Pony on Shackleford Bank, North Carolina's Outer Banks
Shackleford Banks is a barrier island where wild horses live. They are small so people also call them ponies. My sister Tannye had flown down from Maine for the weekend and we decided to visit S.B., something I'd been wanting to do since we moved here last weekend. We drove to the lovely little town of Beaufort. We found a place to park right by the docks. Soon we came to a row of booths for the charter captains. There were all types of boats to charter, from kayaks and small sail boats to big ocean going sailing yachts. We paid a small fee at and got aboard a sturdy 24' skiff with a big motor. It had passenger seats and very nice aluminum railings. Soon we were idling out among the little islands and when we got to the main channel the captain opened the throttle and we zoomed out towards the pass to the open ocean. We landed on the southern tip of Shackleford Banks, right at the mouth of the inlet. I had been watching a big yacht sailing close-hauled, struggling slowly towards the open Atlantic. He seemed motionless against the shore of the island to the south of us as we sped across the small choppy waves. I asked our Captain if the sailboat was fighting a current along with the headwind and he said that sometimes, at the change of the tide, it rushes in at 8 knots .
After the water-taxi beached its bow on the smooth sand we jumped out and started heading along the beach to the Atlantic side. It was so beautiful. There were pretty shell everywhere. In some places the beach itself was composed of small particles of multi-colored shells that were polished and rounded smooth by the action of the waves. We'd brought our backpacks to carry our jumpers, water and snacks. We collected some of the pretty shells to take home with us.
After we had walked along the beach for awhile and taken off our shoes and socks to splash in the surf, we turned inland to hike amongst the dunes in the hope of seeing some of the wild ponies. The ponies are the descendants of horses that swam ashore centuries ago when a Spanish galleon was shipwrecked on the treacherous shoals just offshore. We climbed to the top of one of the dunes and were able to see that the island stretched for miles, covered with interesting little trees and shrubs and an occasional yucca plant and with plenty of grass for the ponies to eat. It wasn't long before we discovered that it was easy to march along the little foot paths that wound among the dunes. We began to wonder if we'd ever see a wild horse. Then we began to notice clear evidence of horses: neat little piles of horse manure with fresh tracks all about. Once we'd arrived well into the middle of the island we turned north, hoping to spot a pony. In a few minutes we noticed a spot of brown fur moving on the grassy dunes. It was a pony foraging the grass back towards the beach. We quietly approached and I kept stopping to take photos with my cell-phone camera. As I got close saw how pretty he was and I began talking to him softly, telling him what a good looking little horse he was.
That's how I got to meet a wild pony.
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