The New Inlet at Old Inlet

 

 

The New Inlet at Old Inlet

 

 

  I moved East some 20 years ago to live by the Great South Bay in West Sayville.  The GSB here was nothing like the Bay by Saltaire, where the Fire Island Inlet's flushing keeps the waters clean.  In the waters of the Eastern Bay, the waters have been close to dead for years.  Storm Water runnof, leakey septic systems, etc. had pretty much left the Bay unable to sustain life.

 

Then Sandy came through and punched a hole through the eastern end of the Island.  My prayers had been answered.  The Bay has made an incredible turnaround.  Fishing at the end of my block in West Sayville is the best in decades. 

 

See for yourselves:

 

 

 

 

The following link will provided definitive analysis of the effects of Sandy on the Bay.

 

 

http://po.msrc.sunysb.edu//GSB/

WPA WORKERS 1938

"If it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay," said Gatsby. "You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock."

GREAT PICTURES BY DERF RECALL THE GREAT HISTORY OF SALTAIRE SAILING

Magnificent photos by DERF recall the great moments of Saltaire past. Remember, sailors of today, many came before you and many will come after you. You must tell your stories.

We have lots of stories about Saltaire sailing. For a brief historyod Sataire sailing, cick here:

http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=brief+history+of+saltaire+sailing


For one of our all time great Saltaire38.blogspot.com stories, see Patsy O'Shea's confession of the Great Puffin capsizing that changed the course of Saltaire sailing forever, click here:

http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=capsizers


Or just click the topic "sailing" in the column on the left of this page and it will lead you to all our sailing stories to date. Trouble is, we only have about eleven sailing stories. Add yours today.

