Margate Parkway Beach occupies a quiet middle stretch of this three-mile barrier island, removed from the boardwalk spectacle of its northern neighbor yet refreshingly unpretentious. You park along residential streets where hydrangeas spill over picket fences, then cross onto sand that feels softer underfoot than the compacted beaches closer to Ventnor. The slope here is gradual, perfect for wading toddlers, and the lifeguard stands are spaced close enough that parents relax into beach chairs with actual novels instead of hovering at the water's edge.
“This is one of the few Jersey Shore beaches where three generations of the same family can point to the exact same patch of sand they've claimed for forty summers.”
Credit: UnsplashCrashing wave at sunset on the shoreline
The rhythm here follows tides, not trends. Morning joggers leave fresh prints near the wrack line. By mid-morning, multigenerational crews arrive with wagons full of coolers, umbrellas that have survived a decade of nor'easters, and folding chairs worn smooth at the armrests. Teenagers claim the stretch near the jetty, their boogie boards propped in the sand like colorful sentinels.
Come September, when the lifeguards pack up their stands and the summer renters depart, the beach opens into something even more generous. You'll walk for twenty minutes and pass only dog walkers and surf casters, the autumn light turning the foam amber as waves roll in with metronomic patience. It's the Shore stripped to essentials: sand, sea, and the particular peace of a place that never needed to announce itself.
