Dixie Transforming

Many of us have experienced the romantic allure that is part of a tropical island vacation: the excitement of an exotic landscape, clear blue waters, sounds of strange birds (maybe monkeys), the smell of lush vegetation, and the feel of the sun that seems so much closer than it does at home.  Islands and exotic beaches are some of the most popular vacation destinations for all these reasons and more.

Most likely, unless you are extremely rich, you will not be the lone castaway on a barren beach, plucking coconuts off a tree, swaying in a hammock, or spearing barracuda fish.  Sorry to disrupt your fantasy, but the hard, cold reality of mainstream island vacation-making means the place needs to be ready to receive crowds of tourists.  We now learn the critical word of the day: i-n-f-r-a-s-t-r-u-c-t-u-r-e.  There.  I said it. Your fruity-umbrella-drink dream is over.  Sorry about that.  And it will still cost you, so keep reading.

Islands these days are not complete without a cruise ship terminal.

Infrastructure.  There needs to be a big enough airport, wide enough roads, large enough parking lots, and enough rental cars to get us out-of-towners around an island.  To enjoy ourselves once we’ve checked into our hotels, we need to have accessible beach walks, clear signage, pest management programs, erosion control, rental facilities, and lifeguard stations.  It goes to say that we might even need a Walmart.  All these things are required to have fun while we’re on vacation, right?  Ummm, yep.   Sadly, the result of all these described “necessities” is an island that resembles something more like home than we’d like to admit to ourselves and our pocketbooks.

So is there an alternative?  Can we actually “get away from it all” in our modern times?

Glad to answer that for you.  Yes, there is an alternative – and you don’t even have to completely abandon your expectations for luxury and service!  Room rates at the Greyfield Inn span from $395 to $595 per night with a two night minimum, and you’ll have to make your reservations at least six months in advance if you want one of the cheaper rooms.  The fee includes your meals and use of bikes, so don’t grumble too much!  If the price is a tad high, as I suspect it may be, there is a $4 per night alternative.  You will need to bring your camping gear and tick tweezers, though. Two choices for two different groups of people.  Makes sense so far.

This is where the elite classes stay on Cumberland Island. Greyfield was a former vacation "cottage" for a Carnegie descendant.

Once the accommodation question is resolved, you can start to think about that island experience I describe at the beginning of this post — an experience where people are rare, animals are abundant, you are aware of the “ecosystems” around you, roads are made of only sand, and 17-miles of undeveloped coastline await you.  Paradise, right?

Welcome to Cumberland Island National Seashore: a place where you begin to understand the limitations of being a human being.

There is a lot to do on Cumberland Island, but you have to plan ahead to do much of it.  At the camping orientation, given twice a day by the NPS rangers, scary pictures are painted of wry visitors who failed to acknowledge their physical limitations: snake bites, alligator attacks, groin tick infestations, poison ivy, sunburn, heatstroke, nausea, and feral horse bites.  It gets even gorier, but I’ll save you from it because I’d like you to actually consider going to this place at some point.

A first day on the island will usually involve walking as far as you can go around the island’s southern attractions.  This experience helps orient you to what your feet are capable of and how many pounds you can carry in your backpack.  Walking on sand is not an efficient thing to do, so if you are planning on going more than a few miles, you should practice a little bit beforehand.  You can also interact with armadillos and roaming wild turkeys and scruffy equines.

At first glance, they look pretty, but then you notice their ribs and their scarred tick bellies. The fat horse on the left is pregnant.

Day two might involve testing your endurance a little bit more.  On my recent travels to Cumberland Island, I had the big idea to rent a bike and go 17 miles to the First African Baptist Church.  This is the church where JFK Jr. married Caroline Bessett.  Yes, I am a celebrity stalker, I admit it, but who isn’t?  There are plenty of other things to see on the way to the church, which happens to be the last outpost on the northerly tip of the island.  Sounded like a good plan, but then I realized there’s an 17 mile return trip to get back to camp.  That’s a 34 mile bike trip on sand – using a wonky rental bike – I admit I was having doubts.

I discussed my supply needs with the ranger on duty (the one that scared us at the orientation).  He suggested I would need 10 bottles of water to get there and back.  That’s about a gallon of water!  Needless to say, the bike ride would end up being slower than I thought it would be.

