The Breach

When Hurricane Sandy swept through the East Coast in 2012, it blasted open a chunk of Fire Island’s Otis Pike High Dune Wilderness — a federally protected wilderness area. This is the story of four friends venturing out into what’s now known as “the breach.”

“Come on! Here we go! Start pushing! Wait — watch out for the sand here!”

Low tide had come in, and our Boston Whaler 160 Ventura kept getting stuck in the shallows. We were out in the middle of the bay, knee-deep in water, laughing and grimacing at the same time all while trying to get our boat unstuck from the sand without busting the prop. I had to wonder how we got here. 

A few days earlier… 

I had been living in Bellport for a few months already when my friend Alex imparted a piece of local knowledge — and a plan — one summer night during a dinner party. 

“Do you know about the breach? It’s this missing chunk of land on Fire Island connecting the open ocean with the bay over here,” he leaned in confidentially over his wine glass. 

“Vaguely. What about it?”

“One of these days, let’s take the boat through it and hang on the other side of the island!” 

And so, a plan for a day of adventure was set in motion. 

We gathered a couple more buddies, Dan and Ethan, to join the excursion. Because the mouth of the breach is surrounded by shallow waters, we set off at high tide early in the morning. As we left the marina and made a direct shot for the land gap on Fire Island, I could see the crest of the waves peeking through in the distance. It might not have been deep sea, but it still felt good to be out on the water. 

“Here, keep an eye on the depth,” Alex said, tossing his Garmin GPS over to me. “We don’t want to mess up your hull.” Meanwhile, Ethan connected his Spotify to the speakers, popped open the cooler, and passed around a few beers. 

As we neared the breach, the water became noticeably shallower. The depth readings flashed eight feet, then six, and soon four. Silence washed over us as we focused our attention on puttering along, while also avoiding blasting into the sand and breaking off the prop. Audible over the hum of the motor was just the lapping of the water and the playful cries of seabirds.  

“We’re going to need to make a big arc to stay in deeper water,” I said, looking up from the GPS. And so, moving as slowly and carefully as our little Ventura would go, we eventually came up on one side of the mouth. Alex turned the boat around and expertly beached it as if parallel parking. When we got close enough, Liam lifted the motor up and dropped anchor. We then exchanged glances before breaking out into the biggest smiles I’d ever seen on my friends’ faces.

“Guys, we made it!” 

“Alright! Get ready to hop out and push again!”

After spending more than a few lazy hours on the beach, it was time to clean up and head home. At this point, it became a race against a tide that kept getting lower and lower. If we wanted to make our way back to land safely with the boat in one piece, we were going to have to work for it. 

As it does every day of the year at certain times, the Bellport Bay had gotten dangerously shallow — so much so that on more than one occasion we were forced to hop out and push from the stern. As we carefully nudged the boat along, forcing it through the soft, sandy bottom of the bay, I suddenly noticed the sun’s orange hues reflecting and rippling in the water around us. It set such a surreal backdrop to our struggles. Who could stay frustrated (or feel an understandable twinge of mild panic) for long when life was this good? 

And don’t worry — we eventually got out of there safely. Once we reached a deeper part of the bay, we were all drenched with sweat and seawater but also grinning from ear to ear. Of course, I had to ask aloud the question we were all wondering. 

“So boys, when’s our next breach adventure?”