Paul Connelly sails his "Tuck" early 1970's
Picture by Frank Mina




Cape Cod Knockabouts, 1940s-1960's



Edie Whitney Watts at the helm, late 1940's

Racing in the 1940's



Pictue by Dick McManus, 1940's





Pictre s by Dick McManus 1940's

DUNCAN DOBIE, ONE OF AMERICA'S LEADING HUNTING AND FISHING WRITERS, ON LESSONS LEARNED GROWING UP SALTAIRE

There is No Such Thing as a Bad Day Fishing
by Duncan Dobie
I was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic wondering how I had allowed myself to get in such a frustrating situation. Like all of the other miserable souls around me, I was growing more impatient with every passing moment. That’s when the bumper sticker caught my eye. It stood out like a sore thumb, and no flashing neon sign could have grabbed my attention more thoroughly at that particular moment in my life. It was a common quote that I’d seen on bumper stickers and read often in other printed material, but that day the sheer power of that short sentence was like a drink of cool water to a man in the desert.
The bumper sticker read, "A bad day fishing is better than a good day at work.” A sketch of a man holding a rod that was doubled over as he netted a fish was next to the printed words.
I smiled. Suddenly all of my frustrations caused by the traffic seemed to disappear. Memories of my boyhood summers spent with my grandparents at Saltaire, Fire Island, New York, began to come alive. In all my years of wetting lines in various rivers, lakes and oceans across North America, I’d been skunked, stuck in the mud, sea sick, rained on, frozen like an ice cube, sunburned, eaten alive by insects, parched and humiliated time and again. I had lost dozens of my favorite lures, but never could I remember ever having had a bad day fishing.
Once, when I was 12 years old, I lost an entire salt water casting rig on the pier at Saltaire. Using a heavy lead sinker and trying to make a long cast while bottom-fishing for flounders, I accidentally tossed my favorite saltwater rod and reel into a murky saltwater bay. I cried, mostly out of embarrassment, and my grandfather did what any good grandfather would do. He went out and got me a new rod and reel. As traumatic as that incident was, I don’t recall ever having viewed it as a bad day.
Another unforgettable event occurred in late August one summer. Once again, I was fishing off the Saltaire pier. Every year in late summer the snappers, or baby bluefish, would run in large schools in the Great South Bay, the inland bay that separated Fire Island from the mainland. At times, you could literally catch a fish on every cast. My grandfather had warned me several times about the perils of being a “fish hog.”
“Never take more than you can use,” he had warned me over and over again. Of course, I usually fished for flounders, and I seldom caught more than one fish on any given day. If I did get lucky and catch two flounders in the same day, that was like shooting a limit of grouse. It was a tough thing to do.
Fishing for flounders was hard work and there were many days when I never got a bite. Therefore, I never gave the fish-hog principle a second thought. Since I loved to eat flounder more than any other fish in the world, most of the fish I caught and took home literally went from the bucket into the frying pan. In addition to eating what I caught, I was expected to clean my catch as well. My grandfather taught me how to filet flounders as soon as I was old enough, and I promptly filleted any fish I brought home.
The big day of catching snappers started out like any other hot day in August. Using live bait that my grandfather had helped me catch with a seining net, I was fishing with several of my best friends on the pier one sunny afternoon. Suddenly, the water started boiling as if a school of piranha were de-fleshing some poor animal like you might see in a Tarzan movie. All at once, we started reeling-in eight- to 10-inch snappers every time we threw the line out.
Before I knew it, my fish-carrying bucket was half-full. Then it was brimming over with flopping baby blues. I borrowed another bucket and started filling it up. Soon, I had three large buckets filled with snappers. In all, I probably had nearly 70 or 80 fish. There were no limits back in those days, and I suppose I could have caught 500 snappers if I had kept on. But three buckets filled with snappers seemed to be enough, and I knew it would be a chore getting them home. I put one bucket in the basket of my bike and hung the other two over the handlebars.
My grandfather happened to be outside working when I pedaled up with my treasure. Like a conquering hero displaying the spoils of war, I was floating on clouds. I had just about convinced myself that I was the greatest fisherman on all of Fire Island when the look on his face told me that, just maybe, I could be wrong.
“You’ve got a big job ahead of you, cleaning all those fish,” he said. “You’d better get started right away because it’s almost dark.” He didn’t offer to help.
While my grandparents cooked and ate steaks, I cleaned those oily little snappers until my fingers were raw. After dinner, Grandpa came outside and said, “I was going to cook a steak for you tonight, but I figured you’d rather eat bluefish instead. Looks like you’ll be eating snappers for a long time to come. Funny thing, though. I thought you said you didn’t like snappers that much.”
“I don’t,” I answered dryly. Then it hit me like a shark inhaling a minnow. Suddenly the greatest fisherman on Fire Island was nothing more than a lowly “fish hog” who had caught way too many snappers.
My grandfather never said a word about catching more fish than I could ever hope to eat. He didn’t have to. I knew what I had done, and I knew what was expected of me. I ate bluefish for the next two weeks. Feeling sorry for me, my grandmother prepared them every way possible. Finally, I could eat no more. The freezer was still half-full when I sheepishly approached my grandfather and asked him if I could bury what was left in my grandmother’s garden.
“Blues never keep very well,” he said. “They should always be eaten fresh. Go ahead and put them in the garden.”
A long time passed before I could even look at a baby bluefish again, much less eat one. Despite the error of my ways, I never regarded that incident in any way as having been a negative experience or a bad day. Indeed, it taught me a great lesson.
My thoughts returned to the bumper sticker on the car in front of me. “No, there’s no such thing as a bad day of fishing,” I told myself with a smile. In fact, now fully back to the reality of bumper-to-bumper traffic and living in a world where I had been separated from the beloved Fire Island of my youth for many decades, another wonderful thought suddenly popped into my head. “If I could just relive that golden day in the sun for one moment and go back to that magical pier at Saltaire for one fleeting instant, I’d be willing to eat every one of those greasy little snappers right now,” I told myself. “I’d even eat them raw!”

COPYRIGHT 2008 DUNCAN DOBIE

Editor's Note: Duncan Dobie is a grandson of Ruth Brewster Dobie, an original Saltaire resident. Ruth Dobie was Saltaire Historian and Editor of the seminal "History of the Incorporated Village of Saltaire, Fire Island New York," (private printing, 1952) .

