She can’t explain why her once-peaceful strip of beach has eroded so swiftly. The bulldozer operator says he had just scraped here the day before, and he expects to be back soon.Ĭouch is well versed with the arguments unfolding across the community - about how close people should be allowed to live to the rising sea, about whether the government should be doing more to help combat erosion, about what will happen to home prices, tourism and tax bases as the problem deepens.Īmy Urban, from Golden, Colo., stands beside her recently purchased beachfront home after walking her dogs along the beach.įor Doughty, the episode has been unsettling, frustrating and expensive - she estimates it will cost her $200,000 to move her home and have its first floor rebuilt, an expense not covered by insurance. The shifting sand is piled 15 feet high in places, blocking some driveways. Nearby, a bulldozer rumbles along, clearing the sand that washes across the road again and again. “These folks are all on borrowed time,” Couch says, and he worries that the situation will become a reality for more and more homes along the coast. Officials have cut off power to it and other homes around Rodanthe, having deemed them unsafe to occupy. Beside one, a septic tank rises from the eroding beach. A half-dozen other homes on the street stand perilously close to the crashing waves. He nods toward the empty oceanfront lots where houses stood only months earlier, before their collapse into the roiling sea. On a blustery afternoon, Dare County Commissioner Danny Couch walks along Ocean Drive, a stretch he calls the “poster child” for accelerated coastal erosion in the United States. We might as well protect it as long as we can and enjoy it.” “Thirty or 40 years from now, the way the oceans are rising, I don’t know what’s going to happen. “The place is magical, there’s just something about it,” he said. But the cost, the hassle, the endless uncertainty - he sees it as the price of living along this otherwise peaceful stretch of the Outer Banks. Gusler knows he and his neighbors are buying time, and maybe not a lot of it. State figures show that the stretch along Seagull Street has been losing a dozen feet or more per year to erosion. And when they do, no one can guarantee how long the reprieve will last.įederal data show that at nearby Oregon Inlet, sea levels are seven inches higher than several decades ago, with no signs of slowing. We don’t want to see them go into the water.”īut, Matyiko acknowledges, on this strip of barrier island, many people have only so far to move. “All we’re trying to do is help people save their homes. “There’s been a rapid change, just in the past year … Homeowners are caught in this quandary: ‘What do I do?’” says Theresa Matyiko, owner of Expert House Movers, a firm relocating houses throughout Rodanthe. So far, officials have demurred, saying the cost-benefit analysis doesn’t work because of Rodanthe’s small tax base and the fact that the erosion is so relentless. BOTTOM: The incoming tide pushes sand over the deck steps of a beachfront house on Seagull Street.Īlong this imperiled street, as elsewhere in Rodanthe, some homeowners want local, state or federal authorities to intervene with beach nourishment projects or other measures. MIDDLE: Atlantic Ocean waves wash past houses to flood Seagull Street. TOP: Longtime Outer Banks resident Carroll Midgett Sr., left, and Gus Gusler discuss work that must be done before Gusler's house is moved. A thick layer of sand covered most driveways. Even before high tide, the incoming surf sent empty trash cans floating down the flooded street. Waves crashed along foundations and washed underneath homes with nicknames such as Coquina Reef and Sweet Home Carolina. On one recent, sunny morning, Seagull Street was inundated by the swelling sea. The collective retreat, which will come at the homeowners’ expense, won’t arrive a moment too soon. The reason: They want every inch possible to move their homes away from the sea, and closer to nearby Highway 12. Gusler is one of a dozen homeowners who signed affidavits last year, asking Dare County commissioners for permission to abandon the road that runs in front of their houses. There’s nothing we can do about it after this.” “We’ll move as far back as we can get this time, and we’re done. This is our last stand,” says Gus Gusler, 74, a Raleigh attorney who owns the salt-soaked vacation home on Seagull Street, near the northern end of Rodanthe. The sign out front reads, “Big Gus’ Retreat.” But these days, it is Gus who is retreating.
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