Simpson:  A gale force northwester was singing overhead when I looked up to see Ruth knifing through the open waters of wind tossed Bogue Sound.

Simpson:  Only a few more days before the holiday season of 2011 is finished. It's not uncommon at this time of year for a family or group of friends to find themselves taking part in several celebrations.

Simpson:  The annual Wildlife Club's Game Dinner was coming up.

Simpson:  Could our eyes behold anything more beautiful than an autumn sunrise over a waterfowl marsh?

Simpson:  My wife and I chose to live aboard our boat when we arrived in Carolina over half a century ago. One night, about midnight, a small boat came racing up alongside; the operator tossed us his skiff lines while yelling he'd be right back.

Simpson:  Half dozen or so mallards were probing among the marsh grasses just beyond the stern of my boat as I kneeled in the autumn sunlight busily sanding Sylvia's cockpit deck.

Simpson:  Maggie and Skinner Chalk of Morehead showed up at the gates of the "Walking S" spread, nestled in the foothills of the Sapphire Mountains, hoping to explore any remnants of what was known as the "Wild West."

Simpson:  While standing on a rocky bar along the shoreline of the West Fork of the Bitterroot River, watching Gene Huntsman as he worked his way upstream against the fast moving waters waving his magic wand, I felt an irresistible urge to pick up my camera and record the sight of the moon that seemed to be riding a tumble of clouds skimming over the snow tipped mountains.

The North Carolina Maritime Museum's Annual Wooden Boat Show was quite an event.