Long story short, the bike ride did not require a whole gallon of water.  Weather conditions were nearly perfect – cloudy, 72F, breezy.  I drank about 5 or 6 of those 10 bottles of water.  In lieu of so much water, I should have taken more food and possibly a weapon.  On my way back, I ran into a wandering, lone feral stallion on the narrow sand road.  The darn horse had me in a standoff.  All I had to defend myself were a couple of oversize pinecones.  It was pathetic.  The take away message that day was you should not underestimate the scariness of an island’s feral wildlife.  Full of ticks, a scarred belly, bony ribs and back, oozing eyes and patchy hair – that horse was a piece of work.

This is a view of the "main road" about 13 miles north of my campground. The main road runs the full length of Cumberland Island and you'll need a 4WD vehicle to get there without a bike.

Traveling in this manner across Cumberland Island a person becomes very oriented to the landscape.  The nuances of the maritime forest are beautifully revealed, and the experience changes as the sunlight hits different parts of the foliage.  In most places on Cumberland Island, the predominant duo-culture is the saw palmetto and the southern live oak.  As you move north, you see an occasional pine tree.  Soon, these loblolly pines outnumber the oaks.  Later, you notice small wirey stands of long-leaf pine, an endangered native pine of Georgia.

Long leaf pine trees grow differently than other pines. They are a native Georgian pine species and increasingly rare.

Sound is one of your biggest experiential informants: the rustling noises in the fallen leaves is most likely an armadillo rooting around with its nose.  Bird song is ever present, and after a couple days, you’ll even forget the sound a crow makes.  At night, you hear the ghostly whinnies of wild horses moving through the roadway areas as they make their way to new grazing territory.  It is no surprise that the wildlife is one of the main reasons visitors come to Cumberland Island.  You interact more with animals than you do with people here.  For me, having grown up on a hobby farm, it is a reminder of my childhood – only the animals are a little bigger and fiercer.

The experience on Cumberland Island has nothing to do with island vacations you’ll find elsewhere.  Only a few other places in the United States can offer this kind of visceral experience where the landscape envelopes you so completely.  You aren’t provided for, save for running water at a few numbered locations.  You can only go as far as your feet or bike can take you.  You are responsible here.  That means you carry out each item of waste that you bring on the island.  Your care of the island is reflected in the pristine condition of the landscape.  To do this well, you act within a common ethic of stewardship that links you to the well-being of the creatures and plant communities around you.  Do you do that when you go to Hawaii, or when you pull into dock on your cruise ship on St. Thomas?

There is something to be said for “roughing it”.

For the next 4 nights I am going to be on Cumberland Island.  I would have liked to get more posts up about my time in Louisville and Savannah, but it just did not materialize.  It will come, though, I promise.

Today I spent all day driving around St. Mary’s various strip malls trying to find a butane burner.  I need to have coffee and hot cider when I am camping.  There is no getting around it.  I found the burner at K-mart for only $10.  It is scary that these things can be manufactured, packaged, shipped and displayed for such a small cost.  It is not a Coleman, though, so who knows if the thing will even work.

In researching my stay on Cumberland Island, I have come across many frightening blog posts describing the conditions that campers endure there.  For example:

“I’ve been camping on Cumberland about 60 times since 1988. It’s my favorite place in the whole world.  Summer camping on Cumberland is a challenge. Gets pretty hot, no see-ums are bad and at night what sounds like rain coming down from the trees are really ticks (I prefer to go there November thru late March).”  (posted June of 2009 on trailspace.com)

Hmmmmm.  So hopefully it won’t “rain” while I am there.  Dear god…Hope to see you on the other side.

During my stay in Manteo last weekend, I managed to get over to the Outer Banks and drive around a bit.

The Outer Banks of North Carolina

Leaving Manteo and going over the Crotoan Sound Bridge, you have two directional choices.  Take a left (north) and you pass through the towns of Nag’s Head, Kill Devil Hills, Kitty Hawk, etc.  This route is not for sightseeing.  The towns have little spatial distinction – you do not know when you have left one and entered another.  The highway functions as one long strip mall with lots of chain restaurants, “Wings” gear stores, taffy and ice cream shops, miniature golf places, and condominium developments.   The condo and housing developments are anywhere between 3 and 5 stories tall.  Views to the ocean from this part of the road are obscured.  The housing stock looks relatively new, perhaps built or refurbished in the last 20 years.

Bright yellow Wings stores are all over the place in the Outer Banks.

