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The Land Of Beginnings
THE OUTER BANKS of North Carolina run from Corolla down to Portsmouth
Island, below Ocracoke, but they have spawned so many legends and mysteries
that they defy specific geographical boundaries. They become mythological
latitudes and longitudes, encompassing strange and romantic tales of a
colorful, heroic people.
The Outer Banks take on a personality, with many faces and moods, from
calm waters under tranquil skies to raging winds and angry seas, twelve-foot
waves tossing foam like snow that piles up in quivering drifts, sometimes
washing away sand that uncovers ribs of shipwrecks not seen for a hundred
years. Fickle, these Banks, but never boring. Always beautiful.
I was lured into this borderless landscape by a love of fishing, twenty
years ago, where I first felt the blood pound in my chest on the south
point of Oregon Inlet during a "blitz." One minute my mountain fishing
buddies and I were alone, catching an occasional flounder--the next minute
we were shoulder-to-shoulder with fishermen, casting into the feeding
frenzy. We stood where crosscurrents of sound-meeting-the-ocean boiled
with f ish, seagulls by the hundreds circling frantically, diving, diving,
screaming their raucous calls into the bloodied salty air.
The blitz dissipated. At sundown a red-orange sky filled with millions
of ducks and geese, winging out in every direction on the compass. A sight
that took my breath. We headed for our rented house at South Nags Head,
coolers filled with flounder, blues, sea trout (almost four feet long,
caught on a Gotche!), channel bass, and sea mullet. As we drove from the
Point back toward the Coast Guard station, a ringnecked pheasant flew
over our camper and glided gracefully into the brush, creating another
increase in my pulse rate.
I was hooked.
That night Merle Russell, my buddy Chet Atkins' daughter, brought some
native Outer Bankers to our fish fry. My famous songwriter friend, John
D. Loudermilk, and wife Susie arrived, so we partook of some spirits and
passed the guitar around. John sang a few of his many hits and I sang
my "Reverend Mr. Black," "Jackson," "Ode To The Little Brown Shack Out
Back," and "The Coming Of The Roads." (I wrote "Coward Of The County"
a few years later.)
Everybody joined in the singing, including our native guests, who topped
off the evening telling us about life on the Outer Banks, working, fishing,
working at fishing, using phrases like: Meet me at hoy toid on the
sound soid.
I didn't understand all they said, but I caught enough to know I was
in enchanted country--harsh and demanding sometimes, but worth getting
to know. There were treasures hereabouts, tales of tragedies, treacheries,
legends, some true, some on the yarn side of history. Virginia Dare was
born here, the first English child born in America. (She and her entire
colony disappeared, a mystery that led Paul Green to write "The Lost Colony,"
America's first outdoor drama, still running during the summers at Manteo.)
Blackbeard plundered and pillaged out of Ocracoke. The Wright Brothers
were first in flight at Kitty Hawk. The first broadcast of musical notes
was from Hatteras Island to Roanoke Island.
No wonder they call this "The land of beginnings." My songwriting and
singing led Ken Mann of Wanchese to interview me on his radio station
at Nags Head, WNHW 92.5, where he has interviewed folks like Roy Rogers,
Vince Gill, Chet Atkins, Reba McEntire, and Clint Black. Ken also co-owns
WYND 97.1 of Hatteras, is president of First Flight Society, and is a
member of the First Flight Centennial Commission. He plays keyboards in
a local band called Captain's Crew. His proudest claim to fame, however,
is that he is descended from one of the oldest families in these parts.
(Ever hear of Mann's Harbor?)
Ken and I came up with the idea of writing songs about the legends of
the Outer Banks, so we asked hit songwriter Paul Craft to bring his creative
mind and talent to the project. (Paul wrote "Dropkick Me, Jesus," "It's
Me Again, Margaret," "Midnight Flyer," "Brother Jukebox," "Keep Me From
Blowing Away," etc.) Paul spent a week with me here in 1994, as a staffer
in my Great Atlantic Songwriting Seminars, during which we had to evacuate
our house because of hurricane Emily. But Paul thought it was exciting,
as I did, and he has come to love the Outer Banks as much as I do.
In November of 1995 Paul and I rented an ocean-front house at South
Nags Head and, with Ken's help, started writing the songs you hear on
this album.
We hope that, if you don't already, these songs will help you come to
love and appreciate the Outer Banks. (But be careful. The salt air here
is contagious. This is enchanted country. You can go away but you can
never leave. You'll keep coming back to the Outer Banks forever and ever.)
Amen.
Sincerely,
Billy Edd Wheeler
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