Treasure hunting by the rocks. “Look at this!” Paul Goldfinger photo © Sept. 6, 2014   Click on any photo to enlarge.

By Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger.

We hardly went to the beach this summer, so we said , “Let’s go.” It was a hot day with a strong sun.  As we headed for the beach, a person returning, who is a doctor, said, “It’s dangerously hot down there. Be careful.”  Since I know something about heat stroke, the doctor scared me.  I said to Eileen, “Should we go on or make a U turn?”  We decided to be brave and venture on.  That turned out to be the best choice.

It was flea market day, and the beach was almost empty at 9:30 am.  The badge checker told us that the water temperature was 68 degrees.  She seemed to enjoy playing tour guide as she said to a lady who had just complained about the $8.00 charge, “We are having a flea market over there, and you can get fried oysters at the oyster festival. I don’t eat raw oysters.”   The lady looked around for the oysters, but the badge checker  (oops–I mean step guard) told her that the oysters were in Asbury Park.  

It was low tide, so everybody was wading and nobody was swimming. Green flags were flying.  It was perfect for taking toddlers for a morning walk in the one inch deep perfectly clear surf.  Some people had nets and were trying to catch something by the rocks.  When they found something they would form a circle and all of them would examine the discovery.

We set up our gear near the place where the beach drops down vertically due to low tide. Although it was hot, about 90 degrees, there was a pleasant breeze. I positioned the umbrella so we would share the shade.  People spread out far from us, giving us a wide view of the ocean.  A little while later, a lady with a chair plopped down right in front of us and started reading her book.  She had so many spots to choose from.   We rolled our eyes, but we didn’t want to move anything else.   We wondered about people who are oblivious to their surroundings, but that was the end of that discussion.  My diagnosis was passive aggressive or self absorbed.  If I were a psychiatrist I would give her medicine.

We took a walk to the pier. “Eileen, stop worrying–no one will steal your stuff.  We’re right in front of the lifeguards. Do you see anybody here who looks suspicious? ”  She doubted my advice, but we walked on to the half-destroyed non-fishing pier.  I wanted to see it from the wrong end.

But there were secret people under the non-fishing pier.  It is dark there, and they are shadowy figures. Are they the walking/sitting dead?  Who knows what they are up to?  Looking west from the east end of the pier, you can see why they don’t allow boardwalkers to go to the end and see the ocean—it is, after all, a better ocean view than from the boardwalk.  Right? .  Even if you could get out to the end, you couldn’t catch a fish—especially at low tide.  And if you caught one, would you eat it?     Me? I like to go fishing at Wegmans.

Looking west from the east end of the pier. Reminds me a little of Stonehenge. Blogfinger photo ©

The lifeguards seemed relaxed with most people in the water no higher than their knees. (I mean the waders’ knees, not the lifeguards’).      A plane flew overhead with a banner promoting Trex decking.  (A little late, perhaps?)

Guard gazers. Tomorrow will be the last time for this season. Are they sick of it by now? Anybody know?  Actually, they say it’s wonderful.. so they tell me.    Blogfinger photo ©

When we left a few hours later, the beach was starting to fill up.  I stepped on the Trex boards and, uh oh, my feet were burning.  The Trex does get hot on a hot day as some people had predicted pre-new boardwalk—-another reason not to go barefoot.  But at least there are no splinters. My new sneakers made obnoxious squeaking noises walking on the Trex.  But Eileen’s made no noise.  It’s one of life’s great mysteries.

Walking back we encountered many cars searching for parking.  The flea market was going strong, and there were porch sales intermittently trying to capitalize on the overflow.  Judy on Mt. Hermon Way put out a bunch of furniture from a house up north that she was emptying  and she sold all of it.  Her secret:  low prices and nice presentation.  While we were talking to her, a car pulled up, the window rolled down, and the occupant said , “Where can we find a parking space around here?”  The question was met with unrestrained laughter by all the people at Judy’s sale.   I think the best strategy for the OG parking situation is to buy a parked car.

We finally got home. It was our second round trip to the beach front that day. “That was so nice; I’m glad we went; But it was time to go; Thank goodness for the breeze;  Can you believe that bathing suit?  Can you walk a little faster; watch out for that car.  Boy, it’s good to get home. I need a cold drink. Let’s go again only when it’s cool.”

JOHN COLTRANE AND JOHNNY HARTMAN