I Completely Botched the Surf Report and Other Musings from the Beach
Part 2 of a summer vacation diary
If you missed Part 1 of the summer vacation diary of our trip to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, stop reading and hit the link. Or continue reading. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life.
Again, please keep in mind that I made zero notes while we were on vacation because I was too busy living in the moment (making Monopoly deeds to replace the missing Monopoly deeds), and I’m writing this several weeks later because I’ve been too busy living in the moment (panicking about the upcoming school year and watching the kids play video games).
All that’s to say, take everything you read here with a grain of salt (and sand).
Day 3 (things are getting hazier and hazier, but some of this probably happened) — July 1
The first day of July brought with it our first full beach day. It was a Saturday of a holiday week, so the beach was probably very crowded. We rummaged around in the closets and cabinets and managed to assemble a respectable pile of items to carry down to the beach: some sand toys, a beach umbrella that looked marginally functional, a couple of chairs, a net, and so forth. Several of the items didn’t seem like they would add much value to the outing, but the children insisted. And really, what’s the point of even going to the beach if you’re not struggling under the weight of a pile of junk, one item falling to the sand every few steps, another two to three items slipping away like eels when you lean over to pick up the first item? It’s an integral part of the beach experience.
We set up right next to the lifeguard stand which was occupied by two lifeguards between 9:30 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. This made me feel more secure until one of the lifeguard managers stopped by on his four-wheeler to chat with the lifeguards on duty. Our lifeguards were a young woman and man, probably in their early twenties. The woman looked like she just got back from winning a gold medal in the Olympics and the man looked like he stepped straight off the set of a CW show. The manager was older, but still extremely fit with ropey arms and a deep red tan that looked at least a little painful. The manager asked how they were doing and then, for some reason, shared an anecdote about one of his first days as a lifeguard when he failed to notice that someone was drowning. He said, “It was a day a lot like this… the water was flat… and I thought people were just waving at me to be friendly, but it turned out they were trying to get my attention. It was very embarrassing.” I made a mental note to keep an even closer eye on the children.
While I was trying to get the umbrella pole buried deep enough in the sand so it wouldn’t blow away (spoiler: it blew away at least three times during the week) and eavesdropping on the lifeguards, the kids made a beeline to the water. My boys are nine and eleven years old and they love the water; my daughter is seven and she is ambivalent about it. My daughter mostly played on the sand while the boys punched waves with their fists and tried to get as much sand into their bathing suits as possible. I joined them in the water a bit later, boogie board in tow, and proceeded to shred like I used to do in my younger days. I was, of course, too far away to hear the lifeguards over the din of the ocean, but I can only assume they were suitably impressed. Perhaps the anecdote they will share about their first lifeguarding experience is the time the guy with the pasty white complexion wearing a black rash guard and matching swim trunks absolutely destroyed some 1-foot waves on his partially broken boogie board.
After spending a couple hours at the beach, we retreated to the condo to make sure we hadn’t missed anything on YouTube. Later in the afternoon, I walked around the block to the surf shop to buy some Lays potato chips because my 9-year-old couldn’t eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without them. While I was there, I perused the souvenirs and knick-knacks. This ashtray was the highlight of the visit.
Afterward, I found an American flag fedora in the beach condo’s game cabinet and tried it on. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
I texted my friends Matt and Brad this picture and Matt replied, “you look like you’re in a ska band that only plays patriotic songs.” I gave that a “HaHa” reaction; it was well deserved.
In the evening, we returned to the beach so the kids could get a lot more sand in their bathing suits. We also dug a really deep hole, and I took a picture of part of the umbrella for some reason.
Presumably, we went to sleep at night, and I slept on the bed, which was a significant improvement over the previous night when I slept on the chair, wishing a beaver had gnawed off my legs.
Day 4 (there are quite a few photos from this day, so the timeline is pretty airtight) — July 2
The morning of July second dawned with Shibumi Shades as far as the eye could see. The beach was once again crowded during our morning stint, which was as far as I can remember (I don’t remember), relatively uneventful. The lifeguards may have had to fish one person out of the water, but other than that, everything was pretty routine: splashing, sitting, digging toes into the sand to make tiny canals, thinking about how the world might end, etc.
When we came back up to the condo to clean off and get ready for YouTube, I ran into our neighbor who I had briefly encountered the previous two days. He looked to be about my age or a few years older than me with a farmer’s tan and faded tattoos on his shoulders. His family hadn’t been down to the beach that morning and he asked me how the water was. A sudden wave of panic washed over me because I immediately realized I had no idea how the water was. “Okay,” I stammered, lamely, before hastily adding, “choppy!” Choppy was the first ocean-adjacent word that came to mind, and it was out of my mouth before I could think twice. I’ll level with you. I don’t know if the water was choppy or not because I don’t really know how one might measure that. Is there some sort of scale or is it just a vibes thing? Anyway, I quickly hung the kids’ bathing suits on the clothesline and ducked into the outdoor shower to avoid any follow-up questions. I managed to avoid seeing the neighbor again that day just in case I was totally wrong about the surf report. I don’t deal well with humiliation.
We took a break from the beach in the afternoon so my 9-year-old, Bennett, and I could go have lunch at Dockside (the other two kids didn’t want to go). If you don’t know about Dockside in Wrightsville Beach, well, my family sure does. I have family that is local to the Wrightsville Beach area and a lot of my extended family vacations there from time to time. The running joke is that when anyone talks about dining plans during their beach stay, the other person will say, “I’ve heard the Dockside is a can’t miss!”
Bennett and I made the short drive to Dockside which sits directly on one of the waterways. There are boats docked all around it, and while you eat on the outside porch area, you can watch the boats cruising up and down the intercoastal. The location is the primary attraction because the Dockside is, otherwise, your run-of-the-mill beach bar and grill. There are sandy, grimy wooden floors, a dingy bar, and a fairly standard menu. Bennett opted for the hamburger, which he rated very highly, and I chose a Caesar salad that consisted of slightly sad romaine covered in a thin dressing topped with a giant pile of tiny cubical croutons, most likely Great Value Walmart brand. I also ordered a beer, which really put me out of my comfort zone, but you only live once. It certainly didn’t help matters that the beer was called Edward Teach Brewing’s Teach’s Peaches. Good old Teach’s Peaches seems to be a local favorite; I noticed it on the menu at both non-Panera restaurants we frequented. Having to say that full silly name to the waitress was horrifying, but I couldn’t think of a way to shorten it effectively (Ed’s Peaches? The Teach One?), so I just raised the pitch of my voice a little at the end by way of apology. The waitress gave a little smile and said something normal like “you got it” as if it was no big deal. I couldn’t see her eyes, though, because they were hidden behind aviator sunglasses. Her eyes likely told a different story.
Later in the week, my aunt who lives in Wrightsville Beach stopped by. She asked where we had been eating, and I said, “well, Bennett and I went to Dockside.” Then we both smiled, nodded, and said “Dockside” a few times each like the word was a ping-pong ball and we were batting it back and forth with paddles.
In the evening, I made mac and cheese and got the chance to store the leftovers in a cute jar that I found in the kitchen.
It felt exhilarating and a little devious. I would say it was the most fun I’d had in a long time, but if you remember, I did put on that American flag hat the day before. We then took a family walk on the beach at sunset so we could live in the moment, and I could take some artsy photos of random objects to post on the internet.
I’ll go ahead and stop Part 2 here so all of you can calm down and digest all the ground we covered, and so I can work on overcoming the trauma that revisiting the botched surf report and the silly beer name ordering fiasco has dredged up.