There is another old salt that needs to be recognized here, my father Capt. Elmo Fulcher. He was born on Nov.13, 1912 in Harkers Island, NC. He was a commercial fisherman, and while fishing at Ocracoke, he met and married my mother. They made Ocracoke their home.

He like many other islanders spent his entire life working on the water. In the 1940’s he became mate and relief captain for Capt. Wilbur Nelson on the famed mail boat ALETA which ran the mail from Ocracoke to Atlantic N.C. daily. This was before paved roads and ferry service to the island. The ALETA was the main source of communication with the outside world for the island. It was built in 1923 by Ambrose Fulcher for Howard Nelson to run the mail from Morehead City to Atlantic. Capt. Nelson named the boat for his sister. When the highway was built to Atlantic, the ALETA was sold and became a booze runner for which she was seized by federal agents and auctioned off. Dee Mason of Atlantic bought her for a buy boat.

In 1938 Capt. Wilbur Nelson bought her to run the mail to Ocracoke. _ During World War II, Capt. Nelson, Capt. Elmo Fulcher, and the ALETA served their country carrying the necessary freight, mail, and passengers for the Navy, Army, Coast Guard and civilians to and from the island, while ships could be seen burning off the coast. The ALETA slowly crossed the Inlet from Portsmouth to Ocracoke as her captain watched enemy subs surface just yards away.

In 1945 Capt. Elmo and Capt. George O’Neal (also of Ocracoke) bought the ALETA from Capt. Nelson and continued the thirty-mile route dropping off mail at Portsmouth and Cedar Island. In 1950 the highway was extended to Cedar Island making the Cedar Island stop no longer necessary.

In 1952 Capt. Elmo and Capt. George lost the mail contract and Capt. Elmo bought Capt. George’s half of the boat. He converted her to a shrimp trawler, which he continued to use until his death in 1979.

The mail route is past history now with the many ferries that run daily to the Island, but the ALETA has left her mark in History also. It is not unusual to see a painting or sketch of her as a trawler in any art exhibit. There are hand carved models of her displayed around the Island. And there are the many men, young and old that worked as a mate on her with my father.

Capt. Elmo was known for his knowledge of the local_ waters. He needed only the stars or A pocket watch and a compass to navigate the sounds of eastern North Carolina. George Jackson tells about a day that he ran on the mail boat with my father, when the fog was so thick they couldn’t see the bow of the boat. He will be quick to remind you that the trip from here to Cedar Island is a pretty straight stretch, but when you enter Core Sound and head for Atlantic, NC, there is a lot of turning and winding. He tells how Capt. Elmo used his pocket watch to time his distance from one marker to another and using his compass to set his course for the next marker, blowing the fog horn to warn other boaters of their of their location. George goes on to tell how he heard the Captain back down on the engine, while giving the boat a turn to the left and idle the engine. He ask Capt. Elmo what was going on and why had he stopped the boat. The reply was, "Well George, we’re here, we’re at the dock in Atlantic." George stuck his head out of the window, and could see nothing, but he could hear a car running and people talking on the dock.

I can remember many years later, while visiting my parents, we were listening to the CB radio and heard a trawler in trouble. The weather was very stormy and visibility was about zero because of blowing rain and heavy surf. The trawler was trying to get in through Ocracoke Inlet, his radar was out and he feared the shoals and sand bars in the inlet. The Weather was so bad the Coast Guard couldn’t get out to him. My father got up from his chair, put on his coat and hat and left the house. In a short time I heard him on the radio calling the trawler in trouble. He got the boat’s location and began to give instructions on what course to steer and for how long, then the next course and so on until he brought him to the dock in the creek. I think that was about one of the proudest moments in my life.

Never a day went by but what my father left the supper table and went directly to the ALETA to wash her down, paint, and mend net or tinker with the engine. My mother would smile as he went out and say, "He’s got to go tell her goodnight."

He was a man of dry humor with a sparkle in his eye. Every man that has ever worked with him seems to have a fond memory of some fishing experience they shared together, and you can bet they will be glad to tell at least one funny tale on him. He was a plain, hard working, down to earth man, my father, an OLD SALT.

Ellen Marie

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