I don't feel bad for exposing the great surf at Marina beach these days. The place is hardly crowded, after two shark attacks, in four years in practically the same spot.
The left breaking wave, where the shark attacks occurred, looked pretty fun today, between the close out sets. A handful of brave surfers ventured into the water.
The left bowl used to be named "dredge bowls," or something like that, I think. But since the shark attacks it has a new name. Snack Bar. That's definitely a name I won't forget.
The aftershocks following an earthquake are similar to the terror that strikes fear in the hearts of surfers after a shark attacks one of our kind. I call this Shark Attack Tremors, though I'm sure there's an official psychological diagnosis for this such as, post traumatic stress disorder, or something.
Regular surfers, such as myself suffer from Shark Attack Tremors. And if I were the only surfer suffering from Shark Attack Tremors, the anxiety wouldn't be so bad.
Yesterday, while surfing, an alarmed surfer next to me says, "What was that?!"
I look up, and about 150 feet out to sea, I see a large grey fish swimming towards us in a wave.
"Uh, that thing looked big and wide," I say nervously, getting ready to paddle for the shore. "What was it?"
"It was probably a dolphin," says the Surfer.
"Are you sure?" I ask in disbelief, wanting desperately for him to be right.
But he didn't answer me because he caught the next wave. About fifty feet away from me a dorsal fin pops out of the water.
Then I see four or five more dorsal fins, and I say, "Phew, dolphins," to myself.
But just because there are dolphins around, doesn't mean the "landlord," isn't lurking in the nearby watery depths. I sit on the inside of the surf, duck diving wave after wave, for a minute or two debating between going in or catching one last wave.
The waves weren't very good, and no waves are worth being bitten by a shark or worse so I turn around and ride the white water wall of shame in on my belly.
Unfortunately, today wasn't any better.
First I got a text message, saying "I hear it's foggy, sounds sharky to me."
"Stop," I text. I was planning on surfing.
Then right before I paddle out another surfer says, "I can't believe you're going out there by yourself after that shark attack."
There are two other people out there," I say.
"Oh, but still, you're crazy," says the Surfer.
"Thanks," I say sarcastically.
Turns out foggy, wind jumbled surf is lonely with only two other surfers. Especially when one of the other surfers is a shark attack survivor himself.
Internet, those are not good odds.
But it isn't just us regular Surfer Joes who are on hyper shark alert. Professional surfers suffer from Shark Attack Tremors, as well. Today, during a professional world tour surfing event at Ocean Beach in San Francisco a competitor paddled in with approximately five minutes left in his heat.
"I was just sitting there, and I was waiting for a wave," says Pro Surfer Dusty Payne. "It was the biggest fin I've ever seen in my life coming straight at me. The waves are terrible. I wasn't going to stay out there and get bit by a shark."
Some people on twitter seemed to think Payne saw a dolphin. But trust me it's a lot easier to say, "Oh it's just a dolphin," when standing on dry land.
"I've seen dolphins," answers Payne. "It wasn't a dolphin.".
I'm not saying it wasn't a dolphin, but I'm not saying it was. Fear plays tricks on the mind, but fear also keeps us safe. I'm with Payne. I'd rather impotently ride in on my belly than pay rent to the "landlord."
The best time to get back in the water after a shark attack is right away. For some surfers that means surfing the same day as "the incident," as one surfer referred to the attack not wanting to say"shark," while in the ocecan. For this surfer it's surfing the day after "the incident."
Is my eagerness to get back in the water because I'm dedicated to surfing? Or is it because surfing is my crack?
Answer: "Hello my name is Wendy and I'm addicted to surfing."
I text my BFF, "Surfing?????"
"Yeah!" she texts back.
Fortunately, she's a surfing crackhead, too.
"Yay!!!!" I text.
Surfing is better with friends, especially after "the incident."
