Turned away from Main Beach on Friday night by a giant party featuring a Trojan horse, a friend and I headed to Georgica to enjoy some Hampton Chutney takeout.
Georgica was busy, but not overly so. Several small groups picnicked here and there, and a larger, catered party for what looked to us like an extended family was just getting going off to the right of the lifeguard stand, with a bar, food-prep tent, and tables lit by tiki torches. Off to one side, two men played music, one knocking out rhythms on a conga, the other singing mostly 1980s pop songs while playing guitar.
After finishing our dosas near the water, my friend and I moved our chairs up closer to the dune. From there, we were slightly out of the wind and had a view from which we could see most of what was happening below. All was as one might imagine: a warm evening with people enjoying themselves.
Around dusk, however, I noticed something I did not like. One of the catering staff had dug a hole in the sand next to a big, commercial-size grill and was shoveling in the still-smoldering charcoal. I got out of the chair I was sitting in and walked over for a closer look and a few photos.
The coals glowed red in the pit. I tried to explain to him and a woman who appeared to be his supervisor that this was not okay, against the law, in fact. They both looked back at me with blank expressions, nodding as if to say, “Fine, fine, just let us get back to work.”
Never once during the evening did we see anyone in any official capacity come by to check on the beach. And, even if someone had, it would have been unlikely that they would have been there right when the guy was burying the coals.
Compliance with, let alone awareness of, beach rules being as spotty as it is, it is my view that fires — and even catered events — should be banned. It’s high time we started treating our beaches as the treasures they are, rather than somewhere we still think it is okay to leave our mess behind.