Secrets well kept

Growing up on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, I heard and knew of various and multiple legends that permeated the islands. The tales and histories that happened on the barrier islands were rich and varied, surprising for a little strip of land with only a few thousand people that lived there at the time. But growing up with it, I guess I just took it for granted that my home was the home of the Wright Brothers, the Lost Colony, and Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.

I still listened to the legends, though.

One of the first tales I heard, in my teens at least, was this legend that, hidden in the Wright Brothers Monument, under the second vent, was written in braille the entire history of flight up until the time the monument was built. I remember reading it in some weekly newspaper feature piece, just a little blurb of things most people don't know. Well, now they did.

Of course, no one could really tell if this was true. The monument was locked tight. A legend attached to that was that during a tour, someone became claustrophobic and freaked out inside the narrow stairwell. I don't know if that is true or not.

I can say that the tale I "heard" is not. There is no braille history embossed under the vent in the Wright Brothers Monument. However, the real story was so much better.

Years later, in the beginnings of my first book, I began doing some research on that legend. It turned out that there was a brass plaque placed inside the monument, in an inset on the wall. It had a hexagonal map of the world, with etched lines of various firsts in aviation on it, from the Wrights up to 1928, with a flight by Kingsford Smith from Oakland to Brisbane. However, over the years, the plaque had been damaged from water leakage. It was removed from its spot on the wall, and had legs attached for a short time to make it a table. It was later removed, and long thought lost. By who, I don't know.

I simply asked about it at the National Park Service in Manteo, and they let me contact the curator of their Museum Resource Center. He knew exactly what I was looking for, took me into this big vault they have there, and pulled out the plaque, wrapped in cloth, and let me photograph it.

I felt like Indiana Jones, but to a lesser extent. There weren't any snakes.

So, there it was. I found it. Yeah, it never really was lost. But this was the culmination of years of wondering what the truth was about all the tales. It felt pretty good.

That is one of the things that set me in motion. A plaque, a tale, a bit of hidden history. The Outer Banks would figure prominently in my curiosity over the years, with legends and tales abounding. This one took decades to solve. But it was a great little success for me. I was inspired that I could do this, that I could find all the wonderful stuff hidden behind closed doors, or just off the road. Good Hunting indeed.