Lady Gaga and my surf stoke were drowning all shark fears as I drove to the beach. Unfortunately, the first thing I see when I pull up to the beach is the shark warning sign, and an official U.S. Fish and Wildlife vehicle, complete with an officer staring out to sea, presumably looking for menacing sharks.
My balloon of surf stoke was quickly deflated as the memory that I share my playground with a bad mama jamma, the great white shark, bludgeons my brain.
Before I could change my mind, I quickly put on my wetsuit, sunscreen and waxed my surfboard.
"How are the waves?" asks an approaching Surfer.
"I don't know," I say. "I didn't look at it. I'm just paddling out."
The waves were small, but fun. My friends were out. And we didn't see any big fish. I'm glad I surfed. Besides, I hadn't surfed since Wednesday, and I needed a fix. :)
I just got a text from Monterey Bay shark attack survivor Todd Endris, updating surfer Eric Tarantino, today's Marina State Beach shark attack victim, status.
"Eric is doing fine...........Should be out in several days."
Yay!!!!!! This is great news! I'll be keeping Eric in my thoughts and prayers.
A second shark attack occurred this morning at Marina State Beach. I don't have any details, but I was told the person was bit on the shoulder and taken to a hospital. Praying for that surfer.
Update: I just spoke to the lifeguard who said the surfer, Eric Tarantino, "is going to be okay. He had puncture wounds to his arm and neck, deeper in the arm than the neck."
Update: The lifeguard said, "the victim's friend didn't know Eric got attacked until he yelled, 'Shark!'"
The lifeguard continued "He was able to paddle in own his own."
By the size of the bite mark on the surfboard the lifeguard estimated the shark to be between 12 and 14 feet.
"That shark is probably out there right now,"says a Surfer staring out to sea.
"Yeah," agree all the surfers standing around watching waves peel down the beach.
Gio painted this picture at school. As I was studying it, I noticed an angel, in the upper, middle portion of the picture.
"Gio, look, I think that's you're guardian angel," I say.
"What does a guardian angel do?" asks Gio, not sure if a guardian angel is a good thing to have.
"A guardian angel keeps you safe," I say.
"Good," says Gio.
As I gazed at his painting I wondered if it is his guardian angel. So far he's saved my life, and one other. Gio kept me from going surfing at a spot where there happened to be a shark attack exactly when I would have been there.
Here's how he saved my life.......
He grabbed a shark book, one with a Great White Shark jumping out of the water, with its mouth wide open, while hysterically screaming, "shark!"
I think she's smiling for the camera. Yikes!
I had been having a sharky feeling at this spot for a few weeks. So much so that I had paddled in not one, not two, but three times, in a two week period. As a rule, surfers don't paddle in. It isn't cool. Surfers are the epitome of cool. At least we like to think we are.
Gio's hysterical shark screaming, hit a nerve. A nerve I'm glad I recognized and listened to.
"Nope, I'm not surfing today, no way no how," I say.
Within a few hours, I got a call there had been a shark attack at Marina Beach. Thanks Gio!
Then, the other day, Gio saved Briar's life.
"Would you ever see Briar again, if he gets hit by a car?" Gio asks my friend as we are riding bikes.
My friend was pulling the trailer that contained Gio, and Briar secure in his Pet Pak, or so we thought.
A few minutes later Gio's screaming, "Briar's getting out!"
Somehow, Briar managed to escape from the zipped Pet Pak. He started heading for the road, as a very large truck was approaching at 50 mph. I think I blocked Briar with my bike, because he suddenly he switched directions, and ran into a motor vehicle free field.
"Phew!"
I believe in angels. I believe they help us everyday, all day. The trick is listening to our angels, and not analyzing the information. All we need to do is be. Being, as opposed to doing, allows divine inspiration to flow through us. What a joy it is to have a three year old for a role model. Thanks Gio!
Two days ago, I returned from what appears to be our 2nd Annual Fall Pilgrimage to Yosemite Valley.
