Ditch Inside Out
Ditch Inside Out
By Morgan Busch
Presently, I am 17 years old and will be a senior atIslipHigh Schoolin the fall. I wrote this essay for a freshman class which is “Writing for the Future.” The first class assignment was to write a descriptive essay on a summer experience. The only idea that came to me, of course, was writing about my favorite place and that is, Ditch Plains in Montauk. I have been vacationing there since I was born and no other place holds such a special part of my heart. It is nice to see the same faces and listen to my mom and aunt, tell their stories but, I too have my favorite stories. This is where I will begin to tell you how Montauk will entrance you.
The cool breeze rushes through one’s sun kissed hair. Surfers bob with the wake of the waves waiting for that perfect ride. As one walks into the waves, rocks crunch below tender feet. A chill may run through one’s body as they dive into the cold harsh water. One paddles into the vast open ocean as water glides through soft finger tips with each stroke. Surfers straddle their boards as they watch the shore line and observe the jagged cliffs in the distance. In comes a five-footer! Surfers edge forward ready to catch this perfect wave. Pushing off, one catches the wave. The feeling of flying pulses through one’s veins. One’s finger tips glide against the wave as they are engulfed by a pipeline. As the wave breaks and one loses balance, the rough bottom scraps one’s backside. The sea floor is what makes this beach so popular. Under the water one can hear the crushing of waves, and the laughter and screams of young children playing in the wake. Once released by the ocean’s grip, one can feel the sun blazing on cold, wet skin. The taste of saltwater and the cries coming from the seagulls above, delivers one from the daze of a wipe out. Off into the distance, the faint shape of a light house stands against the horizon. This beach is a surfer’s beach; No tourists, just born-to-ride surfers and their families. The smell of fresh food wafts in the air from the “Ditch Witch.” A mile away, there are old war-bunkers. This beach is not a hidden secret, yet few know about it. In such a popular town this beach seems to be a surfer’s get. As one sits on the beach allowing the sun’s warm rays to lightly touch gentle skin, surfers out in the distance look like black dots moving back and forth with each swell.