White Death

Welcome. This is your average PNW surf check - in July . Really. However, just 40 miles inland it's 100 degrees and sunny. But here, on this 363 mile stretch of coastline, it is below 60 degrees and misting. Supposedly there is a south in the water, but south swells don't really do their thing in this locale. Even with an 18 second interval. It's scary up here. Especially here, at this river mouth where the water is always murky, sea life comes surprisingly close and tales of the landlord occur frequently. Ah the landlord, the man in the grey suit, man-eater, white death, the great white shark. We, I, you enter his territory every time we set foot in the water. We, I, you immediately descend on the food chain. We, I, you are helpless. It seems impossible to forget. In fact, it is impossible to forget. We're just good at putting it aside. We take thoughts of this nature and lock it up in a dark corner of our minds, trying to forget, ignore, neglect and disregard it. A temporary fix. Though these morbid, gruesome, terrifying thoughts are trapped, they always find an escape route. Especially when a 300-pound seal surfaces a mere 10 feet from your position. There is an instant there, before you know the seal is a seal, when all of those thoughts come pouring out. And you panic. Even if for an instant, you panic. Then you realize it's just a seal. Bitchin'.