Montara, 20 July 2007

After fighting my way out on the second attempt (I still suck at duck-diving), I ended up on the outside at Montara this morning all alone. No one in sight either in the water or on the beach. Under a dark lowering sky. Sitting half-submerged in murky, opaque water. Nagging, vague remembrances of shark stories about said break. Jaws theme threatening to play in my head.

OK, so I totally creeped myself out, hastened back to the beach without riding anything but a little whitewater on the way in (which doesn't count, since I'm not a beginner). But who knows? Maybe the Man in the Gray Suit was down there, hungry, eying my legs danging down into his world, wondering if the Shark Camo on the bottom of my board really meant I was poisonous, or was just a deception.

But if he was, I'm glad I left him hungry.

Interestingly, the next day and a bit further south, a great white shark attacked a kayaker...