Duncan Dobie spent summers in Saltaire with his grandparents until age 13 in 1959.

Duncan Dobie was a free-lance outdoor writer/photographer for over 20 years, writing almost exclusively about white-tailed deer. Four years ago he became editor of "North American Whitetail" magazine, a position he still holds. In addition, he currently writes a monthly whitetail column for "Petersen's Hunting" magazine and "Georgia Sportsman" magazine. Dobie's several books include "Georgia's Greatest Whitetails" (1986), a history of the restoration program and record bucks that Georgia has produced. "White Tales and Other Hunting Stories" (1989) is a collection of fictional stories about deer hunting. "If You've Ever Seen A Rhinoceros Charge... " (1994) is a children's book about endangered animals. "Whitetail Dawn" (2004) is another collection of fictional stories about deer hunting. "Whitetail Dawn" is available through Amazon; the others are out of print but show up on Ebay.
E mail links to Dobie's magazines are: www.huntingmag.com and www.whitetail@imoutdoors.com

Larry Lynch 1959

Photo by and courtesy of Bill J. Weinlandt

click to enlarge

A Saltaire Story

"That guy has everything."
I didn't say anything. I was just watching the sun starting to set.


"That guy has everything," he said for a second time.

Jack and I were standing at the bike rack in front of the Yacht Club, looking out on the bay. Jack was almost whispering as if he did not want “them” to hear.

The "guy" Jack was talking about was sailing his sailboat with his girlfriend about 100 yards out on the bay, so I doubt if they would have heard Jack unless he were shouting.


But it was quiet. Just a little bit of a breeze at the end of one of those perfect summer days.


"That guy has everything-- he lives in Saltaire, he has a sailboat, and sails with that girl."



Jack had spoken to the girl a couple of times and she was really nice, but that was about it. He never learned a whole lot of social skills at the Catholic junior seminary that he went to for high school. And he definitely did not have a sailboat to take a good-looking girl out on the bay.

So the boat was sailing back and forth, back and forth. At first, it looked like they were practicing maneuvers for a sailboat race. But now with the sun setting things were slowing down. It looked like they were just quietly sailing back and forth. Like they had nowhere to go in the world. Nothing to do but sail together. They sailed a hundred yards west, turned around, sailed a hundred yards east.

Jack was just a visitor for a week or two in Saltaire that summer. Now that he had decided that he wasn't going to become a priest, he was trying to fit in. That was never easy for a new kid in Saltaire. He would carry an “old Goya” guitar around and sit on the beach or on the dock and play for anyone who would listen. I liked Jack and so did a lot of the other kids, but he never felt like he fit in. And he really wanted to. And he was really taken with that girl. From a distance.

The sailboat came back around and it crossed in front of the huge orange sun, which for a second was sitting on top of the horizon. They sailed past the sun, went on a ways and turned around. Every time they came back and passed in front of the sun, it was lower. Now the top of the mast was higher than the top of the sun.

It was a perfect scene.
It became so quiet that even Jack didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. Just one more "that guy has everything" after the sun was completely below the horizon. That's how the conversation ended. Just like it began: “That guy has everything.”

I never saw Jack again after that summer.

That was forty six years years ago.

I sometimes wonder: if I could travel back in time to that evening 46 years ago, should I go back and tell Jack:

"Don't feel bad, Jack, that guy does not have everything. I knew that guy and that girl and I can tell you it is not going to last forever between them. It won't end up all sailing and beautiful sunsets and endless summers for them. Nothing's permanent."


No, on second thought, I would never tell Jack that. Jack might have believed me and run out on the dock and started shouting out to her: "Forget about him. He's not going to last. You are wasting your time with him. Come talk to me!"

I wouldn't want that.

That would ruin a perfect scene.







