The Hermit’s Trail

I think often of the paths we walk, the history we have already ‘left’ behind and the history, God willing, we are going to make. I am a native North Carolinian. I was born in Greensboro, move to Raleigh when I was 12, went to college for 6 years in Winston Salem, and then moved back to Raleigh after school.

This is my state, and I love it. I have driven and walked her roads and paths for years. I have climbed her mountains, stood on the edge of her rocks and trees, and looked… breathed in the crystal clear air of Blue Ridge and Sauratown Mountain range, or peeked over the tips of the Great Smoky Mountains’ mist covered flora, walked the shores at Ocracoke and Carolla, letting her sands run deep in me… knowing this is my home.

With 50 years invested here, I am continually amazed how I learn things about NC that I didn’t know. I stumbled on this one by accident while trying to find something online for my son when planning a beach trip.

‘The Hermit of Fort Fisher’… yes there was one. Though the idea of a real hermit isn’t the shock, it was that the The Hermit of Fort Fisher, during the late 60’s through the mid 70’s, was the second most well known and visited attraction in North Carolina!

And… I never heard of him, nor his story.

Robert E. Harrill was born February 2nd, 1893. The story goes that he was from Morganton N.C. where he attempted to run a number of unsuccessful businesses and had a marriage that, shall we say, didn’t work out.

At the age of 62 he was actually in a mental institution where he made a key from a spoon, escaped and hitchhiked 260 miles to the coast where he set up residence in an old WWII bunker located near the Fort Fisher State Park on the historic brown waters of the Cape Fear River.

His home, on the same sands I have walked, became known as ‘The Hermit’s Trail’. He lived off the land and off what others brought to him. Being that he became the second most popular attraction, he was brought food and money from time to time. Now in truth, being a hermit means you’ve cut yourself off from the world and contact from others, but in Harrill’s situation, he clearly was not always alone. He has a visitor’s book, held down by seashells, which at the time of his death, recorded over 100,00 signatures!

He was interviewed by many journalists, and those who came around were interested in his wisdom. He was quoted once saying:

“Everybody ought to be a hermit for a few minutes to an hour or so every 24 hours, to study, meditate, and commune with their creator… millions of people want to do just what I’m doing, but since it is much easier thought of than done, they subconsciously elect me to represent them, that’s why I’m successful…”

—Robert Harrill, New Hanover Sun

Well, I have to say Robert, more power to you… but not for me! 🙂 However, I never knew Robert, I never knew his story, I never knew he lived, let alone lived near a place I have visited so many times I’ve lost count.

There are a number of magical places in NC’s Dare County. Manteo Island is one. If you haven’t been, you MUST drink and breathe it into your soul. National Seashores Highway 12 is another. Fort Fisher/Southport is also one of those magical places, and Robert lived his last days there.

Last weekend, Elizabeth and I took one of our fantastic adventures together. One reason was to say goodbye to a retiring minister friend of mine. The other, was to take Elizabeth away and give her a change of pace. This is one of our ‘go to’ spots. However, this time, we were on the hunt, not just for those ‘moments’ together but to find Robert’s home. It is now called the ‘Basin Trail’ and it’s located off Loggerhead road in Fort Fisher State Park.

We parked, drank water, and started walking. Being North Carolina in June, we ‘cut’ our way through the humidity toward his old home. The trail is covered in trees and starts off looking very much like Mirkwood does in The Hobbit Movie. The wrestling with the tides, seas and winds have left the tree trunks twisted like barber poles, and the growth is close to the ground which makes it dark and thick like a forgotten forest.

We followed through the dark undergrowth for 15 minutes till we broke out into broad sunlight on a firm sandy trail that lead toward the salt marshes. The sun bleached the color out of the wooden boardwalk that was built over the lower parts of the path which are normally covered with water. Here we found all forms of wildlife: Red Wing Blackbird, cranes, deer, and hermit crabs. (No relation to Robert!). The path drops back down to sand and then takes us through a low cove, and up to the bunker.

Total time is about 45 minutes to make your way to his old home. You eventually come to a sign that says “WWII bunker”. 40 feet off the trail to the right and you are standing at what once was his door step.

It’s a nondescript concrete box sitting on the sand. It’s void of ANYTHING except a small plastic plaque attached to the side that tells of Robert and his life. The story goes that Robert was found dead on June 3, 1972. Some say his death was from knife wounds but the official report states he died of a heart attack.

It made me think, as we stood at ‘his’ home, reading about his legacy… about what we leave behind.

He left nothing other than his story. His words and deeds are written or recorded in some fashion, but clearly, few know of him and his life.

The older I get, the more I think, it is those that ‘don’t attempt to make a name for themselves’ that have a tendency to leave a ‘real’ legacy.  It makes me think of how many lives come and go through our lives and we never know it. Like scooping up grains of sea sand and letting them seep and sifting through your fingers… you never count count, understand, or know anything about them. They are just millions of grains of sands washed up by time and season, never giving them a thought.

My lesson from our walk to the past… take care of your own and as many others as you can, wrestle with finding ‘goodness’ over ‘right’, and never put a governor on love.

Let history do the rest.

Safe Journeys this week.