Southport Magazine

 Some time in the days back before 1965 you could travel down Moore Street, or out along the river, to a beautiful enchanted area of woods known as Robins Nest. And all along your trek, in those early years, you could make it all the way without ever seeing a Southport/Fort Fisher Ferry!  Why? Because in these days the Southport/Fort Fisher Ferry had not been established and its facilities and docks were yet to be built.  

    One of my earliest memories of the ferry landing was at its very beginning, its early days.  My grandfather, Captain Charlie Swan, retired by this time, had landed a job with the Ferry Service to be a night watchman.  Enter me, the kid.  Any watchman worth his salt knew he needed a sidekick for protection late at night as he made his rounds, so of course I jumped at the chance to stay with my grandfather on these overnight duties.  The newly-built cinder block building housed offices and one room set up as the “watchman’s quarters.” It contained a couple of Army style bunks for the overnight stay — a place for slumber between patrols.  I enjoyed these moments I spent with my grandfather and I accompanied him on his patrols on several occasions during the years that he was their night watchman.

     I mentioned Robins Nest, the land that abutted Prices Creek and the ferry landing.  This area of land was owned by the Harrelson family and had to be one of the most natural and beautiful locations in the Southport area.  Whether you approached it from the river side seeing the high bluffs with mature oaks or you approached it from the Moore Street entrances, it was one natural beauty.  Robins Nest was known to let local clubs, like the Boy Scouts, utilize the land for outings and jamborees.  

On one of my own scouting trips into Robins Nest with the local Scout Troop 238 led by Billy Smith, we got to travel out and do a day camp along the high bluffs that overlooked the river.  This location was off of an old overgrown dirt road which eventually led to the Prices Creek Lighthouse.  On this particular trek down the old road, one of the boys suddenly noticed in a tree that leaned over the road with a bobcat just sitting there directly above our heads.  He was just watching us as we passed underneath.  What a sight to see, a bobcat, wild and free in nature.  Robins Nest was well known for its wildlife and the bobcats in particular.  We continued our hike down to the remains of the old Prices Creek lighthouse where a brief history was taught to us by our scout master.  

The lighthouse was beginning to crumble and many bricks were falling away.  Even as kids, we sensed the historic significance and the concern that this could one day disappear as did its own keeper cottage which sat right beside it for many years until destroyed by time and storms.  Luckily this old lighthouse got some restoration in later years and all those fallen bricks, imported from Britain back in 1850, were replaced. To this day, the lighthouse can still be seen by travelers making the Southport/Fort Fisher passage.

      The Southport/Fort Fisher Ferry, although very popular and widely known now, had a struggling start with funding being its main concern.   I can remember some discussions of terminating its service.  Fortunately, that never happened and today it’s even hard to imagine that it almost didn’t make it.  It remains a wonderful part of Southport and Southport’s history as a coastal community.  The perfect gateway into a little seaside village with all its shops, attractions and friendly people.

     Remember that gang of kids I always mention?  My compadres, my confederates in mischievous deeds, masters of wonder and make believe?  We built tree houses, rock forts, and underground caves all along the riverbank leading right up and onto the banks of Prices Creek, the Ferry Landing.  It didn’t come as a surprise to many of the locals and especially the captains and crews of the ferry, when they saw a gang of wild kids hollering and dancing along the banks as the tourists sailed by on their decks.  We had a special place there, a place from which to launch our so-called attacks on the tourist view.  

      When building the ferry landing some dredge work was needed. So, an earthen dike was built along the shores of Prices Creek and parts of its river entrance.  Inside this dike containment they pumped the dredge spoils. This allows the water to drain away leaving the sediment to settle and continue to drain over time.  Eventually, years down the road, it may be utilized or even built on.  This process also helps with erosion.

