A 70-foot boat named Atlantic Traveler capsized in the Manasquan Inlet yesterday, apparently blocking off the inlet for some say, as much as a week. All three crew members escaped the boat unharmed after being dumped into the chilly waters in the pre-dawn hours. I'm glad everybody was safe, and hats off to the Coast Guard for making a successful rescue.
What I'm not happy about is this whole "inlet being closed for a week" malarkey. My buddy Kyle's bachelor party is this weekend (congrats KT, you're really out-punching your weight over there!) in Pt. Pleasant, and it was centered around a fishing trip. Not getting out to do some fishing is bad enough, but what really stinks is that I was fully planning on one of my buddies getting seasick (according to reports the water should be relatively rough this weekend) as they don't spend much time on boats—oh, and of course we were going to go out the night before, which can't help in terms of nausea. I would have bet dollars to donuts someone* tossed their cookies, and I would have stood there and pointed and laughed and probably would've taken some fantastic pictures to taunt them with for years to come. Not anymore. Such is life when dealing with the cruel vagaries of the sea I suppose.
*I'm looking at you, Glennzo.