Saturday, June 8. We got off the boat by about 10:20, looked around a bit, shouldered our heavy packs, and started walking up the beach. There were lots of people out and about on this uninhabited island who had taken boats over to look for shells. But we didn't see anyone else backpacking. Our loads were heavy, but bearable. I cannot imagine the weights that soldiers carry in places like Afghanistan.
There were also a few trees scattered about, and sometimes, little clumps of trees.
I could see boats out and about, and civilization across the sound on the mainland. I retraced my steps, left the forest in a short time, and followed the path to the ocean. Along the way, I found evidence of when people actually lived here. It must have been a difficult life, just surviving, but tranquil all the same.
I had meandered slowly and quietly, and had not seen a sign of a horse (well, OK, I saw plenty of signs that horses were there, but I didn't see the animal, just what they were leaving behind). At this point, I returned to camp, wondering what Chris and Carl were up to. As I approached camp, I saw Carl standing on a high spot. He motioned for me to come join him, but to be quiet. He had found the "bankers" - the wild horses of Shackleford Banks!