Read what columnist Ray Mcallister of the Times Dispatch says about Topsail Island

TOPSAIL ISLAND, N.C.

The temperatures are up here, but the breezes usually are, too, so that scarcely seems to matter. In fact, the breezes seem to move faster than the cars. But then, what doesn't?
Down here on Topsail, I always seemed to be behind an especially serene driver. The main road on this thin strip of land never carries more than a 45-mile-an-hour speed limit. Invariably I was behind someone going 10 miles under. Who goes 10 miles under? The better question, as last week's vacation proved, is who doesn't? Topsail is so laid back its natives seem barely able to summon the energy to pronounce the name. It comes out, the way it has for centuries, clipped, as "TOP-sul". A week in a place like this is perfect for vacation.

Our daughter, Lindsay, arranged it after she and her husband, Micah, had visited Topsail. It was close enough to my parents' home so that all of us could visit, including our other two children and a friend, as well as Lindsay and Micah's infant daughter. My father, our son Ryan and I even got to play golf. Topsail is one of North Carolina's numerous barrier islands, far south of the more famous Outer Banks. Its history includes pirates, hurricanes, a never-found Spanish gold treasure, and a Navy rocket-testing program. The island is only 26 miles long -- its main road a few less -- and only 500 to 1,500 feet wide. It includes North Topsail, Surf City and Topsail Beach. If you're thinking Virginia Beach or Nags Head, forget it. Only Surf City seems even slightly commercial. North Topsail is positively hostile toward any business other than real estate. Though, believe me, they're fine with real estate. What's left are beautiful beaches, moderate crowds, an almost tropical feel in early August, and a slowing of life. If you're not hearing Jimmy Buffett music, you're not trying. Vicki walked several miles on the beach at sunrise each morning. Too lazy for that, I ran later on the road, scoping out a vegetable stand. By the way: Get the Golden Beauty melon. It's a local hybrid of cantaloupe and honeydew. Better than either.

Virtually everything in Topsail is built on stilts and has been since Hurricane Hazel hit in 1954. Years ago, we visited North Topsail to see the wreckage left by the other big hitter, 1996's Hurricane Fran. Stilts had been of little help then: Nothing much remained except sand and asphalt roads. Our own experience last week was not so dramatic. The weather was perfect. Our daughter Jamie did have her toe grabbed and punctured, apparently by a crab, causing boyfriend Paul to rush her from the ocean. Otherwise, every day was a day at the beach. Our only urgency lay in making sure one-year-old Riley didn't just wander into the surf. We bought T-shirts, salt-water taffy and fudge, coffee mugs from our breakfast spot and even pirate memorabilia. By late in the week, slow cars no longer bothered me. Like all barrier islands, Topsail moves to its own rhythms. Literally. "Echoes of Topsail," a book by David A. Stallman that I picked up, says the island's been slowly migrating to the south during the past century. But it had moved 4 miles to the north between 1775 and 1865. I think that's faster than most cars on the island. In other words, by Saturday, as the clock was ticking on our final day, I found my impatience returning. The rest of the group had already reached our breakfast spot and here I was, caught behind some slow-moving idiot. . . . You know, another week would have been just perfect.

RAY MCALLISTER POINT OF VIEW Aug 9, 2005 Copyright Times-Dispatch, Richmond, Virginia 2005