← Harold's Old Time Radio
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The Rest of the Story it is called the graveyard of the Atlantic, the inhospitable stretch of gray green water off Cape Hatteras, where the cold northerly currents collide with the warm Gulf Stream. A witch's cauldron in which many a ship has been stirred and sent to the bottom. North Carolina's own Bermuda Triangle, where psychotic seas and schizophrenic weather have combined to claim the lives of countless sailors. Not surprising, the Hatteras lighthouse, built in 1798 and 191ft, was among the tallest in the world. But they had to keep making it taller. The Hatteras Inlet is, and always has been one of the most difficult channels to navigate anywhere. For there's a third peril to be reckoned there, the most treacherous of all, a continuously reshaping, redefining ocean floor which can transform deep waters into dangerous reefs within a week. Peripatetic shoals 2 or 3ft beneath the surface that make the safe route a twisting, turning, ever changing one. In 1810, a miniature Navy of warning buoys was deployed in the Hatteras Inlet, but prior to that, the services of an independent navigator were required to guide ships safely into port and out to sea. And that job belonged to one sailor for 20 years. His name was Jack. They called him Hatteras Jack and his story is is the rest of the it was once said that only the boldest and the most reckless Seamen would carry in the waters off Cape Hatteras without a special reason for doing so. But Hatteras Jack had a special reason to protect the lives of his fellow sailors. He retired from Ocean going in 1790 to become full time navigator of the Hatteras Inlet. The one and only pilot that the channel would have for two decades. And he never lost a ship. The routine was always the same. Jack would cruise out to greet each vessel as it approached from open sea. He would learn its size and its draw. Then he would wait until the tide had reached an appropriate level before moving ahead in a carefully calculated route. And the ship would follow him and Jack would escort her into port. And only after her anchor would drop with a roar of unwinding chain. Only then would Jack proceed to the next ship in need. For all of the shipping companies which benefited from his services, Jack was salaried by no one. He spent his days out in the sound and he lived off the Sound. He fished for food, sometimes cruised out to kill a shark or two. A remarkable fisherman was Hatteras Jack. But an even more remarkable navigator. Even after his 20 year tour of duty was up, after the channel markers were installed, when his presence was less necessary, even after that, old Jack stayed on the job. He would venture out to check the newfangled equipment once in a while, just to see if the boys and the bells were doing what they were supposed to do. Hatteras Jack. There's never been a navigator to compare. At least none that we know of. And yet, for years after Jack was gone, veteran seafarers would gather in dockside pubs to recall the best of the best of them all. This flawless navigator of the most troubled waters in seven seas. The seafaring sexton of the graveyard of the Atlantic. Hatteras Jack. An albino. An albino bottle nosed dolphin. And now you know the rest of the story.