Each summer without fail, a flotilla of some 3 million singles, families, loners, groupers, straights, gays, celebrities and homebodies descends on Fire Island – the stunning 32-mile-long sandbar that is New York's Key West (minus the palm trees and Hemingway haunts.)
Through house-wrecking hurricanes (and parties), antediluvian restrictions (such as the outdoor eating bans that labeled popular Ocean Beach "The Land of No") and zany traditions (notably the mascara-laden annual invasion of the more sedate of its two gay-oriented communities by denizens of the cheekier one), it has remained the ultimate offshore getaway.
Anchored in the Atlantic a few miles off Long Island's South Shore, it's accessible to the public by car only as far as parking lots at Robert Moses State Park at the western end and Smith Point County Park at the eastern tip. Thus day-trippers and homeowners alike must rely on private boats, water taxis and the frequent seasonal passenger ferries that serve about a dozen of its 17 major communities. Other than a rutted sand trail at its spine, there are no other streets – only wooden or concrete walkways.
Since 1964, all of Fire Island except the six-mile stretch of state park has been part of Fire Island National Seashore. Communities are as different as seashells but do have some things in common: Most are a mix of singles and families who love this fragile resort held together by dune grass and dreams – and who, partly because no one has to drive home, throw legendary cocktail parties.
Fire Island has always had its celebrity habitués, but unlike the Hamptons set, most truly seek anonymity (oh, all right, just one long-timer to keep an eye out for: producer, director, actor and writer Mel Brooks.) For terrific seafood, generous margaritas and panoramic views of the Atlantic and Great South Bay, visit the Casino restaurant in Davis Park, accessible via private boat or via ferry from Patchogue.