Your other choice is to take a right and head south along highway 12.  You soon understand why the communities to the north look the way they do.  The first thing you encounter is the welcome sign to the Cape Hatteras National Seashore area.  For the next 40 miles it’s more or less wide and open.  The sand dunes still block your view to the ocean, but commercial intrusion is absent.  Every 5 miles or so, you’ll come upon a new town (Rodanthe, Waves, Salvo, Avon, Buxton, Frisco, and finally, Hatteras) but their impact on the landscape is minimal compared to what you find north of the bridge.

These towns within the Cape Hatteras National Seashore have an interesting relationship with the National Parks Service.  Their beaches are managed by NPS whose mission includes safeguarding viable habitat for many species of migrating water fowl and shore mammals.  The NPS regularly closes sections of the coast where it is believed species of concern will nest.  Whenever the NPS announces closures, the towns cry foul play.  Closed beaches mean tourists fail to stopover, bypassing each town’s modest taffy and fudge stores, excursion operators, cafes, and beach gear shops.  Vestiges of public protest mark the roadside.

Endangered plovers are a bird species that will cause areas of the Outer Banks to close this season.

The scope of problems facing the Outer Banks is not merely commercial or economic in character. It is downright physical.  As a series of barrier islands, the Outer Banks are in a state of southerly migration.  Shifting sands here have created trouble for its tourism-based economy.  The government has made efforts to fight nature back.  Ten years ago, the iconic Cape Hatteras lighthouse was relocated almost half-mile inland to prevent the structure from literally falling in the sea.  Below a photo of the lighthouse location before it was moved:

You can go to the old lighthouse location and get a view of the new location in the distance, as I did below.  As the biggest tourist attraction in the Cape Hatteras National Seashore area, there was little question that the lighthouse needed to be “saved” from coastal erosion.  Many millions of dollars were spent to relocate it.  Still, there is little understanding of how long the investment will last given the latest predictions about sea level rise.

The granite slabs show the footprint of the original lighthouse location.

My trip to the Outer Banks was originally scheduled to have a 4 day stop on Ocracoke Island, the most southerly island within the National Seashore area.  I ended up canceling the Ocracoke leg of the trip, so none of my work there was done.   I intended to spend time investigating how Ocracoke’s version of tourism differs from tourism in towns outside of the boundary of the National Seashore area (Kill Devil Hill’s, Nag’s Head, etc).  The following questions are interesting to me: To what extent do activities for tourists in these designated areas have a distinct dependence on a healthy landscape?  How is the identity of the village of Ocracoke tied to these park assets?  Does Ocracoke intentionally forgo opportunities to develop parts of the island as a way to distinguish itself from other parts of the Outer Banks?

Before two days ago, I’d never set a foot in Manteo, NC.  But arriving there on Friday evening,  I knew exactly what I should look for and where to go.  Not once did I make a wrong turn.  I even knew where to find the post office (at the Chesley Mall).  It was a strange feeling, indeed.

This town of 1000 or so people is a place most students of landscape architecture and city planning at UC Berkeley are very familiar with.  We use the town as a case study of community design and planning in classes taught by Randy Hester and Marcia McNally.

Located on Roanoke Island, about 8 miles from the Cape Hatteras National Seashore, Manteo suffered decades of decline after the Outer Banks highway project bypassed the town.   In the early 80s, Prof. Hester and his wife Marcia McNally began working there with NCSU students on a plan for the town’s economic and physical revival.  The fruits of their labors are evident today in Manteo, which offer residents and tourists a sense of traditional village life along the NC coast.  Click here to look at my Manteo photo album.

The purpose of my visit to Manteo was mainly to resolve a deep curiosity I’ve had about the place since I first learned about it five years ago.   The town’s struggle to find a balance between tourism and its historic economic drivers (fishing, boat building) also seemed a good fit for my fellowship project.

My Manteo visit took place during what people in the tourist trade call the “shoulder season” – the sweet spot between high season and the off season.  The shoulder season in Manteo means that you will not encounter crowds.  You can find parking in a snap.  Hotels want to give you 3 for 2 offers (stay 3 nights for the price of 2).  Though few restaurants are open, the ones that are serving are pleased to see you.  Out on the boardwalk, absent the throngs of out-of-towners, I was able to clearly observe how locals use public spaces in Manteo.

Conversations I overheard tended to reflect on slow pace of things around town, but how it will all change “just like that, after Memorial Day.”  I observed several group of rambunctious teenagers making the most of the cold afternoon, playing tag and defending their turf from each other – some kids were grouped at the corner of Jule’s (Bicentennial) Park and others congregated out on the lighthouse pier.  For readers here who have not studied Manteo, then none of this stuff probably reads very interesting.  But if your curiosity has been tickled, just click here to find out for yourself.