JOH

(first posted 4/17/08)

OLD FERRY BOATS NEVER DIE. THEY JUST RISE AGAIN

 INTERESTING NOTE ABOUT THE ORIGINAL FIRE ISLAND FLYER. IT SEEMS WHEN THEY SANK HER, SHE DIDN'T LIKE LAYING ON THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN AND SHE FOUGHT HER WAY BACK TO THE TOP- OR AL LEAST PARTS OF HER DID :

Just to confirm an earlier mention of the Flyer she was in fact sunk in '91 off Jones Beach. She sank so fast she most likely broke up when she hit bottom and a severe storm shortly after brought many pieces of her up onto Jones Beach.

http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=700%2C000

NOW WE KNOW THAT SOME FERRIES HAVE GONE ON TO OTHER LOCALES:
http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=lEGIT


JOH asks: WHERE IS IS THE EVENING STAR? WAS THAT BOAT A BOONDOGGLE?


Hi guys, in answer to the question of where the Evening Star is she is currently in Wilmington, NC under the name Royal Winner Princess II. Here is a picture of her. The second picture is the dining room and anyone familiar with the boat knows that there is a glass etching of the boat in the dining room. If you zoom in on the picture you can see the glass etching still has the name EVENING STAR underneath the etched boat. It may be hard to pick up but see if you can spot it. Enjoy the pics.
-

click images to enlarge










SALTAIRE 38 CHALLENGE: WHO CAN TRACE THE WHEREABOUTS OF SOME OF THE FIRE ISLAND FERRIES VESSELS: WHETHER TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA OR CRUISING IN SOME EXOTIC TOURIST SPA SOMEWHERE?

Does anyone have any pictures of any FI ferry boats before they were ferry boats? (frank?)


RECOLLECTIONS, PLEASE. CLICK COMMENTS BELOW:

Al Skinner lives: the New Fire Islander

Skinner, 1969
Frank Mina

  

Lincoln McMahon dug up this new USCG listing:   

US Coast Guard records

Results for Vessel: FIRE ISLANDER

Vessel Information:	Vessel Particulars:
Vessel Name: FIRE ISLANDER VIN: 1246183 Hull Number: FI-338 Vessel Flag: UNITED STATES Vessel Call Sign: Build Year: 2013	Service: Passenger (Inspected) Length: 85.0 ft Breadth: 20.0 ft Depth: 8.4 ft Alternate VINs: CG12195221246183, IMO Number:
Service Information:	Tonnage Information:
Service: In Service Out Of Service Date: N/A Last Removed From Service By: N/A	Deadweight: Gross Tonnage(GRT): 95 Net Tonnage(NRT): 76 Gross Tonnage(GT ITC): Cargo Authority:

Vessel Documents and Certifications

No Data

Summary of Coast Guard Contacts

View Data From (MM/DD/YYYY):  To:

Back to Top

=========================================================

Lincoln McMahon tracked down this PR release from  Blount Boat:

Blount Boats Signs Contract For New Fire Island Ferry

Warren, R.I. (September 26, 2012) – Blount Boats has signed a contract with Fire Island Ferries to construct an 85 foot aluminum ferry boat for service between Bay Shore and Fire Island on Great South Bay. This vessel will be a sister ship to the M/V Firebird (Hull 253), M/V Fire Island Flyer (Hull 308) and M/V Fire Island Belle (Hull 326) built by the Blount shipyard in 1984, 2001 and 2008. The triple screw vessel will be powered by Detroit Series 60 Tier II diesel engines, 600 hp each at 2,100 rpm with 2:1 ZF 550 reduction gears. Delivery for Hull 338 is scheduled for June 2013. The new vessel will be the ninth boat built by Blount for Fire Island Ferries. Fire Island Ferries has been in operation since 1948 and supplies fast marine transportation services from Bay Shore, Long Island to Fire Island. Skinner Pic by Frank Mina

more skinners:

Skinner. Unknown photographer

Skinner by Hank Stillgebauer
Chuck Foster Sr. on Drums.
Susie Fitzgerald  by wall 

Frank Mina Picture

The Fire Islander

There were stories.
It was a war boat and still
ruled the waters of my childhood,

Its whitewashed wood remembering
scars from its wounds

But now, in eight-year-old
eyes, it becomes
a ticket to a new planet.

