What a bummer.

Bay Head Yacht Club, taken before the storm.  I wonder what it looks like now.

I started sailing boats from this very spot when I was maybe eight.  I stopped when I was 18.  The duck boat was called Moby Duck.  The sneakbox was named ... wow, I don't remember what it was named. The Lightning was named Tar Pot.  It was the tenth Lightning ever built, and it was something.  Plus some number of unnamed Blue Jays that the club owned.

That's me with the tiller, plus my friends Ken and Joe, plus some kid from the house we dragooned into coming along because we needed the ballast, as painted by Winslow Homer.

I see pictures of Bay Head now and, even though I haven't been back more than a handful of times since I turned 20, it makes me desperately sad.  The house I spent all those summers in was right on the beach, just like this one...

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Which is the last line of a famous book.  The Hobbit, perhaps.

Odd that you don't remember the name of that Sneakbox.  It was your favorite boat.
Odd indeed.  Maybe it didn't have a name.
Maybe.