Below is a copy of an article printed in the Northbeach Sun, by Lisa Holian. It is a fascinating story about our tours and the history behind us.
"Rex here is our official greeter" Bob White said as his black and white border collie - bedecked in a bandanna - extended his paw. Both were in the parking lot of The Inn at Corolla Light, the embarkation place of Bob's Off-Road Tours.
Two couples and I signed waivers in Bob's office and Club grounds and drove north on the sand road through Corolla village where we passed the light- keeper's house, the old schoolhouse and the chapel. All the while, Bob shared his knowledge of local area which poured from him in a steady stream. More conversational than lecturing. Bob's manner is relaxed and friendly. He clearly enjoys his work
After years in a home health care business, Bob and his family didn't wait for retirement to spend more time here. They already owned a few vacation rental homes when they decided to purchase Bell Tower Station on the soundfront in Corolla Light. After some clever renovation, they reopened the station doors with a new look and a new moniker, The Inn at Corolla light. Boat rentals, kayak eco-tours, jet skis, and now four-wheel-ing tours are available to guests and the general public. About all that remains to do, Bob says, is hang up the old bell. The original Corolla schoolhouse bell will become part of an exhibit on local history at the inn.
Within 10 minuets we left the village area with a better understanding of the Currituck beach's early economy and lifestyle. Bob covered a myriad of topics, from cattle grazing to forest re-growth. He added his own theory on real estate investment. Continuing north through the Villages at Ocean Hill, we passed through the ocean-to-sound fence that had been designed to keep the wild horses north, away from speeding cars and tasty landscaping.
Like many people, I had always enjoyed seeing Corolla's wild horses plodding about house pilings, ignoring "respect the dunes" signs and looking down their noses at us like the country club set. Their social transgressions were cause for amusement. After all, this was their beach, was it not? We were the visitors. In fact, until I saw the Spanish Mustangs as they were today, manes snapping in the wind, galloping over dune tops, I never fully appreciated their spirit and true nature. In this place, beyond asphalt and fertilizer, these horses are free again to be wild.
Bob is careful to park on the beach well away from the horses. As we walked toward six horses with our cameras, Bob remarked that we were fortunate today to see so many at once. Groups of two or three are more common now that the main herd has splintered into smaller groups caused, Bob theorizes, by the higher number of stallions who vie for control of the group.
When a mare steps between us and her colt, making it clear that she intends to protect him, we appreciate her stance and retreat. Back in the Suburban, our conversation turns again to history. Bob tells us that the mammoth sand dune, Penny's Hill, is known by locals as Lewark's Hill because his home is buried somewhere beneath it. More horses are in view, picturesque this time, in front an old lifesaving station.
At the Virginia state line we encounter yet another fence and another lesson. We talk about horses who have traveled farther north into the Backbay Wildlife Refuge and beyond to Sand-bridge. Bob tells us about the ship carrying marble that wrecked within hiking distance of the fence. Although he hasn't made it up there yet, he figures it would be wise to go at low tide.
Turning west along the fence we enter Carova. We roll around sand roads and wonder at the odd mix of trailers on pilings and upscale homes, abandoned cars and lovingly tended, sometimes shockingly painted, beach cars. A maze of canals and sand roads, this area was developed in anticipation of a road being built from Virginia Beach . After the wildlife refuge land was created, and hopes for a thoroughfare dwindled, this development took on a life of its own. Without an architectural review committee and conventional financing sources, people here just aside do. The 30- year result is fascinating. Our conversation shifts again from the nature of horses to the nature of Carova Beach dwellers.
Bob's affection for this neighborhood is apparent as he talks about the personalities of those who live here. Jack-of-all-trade types and those who commute to work by boat to Bell 's Island fare quite happily here. Others come here for privacy, which he encourages us to respect.
We can't make it all the way to the Currituck Sound today. Water on the road is knee-deep in places after last week's unusually heavy downpours. Nobody seems to mind however, as we weave our way back out to the beach, admiring the new outdoor post office boxes that have been installed by the amazingly well-equipped firehouse.
Back out in open dunes and tangled scrub we see more wild horses. Another foal, with grass poking unceremoniously out of his mouth, pauses to look at us. After photographing more than a dozen horses today, we all seem content to watch quietly, each lost in our own thoughts.
Our adventure with Bob White had taken a little over two hours, but we took away a lifetime of memories and a new appreciation of what it means to be wild.
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