I apologize for the span of more than 1o days without writing anything on here.  I was off the road for a week a few days back visiting family.  I’m just a bit intimidated at all the writing I need to do to get caught up.  I’m hoping this little prep entry will get me in position to knock out a few more in the next couple days.

What I’ve seen and done since the last entry:

1.  aerial tour of hog farms of Duplin County, NC

2.  various technology campuses in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area

3.  a pilgrimage to the town of Manteo on Roanoake Island, NC

4.  a day of driving along the outer banks, Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, getting my Mazda3 stuck in the sand (d’oh)

This is where my front tires became immobilized today.

5.  various barbeque meals (that means pulled pork in NC)

As I promised, there is good stuff to come.  Had my car not required a tug out of the sand today, I would have knocked out two entries by now.  Sending a big thanks to AAA contractor Mike of Nag’s Head, NC.

Where the disfigured ambitions for economic development and sidetracked intentions to preserve landscape combine, you find Gatlinburg, TN.  As Tennessee’s north-central gateway city to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Gatlinburg also happens to be one of the most-visited small towns in America despite a modest local population of just 5,000.  And after spending just an hour walking up and down Gatlinburg’s main drag, known as ‘the Parkway’, I think I know what this town’ sister city could be.  Reader beware, you may be surprised: no place other than San Francisco!  More specifically (of course) I mean the Fisherman’s Wharf district of San Francisco.  Save for the wonders of Pier 39, there is nothing about San Francisco that alludes to what one shall find in Gatlinburg.

The Dukes of Hazard have their place in Gatlinburg's downtown, despite the fact the show was set in eastern KY.

The verbal assault on this Appalachian tourism magnet continues.  While in Greenville, SC last week, I met a person that had the following to say about my upcoming stopover in Gatlinburg: “Imagine and entire town, from top to bottom, decorated to look like the gift shop of a Cracker Barrel restaurant.”

"The Village" is a commercial offshoot perpendicular to the Parkway. Here, visitors enjoy the charm of a Swiss setting while trinket shopping.

Sadly, yes, it is that bad.  But even places like Gatlinburg need to be visited by people from Berkeley on occasion, not only for the vast number of fudge and taffy shops offered there, but because of the sheer amount of design and planning work begging to be done that is long overdue.  If anything, time in Gatlinburg for aspiring urban designers provides outright justification for the work we’ve spent years training to do.  It’s a city that encapsulates the ‘what not to do’ catch phrase.

Most attractions along Gatlinburg's Parkway strip appear to be geared towards keeping kids and teenagers occupied and paying admission charges.

Ripley's BION museum burned down in the 1990s, only to be rebuilt again right away. Dag.

A local woman I staying with – a 30-year resident of nearby Cosby, TN – was helpful to offer a frank local viewpoint about this fabled town of wax museums and pancake houses.  She was concerned about the shortsighted economic drivers of Gatlinburg and nearby Pigeon Forge (known for its outlet shopping), the absence of planning or design guidelines, and the contrast the city creates in the landscape considering its proximity to America’s most visited national park area.

Despite its name, this shop sells only shoes.

I wondered whether the National Park Service would be able to lobby strongly against much of the visual and cultural assault Gatlinburg puts out there.  Quite the opposite is true.  What is outside the park boundary is exactly that: not the park.  Tax incentives promote short-term business investments in the privatized realm of vehicular dependent tourism.  Buildings are built and torn down in the span of several years, and residents have little ability to have an impact on the development process.  These development patterns have little relevance to the mission of the national park, so today the relationship between these two Appalachian giants remains unsatisfying at best.

Gatlinburg beats Fisherman's Wharf in the wedding chapels category.

Hm, I would have guessed better entertainment could be found in the mountains just a couple miles away...

There were a few things that caught my attention in Gatlinburg that deserve some credit.  First, the city appears to have a good grasp on managing its seasonal parking issue.  There is only very limited parallel parking along the Parkway strip, which means drivers probably give up and head to the off street parking garages earlier.  These garages are found behind larger hotels or where topography shields them from street view.  The garages start around $5, but two are free of charge.  The city has a lot of Parkway pedestrian seating options, most of which are oriented toward activity on the sidewalks.  Lastly, for the most part, the scale of most Parkway buildings are compatible with one another.  The most successful buildings have two to three stories, with clear glass windows that offer pedestrians unobstructed views in, and made from rustic materials such as unpainted wood, brick or stone.

There are plenty of places to peoplewatch in Gatlinburg.