I thought last Fall if I went once, every one would be happy I finally took a trip away from the Ocean. I thought they would never make me do it again. Actually, a shark attack, where I had been surfing daily preceded my agreeing to go inland on that trip last year. I left the Ocean to get away from the shark. Now look what I started. Give 'em an inch and they go inland for miles and miles with no hope of an Ocean in sight.
Now my husband is claiming, "part of my soul lives in Yosemite Valley. But I wouldn't want to live here," he says reassuringly. Although I am not sure I believe him.
I agreed to go on the second annual pilgrimage to Yosemite on one condition. "I am only going if my bike can come, too," I say stubbornly.
"No problem," my Mom agrees, buying us a bicycle rack before I change my mind. Thanks Mom. Bicycling is kind of like surfing. If I don't ride in a straight line, every embankment transforms into a wave to carve and slash. "Do ta do," is the song that plays in my head when I ride my bike according to Stefan. Although what I really hear is No Doubt's, "Just A Girl."
While riding around the Valley I easily imagine Half Dome (above) and El Capitan(below) are giant waves cascading down on me. And this might explain the recent Yosemite Valley landslides. At least twice while we were there on October 7th we heard a sound that could easily be mistaken for giant waves breaking, or even thunder. But my brain was definitely going with sound of pounding, enormous waves. After the second booming sound we saw dust. Then we heard sirens from various rescue vehicles.
The whir of the helicopter replaces the sound of thundering waves as the musical backdrop in God's playground. (Trust me the helicopter is there you just can't see it. And yes I accept free digital cameras with 10x optical zoom.)
"There was a landslide in Curry Village," my Mom informs us. "Thank God you weren't still there."
We had all just been there together eating lunch. My Mom took the shuttle bus to the Ahwahnee looking for earrings. Vinny ditched his bike in Curry Village, to tag along with her remembering the delicious licorice he got there last year. Apparently it is a grandparent's duty to spoil her grandchildren. Just as it is a child's duty to drive her parent crazy.
Stefan, Gio and I lingered in Curry Village, hitting the gift store for t-shirts and dark chocolate espresso beans. We gave Gio one bean, and he begged for more as we headed back to Yosemite Village saying, "please Mommy chocolate coffee."
After realizing the thunderous noise was a landslide and not a humongous, crashing wave, we raced to the bridge behind the Ahwahnee on our bicycles to meet my Mom and Vinny.
"I feel like we are always on the edge of impending doom," I say to Stefan's shock. At this point, we weren't yet worried that Curry Village might be closed preventing us from getting Vinny's bike.
We set off to the museum at Yosemite Village, us by bike, Vinny and my Mom by shuttle. When we arrive at the museum we realize we might not be able to get the bike. "Curry Village is closed," states an informed shuttle driver.
We leave the kids with my Mom in Yosemite Village and shuttle over to retrieve the bike. As we cross the yellow police tape we see rangers heading our way.
"I'm going to quickly grab the bike before they stop us," says Stefan as he sprints to get the bike. "Look they're after us," he says. Jesus saves the bike. (I tried to get him to pose without his shirt for this picture, but obviously it didn't work.)
"You wish," I say looking back, watching as they remove the police tape implying a safe passage. False foreshadowing, in my opinion.
I went with Stefan to get the bike, mainly so I could get out of a trip to the museum. The problem with museums is they are so inside and full of people. "I could have gotten back to Curry Village so much faster without you," Stefan complains.
We returned home, after spending only two days in Yosemite. We came back for Stefan's doctor's appointment. Of course, I complained how I much I missed riding my bike in Yosemite all the way home. By the way, I decided part of my soul may reside there as well. I was sad to leave and would have loved another day on the Valley floor.
Until two nights ago, that is. I was reading the newspaper online and discovered there was another landslide Wednesday morning in Curry Village. This time it was more serious, with a few people sustaining minor injuries. Campers were roused out of their sleep around 7 a.m. by another landslide that reportedly smashed tents and desroyed cabins.
"It's good to be back at the Ocean," I say to myself, quickly recovering from my Yosemite crush.