Captain Al standing tall
as Gary Cooper,
nudging his craft
through Bay Shore harbor, as soft waves caressed
the ferry’s sides;
then, free, opened

the throttle, and raised
waves and wake,
splashing our thirsty
faces with a new
summer.

Diane McManus
August 1, 2009

Duncan Dobie, Jeff Weinlandt
Pic by Bill Weinlandt

Bill Weinland Pix

1950: THE FIRE ISLANDER IS DEDICATED

CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE
THANKS TO RICH GREER, WE HAVE THIS PICTURE OF THE DEDICATION OF THE FIRE ISLANDER IN 1950. WE DON'T KNOW WHO THE LADY IS WHO IS BREAKING THE CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE, BUT THAT IS MAYOR MCMANUS KEEPING HER ON BOARD. WE KNOW IT IS MAYOR MCMANUS BECAUSE OF HIS SHOES.WE DIDN'T CROP HIS HEAD OFF. THAT IS HOW THE PICTURE CAME TO US.
PICTURE COURTESY SID GREER

1973 Saltaire Softball League Schedule Exhumed

Click to enlarge to read

Courtesy Jon Lyon and an understanding Mary B. Keane, Village Clerk, who let Jon type this up on Village equipment, if not Village Time.

George & Georgie

No one enjoyed a good party more than my dad George Fontanals. I don’t know what is going on in Saltaire these days but from the mid-60’s on into the early 80’s, Saltaire seemed like one big cocktail party which might or might not move on into dinner. One of George’s dinner party staples was his famed Paella.

Georgiana M Hull (Georgie) managed to get George’s recipe down on paper in her wonderful Fire Island Cookbook. The book, a collection of seafood recipes from the town’s locals, is a veritable who’s who from the Saltaire Happy Hour Set in around 1972.

click images to enlarge

I have used this recipe with pretty good results, but I would suggest a few things:
· Give yourself plenty of time. (like the entire day)
· You must track down a paella pan to accommodate the # you are feeding.
· Don’t forget the Saffron!!

---DERF

JOH adds: I can't believe George Fontanals Sr. looks so young and happy in that picture.

...Emily’s mother calls the children to breakfast. Emily is surprised at how young her mother looks. Emily cries out:

"I can’t bear it. They’re so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have to get old? I can’t look at everything hard enough. ”

Emily comes downstairs; her mother says:

“Birthday or no birthday, I want you to eat your breakfast good and slow. ”

Emily: “Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me .”

Emily turns to the Stage Manager:

“I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at
one another ”

-Our Town

Ed Note: this post originally appeared Jan 2, 2008

Frank Braynard, 1969

MAYOR SCHMITT TO VILLAGERS IN 1939: DON'T ABANDON US NOW

CLICK TO ENLARGE



LETTER COURTESY LARRY LYNCH, GRANDSON OF TRUSTEE JOS. A. LYNCH

DEATH OF THE SALTAIRE WATER TOWER: GREAT PIX BY JUSTIN ZIZES Sr.

These pictures were taken on September 2, 1968 by the late Justin Zizes, Sr.

Justin Zizes Jr. fondly looks back:

THE DAY THE SALTAIRE WATER TOWER FELL- LABOR DAY 1968

By G. Justin Zizes, Jr.




I’m guessing today many residents of Saltaire do not know that, until the year 1968, Saltaire had a big black water tower with the name SALTAIRE painted on it in big white letters.
It was a well-seen landmark, from the ocean side and bay side; one knew where Saltaire was on Fire Island from this icon. One could even see the tower from Bay Shore as the ferry pulled out of the mouth of the Bay Shore Marina as it headed to the beach.

I can’t remember the height of the structure, but it was tall and sometimes eerie looking, especially close up at night when one passed by it on the ocean or looking at it from Lighthouse Prom. It did get lost from time to time when the fog rolled in or when there was haze from the ocean. I never got a chance to climb the tower, I am sure the sight over looking Saltaire must have been unbelievable. The water tower stood strong for many years- even through passing hurricanes, lightning storms, howling winds, and snowstorms.