    In this location, and as us kids quickly discovered, it became the perfect place to find a blue gray mud material from the river bottom. The mud was a soft clay material, but not too soft, just right for flinging, slinging and splattering your opponent!  It turns out that blue gray clay was the perfect material for mud fights, you know, KID WARFARE.  Wow! What a fun time that was.  We would go down into the “mud pit,”  sink ourselves up to our waist, so we could not run away, and then begin to throw and sling mud back and forth until we were completely covered from head to toe with blue gray mud.  

By the way, we weren’t about to spend all day with this mud stuck to our clothing, so this was a skinny dipping mud battle.  The grand finale to such a caper was hearing the ferry leaving its dockage heading out with a boatload of tourists, who by now were out of their cars and standing along the rails taking in the view.  And what a view they got, when a wild gang of completely naked kids appeared standing high on the ridge of the earthen dikes, and began screaming, yelling, whooping and dancing while completely covered in blue gray river mud.  A scene that could have come right off of the pages of “Lord Of The Flies.”  That’s all we had on, blue gray mud…….. and Cheshire cat grins!!!   After we “Gray Boys” did our flash dance we would then run back down into our mud pit out of sight and out of view just dying with laughter.  Nothing, to us, was EVER that funny…the looks we could see on the faces of all those ferry passengers!  WELCOME TO SOUTHPORT! 

     Nearby, there was a small clear water lagoon that we used to clean all that sticky mud off before donning our shoes, shorts and shirts as we headed home under a setting sun.  Feeling full of life and grounded in our roots as we smiled to ourselves enjoying another adventure that had been WELL DONE! BRAVO!

     I remember once being asked by an acquaintance about my childhood and what it was like. I replied that it was one adventure after another. I’m laughing and I’m crying at the wonder of it all…We did it…we LIVED it! We did all that…and much much more.

Michael Royal

But, to an adventurous gang of boys it was a wonderland yet to be explored.  A strategical approach could be maneuvered either via the river bank shoreline or by an inland bicycle route.  Kids being kids, the river approach offered much more fun and adventure.  And, so it was.  It became a place to play, to build forts and on rare occasions a place to camp.

Once in Junior high school our teachers put together a trip for us to take the activilty bus across the ferry and make a day of it touring Fort Fisher and ending up in Carolina Beach on it’s boardwalk with all of it’s attractions and rides.  Probably the mostmemorable part of this trip was the unplanned stop to visit The Forst Fisher Hermit.  We pulled the bus off to the side of the road.  All of us kids piled out and walked down a little dirt road toward the beach.  Some of this area was heavily covered in coastal plants and very tall reeds much like marsh grass.  Visibility reduced so much that all of a sudden you step out of the bush and there on your right is an old WWII concrete bunker that has been set up as camp site.  I remember walking up to it and observing that an old frying pan sat alongside a cold extinguished campfire and inside the frying pan was money.  People stopping by were donating money to the old man known as The Fort Fisher Hermit.  I looked around, called out, but he was not there.  I noticed a very unique entrance to his home, the WWII bunker, It had an entrance but no door.  The Hermit had collected old planks of wood that had been scavenged from beach combing trips.  These planks had been stood on end and leaned into the bunker Tee Pee style as they fanned out to hide his door opening.  He could still walk around them and enter but to eye looking on, these planks hid his opening.  I thought, how ingenious.  In just short while we looked up and out in what I would call the marsh and old man with a walking stick and sack hung over his shoulder appeared and was walking to greet us.  As he got closer I could see he had fashioned and old army style blanket into a poncho style covering with a hole cut out for his head and rope tied around his waist to secure it’s sides.  He had on old boots suitable for muddy marsh trekking and was wearing a straw hat that appeared to be homemamde.  He was VERY pleasant and welcoming to such a large group of kids.  I immediately liked him.  He attempted to answer questions and although I don’t remember his answer, I remember one of us innocently asking why he lived there and whether he had family.  He was polite but I could tell he was content and happy in his lifestyle.  Unfortunately for him he met a sad ending to his life at the hands of others later.