is wrong with this dog! He won’t move forward,” added my husband dragging the dog by the leash.
I stopped, turned around, and went to the dog. Picking him up, I found tiny cacti in every foot and one stuck to his belly.
I fixed the problem and carried the dog in one arm, and my cane for stability in my left hand. Thinking this would alleviate the snarky attitude by the man behind me, I moved forward again.
“WE ARE LOST!!” he shouted again.
By now, I’d had enough.
“SHUT UP! We are NOT lost! You can’t get lost on an island!” I shouted back. “Besides, the sun is on my right which means we are heading south because IT IS 3:00 PM! I repeat…WE. ARE. NOT. LOST! Now just be quiet! This is the trip YOU wanted! Now go climb that dune and see if you see the ferry!” I said that just to get rid of him. He sullenly turned and trudged up the dune.
But suddenly he stopped short and whispered rather loudly, “
Horses…ahead of you!” He scrambled down the dune and ran up to me. Excited, I moved quickly down the path and around a stand of trees.
And there they were. A reddish-brown horse and a black one. They were beautiful. And they were in my way. I couldn’t continue down the path because they were standing in the middle of it.
A little fearful, I made my way a little closer to them and yelled, “Yah…horse…move!” The black one slowly sauntered up the nearest dune. But the reddish one turned, stared at me with a baleful, defiant look, and resumed eating. No amount of yelling fazed him. Trembling, I carefully reached out with my cane and poked him on his rear end.
He still didn’t move. This was the wild animal they were talking about? Seriously? They couldn’t have cared less that we were there. Frustrated, I turned, climbed the next dune and went around the nasty beast. And sure enough, right over the next dune, was the ferry dock.
I couldn’t help it. I had to be snarky.
“Look honey, there is the dock….there is the sign that states it, and there is the lady in the pink pants and the man with the ugly tie dye t-shirt who were on board with us. See, I told you we weren’t lost.” He admitted I was right, and we went back to the hotel.
And what did we do for the next three cold days? NOTHING…. because there’s nothing to do in the winter on the Outer Banks. But HE had a wonderful, relaxing time. At least we can cross this off the list.