The water tower was located in “the yard”, as the village workers knew it. This is where the shed, the well / pump house and the old cement incinerator, where we once burned our garbage are located.

Back on Labor Day 1968, September 2nd to be specific (I had to get a perpetual calendar to look up the exact date), sometime in the morning, my father, Justin Zizes Sr., came in to the house and said the Village was in the process of cutting down the old water tower on the beach- let’s go up and watch it. What an exciting event for the village! We all peddled up on our bikes to the ocean for a ringside seat.

At the time, the Mayor was Hugh A. O’Brien, Jr. - I recall he had just been newly elected Mayor back in June (the second Tuesday of the month was always the village election day back then.) I cannot remember who the four trustees were at the time, The Village Superintendent was either John Phoe or Bob Hodges at the time, along with Lenny McGahey. Godfred ( a/k/a Gotti) Mahler, and Bob Peterson. They all were the maintenance guys, who lived year round in the Village.

It was a beautiful day on the beach in terms of weather- ideal conditions. As you can see in the first picture that my father took- some of the crowd waiting around. Virginia O’Brien is very visible on the left from the photo along with the back of Charles Lapp Sr. and Bill Weinlandt. From the middle to the right of the photo (I do not if the scan of the picture came out that well to see all, but the original it is clear).

We waited with anticipation, like waiting for the Ball to drop in Times Square, but there was no predictable time. As our eyes were glued to the tower, one could see the welder’s torch arcing the legs by a welder. An air gap appeared after each of the legs were cut one by one- and the lean of the tower was starting to happen and it might have been mistaken for a look like of the Leaning tower of Pisa only a bit of different color and shape.


The tower had a long cable attached from where the walkway at the waist of the tank to a jeep on the beach to help guide it and control the fall. We could also see one of the workers on the beach.
At the time of the fall of the tower, we could see the one worker starting to run in fear of his life. When the tower fell on the beach the worker tried to jump to safety, and we all could see this- we all took a deep breath in hopes that the person was OK- and then he got up and we were all relieved.

After the fall of the tower, we all ran towards the fallen icon of Saltaire- an end of an era. As we got to the tower, others who were watching it from the East end of the village met us.
It was an interesting sight to look inside and see the darkness of this tank that once stood high above Saltaire for many years and now flattened and ready to be removed. From what I was told, the collapsed tower was to be cut into smaller pieces and buried in the dunes. If one looks carefully, one can see old rusted parts of the Saltaire Water Tower peering out of the sand of the dunes at the yard.

Indeed, from time to time when I walk past the site where the tower once stood, I think of that day in September of ’68 and think of those early days of Saltaire in my life. We were a bit simpler back then- no big firehouse, a one fire engine town, no ems squad, no doctor, only two tennis courts at the yacht club. Good trivia question- what year was the tower built and how was it- I a sure there are records somewhere. The village had changed tanks to one that was covered in one of the sheds in the yard. The tower was probably a big expense to the village in terms of maintenance. Back then, I am sure that cutting it down was quite the easiest way- no permits, no one to ask permission. It was made of steel and it was in an environment where steel rusts quite rapidly


The Ball at the top of the water tower was removed and taken away. It was mounted on a pedestal and today sits on the southwest corner on the lawn of the Village Hall as a remembrance of the tower’s former glory and service to the village.


Justin Zizes Jr.
Subm. In memory of dad Justin Zizes Sr.

Gay Zizes Sez:

I am actually in one of the pix of the fallingwater tower. I am in the middle wearing a navy blue shirt and blue bathing suit, myhair is long, brown and pulled back.

I remember the day very well. It was a very exciting event in Saltaire and for those of us who can remember the tower, we always looked across the bay to the tower as our destination when we were on the ferry. When I had guests coming over on the ferry I would always say to them,"we're going to where the black water tower is located" so they wouldn't think we were going to a remote tropical island or Never Never Land.