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The new homes will boost the tax base of some of the state's poorest areas. They will bring moneyed residents, restaurants and shops, along with jobs in construction and service. But they might squeeze out locals who can't afford soaring property taxes and home prices -- and might force fishermen to look for work on land.

As the fish houses disappear, so do the free or cut-rate boat slips that many fishermen used -- no small thing when slips sell for tens of thousands of dollars.

Fewer fish houses also mean less competition and lower prices for fishermen -- not to mention a longer haul to sell their catch, adding hours to workdays that, for some, already stretch to 12 hours.

There are options for fishermen who don't have a fish house nearby. Some sell to dealers who work out of a truck or have an operation off the water. Or they can set up a couple of coolers alongside a highway and sell their catch themselves. But all these options take time that could be spent on the water.

As Bruno bounces over the river's surface, heading for home, he is plotting the future.

At 38, he has tried making a living away from the water before, tarring roofs, working construction, remodeling houses. The jobs made him feel trapped and depressed, more menial laborer than hardworking breadwinner.

Four years ago, he packed up his wife and two sons and left Long Island, where his family has lived for generations, for a chance to keep working on the water. The New York lobster industry had dried up. In Oriental, land prices were cheap enough that he could buy a one-acre waterfront lot with a three-bedroom house for $220,000. And developers had yet to start bulldozing the fish houses.

Since then, his property taxes have doubled. The county now values his house at $221,000, up from less than $130,000 when he bought it, and it would be worth more in today's market. Housing developments and marinas have sprouted on the banks of the creeks he fishes. Marinas have encroached on some of his crabbing areas, and more are on the way.

His wife, Marianne, works three jobs -- as a school bus driver, a teacher's aide and a waitress -- to boost their income.

This year, he bought a refrigeration unit and put a sign at the end of his driveway advertising fresh crabs. If he can sell more of his catch to the increasingly affluent locals, he reasons, he won't need the fish house anymore. By cutting out the middlemen, he could catch less and make more.

If that doesn't work, he says, he will try nailing benches along the sides of his crabbing skiff and give creek tours to tourists. He has scouted a bald eagle's nest on Orchard Creek that he could point out to passengers.

And he is thinking of selling his 43-foot lobster boat, which he uses for deep-sea fishing in the winter and for family vacations. He helped build that boat. He has watched his two boys grow up on it. But selling it is the only way he can figure to pay down his mortgage and buy some time.

So the Endurance, most likely, will have to go.

Winds of change

When Bruno came to Oriental in 2002, it was a place, like much of North Carolina's sparsely populated inland coast, where change came slowly.

The same few restaurants served the locals year after year. The same families had owned the cottages downtown for decades. The streets were quiet enough that dogs sometimes sprawled in them.

Now, people sell their family homes after getting offers stuffed in their mailboxes. New restaurants and inns are opening, and their owners come from California, New Jersey and elsewhere.

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