A flight you’ll never forget! In 2021, a teen was smacked by a seagull during a ride in Wildwood NJ

The air in Wildwood that July evening in 2021 was a thick, sweet concoction of salt, fried dough, and the metallic tang of ocean-kissed roller coasters. My friends and I, all sixteen and buzzing with summer freedom, had dared each other onto the ‘GaleForce Gyro’ – a colossal swing ride that promised to spin you high above Morey’s Piers, offering a dizzying, inverted view of the Atlantic.

I’d always been a thrill-seeker, and the Gyro did not disappoint. Strapped securely, or so I thought, into the open-air seat, I felt the familiar lurch as the massive arm began its ascent. Higher and higher we rose, the initial screams of my friends turning into exhilarated whoops as we swiveled and spun, the boardwalk lights twinkling like scattered jewels beneath us. The wind whipped through my hair, cooling the heat of the day, and for a glorious moment, I felt invincible, soaring.

We were at our apex, swinging outward in a wide, breathtaking arc, my stomach doing a little flip-flop of pure joy. I had my eyes squeezed shut for a second, savoring the rush, when it happened.

It wasn’t a bump. It wasn’t a tap. It was a fleshy, feathered thwack.

My left temple exploded with a stinging sensation, followed by an immediate, squawking chaos. My eyes snapped open, and for a surreal microsecond, I saw a blur of white and grey feathers, a flash of beady black eye, and an angry, indignant squawk that sounded less like a bird and more like a miniature, feathered banshee.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone, leaving behind a lingering sensation of impact and a single, pristine white feather stuck to my eyelashes.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” I shrieked, my voice a half-gasp, half-laugh of pure disbelief.

My friends, still caught in the centrifugal force of the swing, were too far away to have seen anything specific, but they’d heard the commotion. “Are you okay?!” someone yelled over the roar of the wind.

I just stared, wide-eyed, as the swing continued its arc, the sting in my temple now a dull throb, and the absurdity of the situation began to set in. I had just been assaulted by a bird. Mid-flight. On a roller coaster. This was peak Wildwood.

When the ride finally slowed, and they unlatched us, my friends swarmed me, their faces a mix of concern and burgeoning hysteria. “Dude, you have a red mark! What happened?”

“A seagull,” I croaked, pointing vaguely at the sky. “A seagull hit me. In the head.”

Their initial shock quickly dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. We stumbled off the platform, me still a bit dazed, but now laughing too. The attendant, a bored looking teen with a nametag reading “Kevin,” just blinked. “Yeah, that happens sometimes,” he mumbled, as if getting head-butted by a disgruntled avian was standard procedure.

For the rest of the night, and indeed, for many nights to come, it was the story. “Remember when Maya got drop-kicked by a seagull on the GaleForce Gyro?” It quickly morphed into “attacked by a dive-bombing seagull,” then “mauled by a sentient beach bird.”

That flight, those few seconds of airborne chaos, became the defining moment of our 2021 summer. It wasn’t the tallest drop, the fastest loop, or the most terrifying spin. It was the unexpected, feathered assailant that cemented it as the flight I’ll never, ever forget. And every time I hear a seagull squawk, I still instinctively duck. Just in case.