The Drive – OBX Bound

The Outer Banks (OBX) of North Carolina. Before last week, I would have thought someone crazy for evening associating the OBX and “nice fly fishing destination”. And I kind of still do. However, just because a place isn’t the best, or even better than most, doesn’t mean it ain’t good. My recent adventure to this Eastern Shore family vacation hub provided plenty of good fly fishing.

The reason for said location? My cousin, and member of the illustrious Rainbros, chose the OBX as his wedding destination. So, we figured we’d make the best of it, head down a week before the wedding, and fish the hell out of this place. My good friend – and fellow wedding attendee – JB and I decided to head down extra early and get a few days on the yaks before the other groomsmen showed up.

Laughing off his vehicle mishap

The trip began on the typical left foot when JB showed up banging on my door at 12 A.M.  The neighbors’ lights turned on, but they refrained from coming out to see why such a ruckus took place. He drove down from Philly after finishing up work (on a Friday). We stumbled around in the dark for roughly 20 minutes, loading my gear and yak in and on the car and trailer respectively. From here we hit the gas station where JB existed the car before putting it in park (yes, he was driving and yes, he was sober… to my knowledge). It only rolled a few feet before he realized his mishap.

Other than missing our exit, we experienced pretty smooth sailing for the next several hours. At around 3:30 A.M. we decide to switch drivers. I checked the straps – enough see that they were tight- and we departed some Wawa not too far from the N.C. border. While looking for the on ramp of the interstate I managed to run a red light – not an issue with no traffic at this time of night. We road on, discussing our upcoming week’s adventures and it started to rain. After about an hour, I looked into the rear view and noticed the load on the trailer looked a little sparse. Hitting my breaks for the extra glow allowed for the realization and following words, “My kayak’s not on the trailer…” Other more vibrant words followed.

Had to document the missing yak. “One out of two ain’t bad”

We stopped to see what happened, and the straps came off. Guess I should have checked them with more diligence. Noted. So, we pulled a U and kept our eyes peeled for what was sure to be a lost cause or at least a heavily damaged one. We found a police officer sitting on the side of the road, scared the hell out of him by pulling up next to his car around 4:30 A.M., and asked him what he thought. After our convo with the man in blue we went on searching. Surely in came off around a turn and was down in a ditch, invisible at this time of night. Maybe someone found it and thought, “God giveth (to me) and god taketh away (from some poor SOB)”. She was gone and I knew it.

Did I say 3 straps? Better make it 6…

Our luck changed. We found my baby about 15 miles back, laying right on the side of a straight stretch of road with little more than a scratch on her. Mind blown. We added a few extra straps for peace of mind and road safely into the OBX right around 5:30.

It was kind of nasty out and the tides wouldn’t be in our favor for several hours. So we pulled into the food lion parking lot to get a little shut-eye before the fly fishing adventures began. About 10 minutes into our nap, the dark parking lot lit up. Why the hell do lights turn on at 5:45 in the morning? The sun came up 20 minutes later. At least the drive was over…

This post trip turned into quite the story. So, I’m breaking it into parts. At least two more related posts will follow. I promise those will have something to do with fly fishing.


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