Fire Island

Geologically speaking, Fire Island is a microtidal Holocene terrigenous clastic barrier island separated from Long Island's south shore by the Great South Bay. The island is approximately 31 miles long and varies from 0.1 to 0.25 miles wide. The island is composed of occasionally shelly fine to coarse sand with rare rounded pebbles derived from the Pleistocene glacial outwash deposits of southern Long Island reworked and sorted by the ocean, with grain size generally fining toward the west. From north to south, the island generally consists of back-bay and overwash deposits, dunes, and beach.

Having visited the beach from at least 1965 until 1976, I may be a bit biased, but after 55 years of travel, I firmly believe that if Fire Island is not included in any list of the world's Top 10 beaches, that list is flawed. The beach sand is clean and white and runs uninterrupted for 31 miles. If you have the stamina, I believe you can stroll the entire length of the island. Unlike a lot of Atlantic coast, the Fire Island National Seashore has not been spoiled by overdeveloped, and instead has been preserved as State Parks, unspoiled seashore and several chic, predominantly gay resort towns. But unlike most of Florida, Myrtle Beach, Virginia Beach, etc., there are no long rows of high-rise hotels and condominiums cutting off the beach from the rest of the population.

Having worked all week on Long Island, I stayed over the weekend and went to Robert Moses State Park on the western tip of Fire Island today for the first time since probably 1976. Like when I was driving around my childhood neighborhood, many happy memories came back to me as I drove the Robert Moses Causeway. The Causeway crosses the Great South Bay on twin bridge spans, and at 10:45 a.m., I hit my first traffic jam on the way to the beach.

Zen Master Daokai of Mt. Furong once said, "The green mountains are always walking . . . Mountains do not lack the qualities of mountains. Therefore they always abide in ease and always walk. You should examine in detail this quality of the mountains walking. Mountains' walking is just like human walking. Accordingly, do not doubt mountains' walking even though it does not look the same as human walking . . . Because mountains walk, they are permanent."

My first understanding of mountains walking came from the rocket-like water tower at Robert Moses State Park. As we approached the park in the family car, I would see the tower in the distance, first to the east of the bridge, then to the west of the bridge, and then, on the final approach, right at the end of the bridge. Watching the tower, I could actually see it move from one side of the bridge to the other. Now, common mundane understanding is that this is just a trick of perspective as the Causeway curved, but Zen teaches us that it is always right now and we are always right here, and the universe constantly changes and unfolds around us. If you think that Zen practioners believe mountains and water towers have little human feet and walk around, you are foolish, but if you understand that we perceive the universe not from an ego-centric viewpoint but allow for changes in the world not of the self, you are beginning to understand.

But enough Zen for now - I came here for the beach. I drove all the way to the far west end of the park to Lot No. 3 (Lot 2 was already filled) and found a place to lay in the sun with the water tower now standing behind the dunes. I had bought a little knapsack and sunscreen on the way, but once there I realized that the hotel towel I grabbed on the way was woefully insufficient and bought a proper beach towel for $16.99 at the park concession building.

It was an excellent beach day - sunny and warm and not a cloud in the sky. A stiff off-shore breeze (note the flags above) kept the air cool. The surf was agreeably rough, and I went for a couple of "swims," which actually consisted of me allowing the surf to smash me back to the shore.

The beach hadn't changed much at all. The beach-goers were still very much a family-oriented crowd of mostly white suburbanites. It was actually somewhat quieter than before, as the transistor radios and boom boxes of my childhood have been largely replaced by more discrete iPods (no more suffering through the musical tastes of the adjacent blanket).

The crowd was dressed modestly - the thongs and toplessness of, say, Miami Beach or the Costa del Sol are not yet in fashion at Robert Moses (although, I imagine, that may not be true at some of the sophisticated resort towns like Cherry Grove or Fire Island Pines). But as an adolescent, one of my fascinations with the beach were the bikini-clad bodies of teenage girls, and as an older man in 2009, I found the similarly dressed girls every bit as fascinating if not quite as compelling.

Thank goodness for sunscreen! It being my first time out on the beach this year, my body was blindingly white (think Sean Patrick Flanery in "Powder") and I couldn't even look at my own legs without risking corneal damage. People nearby had to wear two pairs of sunglasses for protection from the glare. I stayed out in the sun for about 3 or 4 hours but didn't burn due to the SPF 45 sunscreen I slathered all over my body. Except for my feet, which I missed for some reason as I applied the lotion, and are now as red as two boiled lobsters (and feel like them, too). It hurts to wear socks.

I left the beach at around 3 and drove over to Sayville, where I stayed with my family for a few of what I had previously characterized as the "confused years of the mid-70s." Although a perfectly pleasant little town, driving around Sayville did not arouse the same feelings of nostalgia in me as, say, Saint James or Robert Moses SP. I stopped at the new (relative to the 1970s) Starbucks on Main Street and watched the crowd, called my mother (Hi, Mom!), and let my burned feet relax a little.

The picture below is looking out across the Great South Bay toward Fire Island from the end of the street on which I briefly lived in Sayville.

Oh, by the way, it was also my birthday today. Today marked the end of my "birth year" - the year that my age (54) and year of birth (1954) were one and the same. I didn't do anything special during my birth year, although ending it by literally revisiting my past seems somhow appropriate.