Enter the Outer Banks from the South end of the bridge from Currituck at Point Harbor.....utter desolation. One or two REAL sportsmen's motels. No gas stations, every several miles two gas pumps protrude from the sand along side a dollar bill machine. Put your ones in and pump your gas. No bills, no gas. The beach road is covered with sand. Pull over anywhere and fish to your hearts content...no one owns the beach. Horses roam free at Corolla with no humans to complain about their presence. Walk out in the marsh and jump hunt all day in duck season. The legend of Nags Head is known by all and the mystery lingers. The legends of pirates spark the imagination. There are NO houses or condos to rent, the Outer Banks is an open range, no trespassing signs don't exist, no such thing as private parking with beach access only at narrow designated strips of land.
The desolate stretch of sand and wind that invigorated real men's bodies and imaginations.....those were the real Outer Banks, a place of mystery, history and intigue. Today, you might as well stop at Virginia Beach....no difference. You will NEVER know the Outer Banks.