SUMMER MIGRATION

Like lemmings, we make our way to the ocean each summer, undeterred by numerous obstacles like traffic jams and toll booths while inching our way south on New Jersey’s Garden State packed way. With engine and children overheating, we begin to shed the petty cares of landlocked living to replace them with the many challenges and fears of a seaside week.

Like Robinson Crusoe, we finally land on a strange shoreline. Jellyfish beach, is a haven where we were fortunate enough to rent a place from Bertha’s Seaside Bungalow Rentals and Sales Inc. (She sells cheap shells by the seashore).

Our cozy cottage is within easy walking distance to the beach according to Bertha who happens to run in the Boston Marathon and is a retired infantry sergeant.

Bertha also told us our bungalow sleeps eight, but we forgot to ask if that was simultaneously. The kitchen table converts into a double bed and there’s a convertible couch that has almost enough room to open up horizontally.

From the cozy bathroom you can get a nice view of the house, a convenient 20 yards away. And there’s full legal access to the adjacent Texaco station’s facilities. Well, what do you want for a mere $850 a week, the Beverly Hilton?

A half hour later we are treated to a magnificent view of white sand and roaring surf. There is feeling of homecoming. The ocean, after all, is our mother. We belong together. But the beach is another matter. It belongs to the taxpayers of Jellyfish Township and they charge five bucks a head for entry.

Before we can settle down on the beach we must spread the blanket, plant the umbrella and blow up a life raft, a beach ball and an air mattress. By then you might think the weather is turning dark but it’s only an ordinary hyperventilating blackout.

Sooner or later you will have to enter the ocean. This is not an amusement park. Those big waves are not going to be turned off. In fact they’re getting bigger. You thrust one expendable toe into the roaring surf and withdraw it immediately while you scan the sea for icebergs. which must be on the near horizon. A huge roller knocks you down and sucks you out toward Europe.

This could be dangerous. You might get a serious cramp or even get nipped by a shark and not notice it because your body is almost completely numb.

Speaking of sharks, no seashore vacation would be complete without the thrill of a shark scare. Once, about five years ago, the Atlantic City lifeguards called us out of the water when a shark was sighted just offshore. I was told the all-clear sounded an hour later, but by then I was six miles inland and still running hard.