Pea Island:
Cruising south from Nags Head, you will inevitably arrive at Whalebone Junction, where the bridge connecting Roanoke Island attaches to the Dare beaches. From here, you can set your sights toward the Cape Hatteras National Seashore, a 75-mile stretch of islands from South Nags Head to Ocracoke.
Hatteras, in the collective sense, is especially vulnerable to the combined effects of intense winds, abnormally high tides and heavy flooding due to tropical systems. The highway through the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge has been redesigned and pushed inland toward the Sound as storm activity continues to threaten this thin, 13-mile strip of sand. Before entering Pea Island, though, you will pass over the three-mile arch of Herbert C. Bonner Bridge, erected in 1963, which spans Oregon Inlet and connects Bodie Island to Hatteras Island. You can become part of one of the most picturesque scenes on the island when you cross over the Bonner Bridge at sunrise or sunset. Picture yourself squinting through a salt-caked windshield at the sun glistening off the waters below and maybe, just maybe, a wave breaking in the distance.
Once you arrive on Pea Island, you know you’re in Hatteras. Sea oats, cacti, herons, 5,000 acres of marshland and not much more on this ribbon of sand — except the ocean. This is one place that has no true spots, but little lumps of sand that turn on and off with the ebb and flow of tides and the push and pull of winds. A good first check would be at the first visitor center you see. This spot is appropriately named “The Boiler” for the partially submerged boilerplate of a wrecked ship extending out of the water, hundreds of yards from shore. Years ago, many island surfers could be found cutting class to take their youth energy out on The Boiler’s waves. In recent years, however, the wave has drifted to some other spot on Pea Island. Only time will tell when it will reemerge as the wave-rich playground it used to be. You’re best bet for finding the prime spot is to look for a bunch of cars parked along the road and follow their lead — just be careful not to bury your wheels in the soft sand. If you’re looking to avoid the most popular break, Pea Island’s pretty empty, and there should be no problem finding your own peak. Just be prepared to haul ass over the high dunes and don’t be surprised if you see the occasional topless sunbather. It’s a wildlife refuge, so that type of thing is decriminalized (spanking it in the dune-line, however, may not be).
S-Turns:
On Pea Island, it’s all about what you want to get out of your surfing experience. Do you want a nice little wave all to yourself without the hoots and chattering of other bothersome humans? Or are you one of those guys who can’t stand to know someone is catching better waves? If your answer is the latter, keep driving until you come to an S-shaped curve in the road, an entire procession of cars on the side of that road and a column of beach houses up ahead in the distance. Then you know you’re at S-Turns.
S-Turns is the name given to the final, winding stretch of road before the town of Rodanthe. This is where most of the focus on the island has been in the past few years. Videographers Kevin Welsh and Nic McClean have highlighted international talent at the break in their flicks, and the magazines have shown no shame in printing the break’s name and players, which includes everyone from the Outer Banks’ original pro Noah Snyder to any of the succeeding troop such as Jesse Hines and Brett Barley. Say all you want about the Lighthouse being the hallmark of surfing on the Outer Banks — any local will tell you the S-Turns wave is the boss dog of the boneyard nowadays.
Don’t let the number of cars parked on the side of the road at S-Turns ever mislead you from checking it. If it’s on, everyone gets barreled. Subtle sand points throw perhaps the best barrels on the island. South swells spew pure magic for surfers, while the north swells, depending on how the sand is, offer a chunkier, less predictable thrill. As you peer over the last clearing, a whiff of spit emerges out of a blue-green tube. Another wave just as perfect throws itself across the shallow sand on the inside, sucking dry sand and sediment, changing from a luminescent green to a filthy dark brown. Three guys are sitting on the shoulder of another wave — patient, bored. The sun is blazing. Water: 75 degrees. Air: 85 degrees. Wind: west 5 mph. Tide: incoming. You smile at the plethora of scattered peaks that covers the entire stretch of beach (especially on a south) as swells hit the shelf at a boxy angle, creating the dredging pits that Hatteras is famous for. Yes.