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Shackleford Banks: The Beach That Made Me Put the Camera Down

Published April 26, 2026

I, Bernie Harberts, did not use generative AI to write or illustrate this article. Spell check and grammar check, yes. AI, no.

The first two days, my wife Julia and I had just focused on observing the wild ponies of Shackleford Banks and making sure our sailboat Grit didn’t drag anchor. The whole time, we heard a low thudding coming across the island — the sound of the Atlantic Ocean crashing on the beach a half mile from where we were anchored. The third day, we walked across the island to check out the beach.

White terns chattered overhead and plunged into the foaming surf. Pelicans rode the waves and flopped into the air to avoid the breakers. Sanderlings zipped up and down the foam, as though tethered to it by invisible threads.

My first impression was, “Wow. This is how much life there was on earth before humans showed up.”

I wanted to remember it all and filmed the plunging, diving, screeching and foaming. Here is the scene.

Click on the video to go from toes in the sand to a feeding frenzy in the surf

The tide was going out and Julia and I walked up the beach. The tangle of birds wheeling and plunging and screaming got wilder.

A flock of pelicans plopped down behind the breaking surf line. They plunged their beaks into the water, the pouches under their bills swollen, and hard shapes disappeared down their throats.

Shackleford Pelican Feeding Hour

And then, like there was a better buffet somewhere else, they winged off, leaving Julia and me alone to walk up the 9-mile long beach.

Purple, orange, yellow, black and white shells formed a carpet along the high water line. They crunched underfoot and it sounded like we were walking on the saucers that go under china tea cups. It was enough to make a shell collector cry.

A mottled crab shell caught my eye. I stooped over to check it out and stood up slowly, my eyes running up the beach as I straightened. This is what I saw.

From crab shell to forever

We walked on up the beach. The birds returned, wheeling and plunging, and it felt like humanity’s clock had been turned back to pre-human days.

I was wearing boots and the tide was coming in. I was walking just out of reach of the foam and looked back at my boot prints in the sand.

A wave came in and washed them away.

By nature, I am prone to document. That’s why I filmed all this footage of waves, shells and bird diving. And yet, standing there watching the tide erase my boot prints, I got the urge to put the camera down. I wanted to sit next to a fiddler crab hole and watch grains of sand disappear down the opening. I wanted to watch the sea oats sway against the surf. I wanted to watch the sunset with Julia’s hand, not a phone, in mine.

I took Julia’s hand and we kept walking, surrounded by the diving pelicans, the pounding waves and a beach so long it disappeared into salt mist. The tide washed our footprints from the sand, as though we’d never existed.

The tide doesn’t care who walked here

Julia’s side of the voyage at Saddle Under the Stars:

More about Julia's and my time with the wild ponies of Shackleford Banks.

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