Monday, February 3, 2014


While 100 yards out in the jetty, I looked up and saw people on shore waving their arms and yelling in our direction. They were pointing towards the channel, but obviously trying to get our attention. We couldn't hear what they were saying. Andrew Devansky turned to me and said, "shark?" 

This was it, I thought. My first day surfing and I would meet my personal horror eye to cold dead eye. My irrational, crippling fear of the Great White Beast was real. I wouldn't feel the initial bite because of shock. Then the geyser of blood. The macabre. My lifeless limbs floating on the surface. Tendons hanging from a shredded neoprene boot. The primordial shriek I would surely elicit. Why did I do this? Why did I choose this day? Why did I agree to surf at one of the sharkiest beaches in America? I am not a strong swimmer.

I got to the point where my feet could touch the bottom. I dug in and hoofed it out of harm's way, all the while reminding myself that most attacks happen in shallow water. I learned that from Jaws.

Turns out another surfer got a cramp and was waving for help. Devansky swam out and paddled her in.

Super fun day. Can't wait to do it again.

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