I've loved beach combing since my grandmother took me to dig for sand dollars at Daytona Beach. But it wasn't until I made my first trip to the eastern tip of Long Island's South Fork that I realized it could be so bountiful.
I drove the Montauk Highway in Herr Cucaracha to get there.
Sarah, a pal from the library, joined me in the Karmann Ghia she had purchased from my father, a Type III model never sold in America. Ken had it shipped from Germany to Houston in 1965. I blew the engine driving it too fast over Trans Mountain Highway in El Paso and nearly totaled it in a drunken New Year's Eve crash in 1971, but these mishaps didn't dissuade Sarah. She loved the idea of owning a one-of-a-kind automobile. But when I flew home to deliver the Karmann Ghia to her, the cursed vehicle broke down in Knoxville, Tennessee. Ken towed it back to El Paso for repairs and then drove it to her doorstep in the East Village. What a saga!
After checking into the East Deck Motel, a favorite with surfers which finally was demolished in 2016, we drove to the light house, the first to operate in New York State.
Cliffs and rocks below deterred beach goers.
We found a sandier spot and let our dogs out. Smokey, never much of a water dog, braved the surf to retrieve a stick.
I collected everything interesting in sight.
Sarah's dog Lene sniffed my catch-of-the-sea after I laid it out to dry in the sun. We pretty much had the place to ourselves so early in the season.
My Montauk treasures were on display for many years at 47 Pianos. I eventually brought them to the Folly, a boxed memorial to a passion for natural history that began in childhood.
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