We sit smack in the middle of the Atlantic Flyway, which means when ducks and geese decide to head south, they fly right over us. Smart birds, smart hunters.

The waters around our island have been pulling in brant, redheads, widgeon, pintails, canvasbacks, and teal since long before anyone thought to call this place a “destination.” Local hunters have been working these marshes and sounds since the 1880s, back when getting here meant you were serious about what you came to do.

This isn’t some corporate hunting lodge with matching camouflage and catered meals. It’s Pamlico Sound hunting with guides who learned these waters from their fathers, who learned from their fathers. They know where the birds fly, when the weather matters, and how to read water that changes with every tide.

If you’ve never hunted before, this probably isn’t the place to start. If you have, you’ll understand why people keep coming back to these same marshes, season after season, generation after generation.