Sharks Patrol These Waters

At 7:20 AM Friday morning a man swimming with his local triathalon club out of Fletcher's cove, eight miles north of my swimming spot, was attacked by a Great White. His companions brought him ashore but he died from his wounds there on the beach. They said the wounds indicated a 22 inch bite radius. That's radius, not diameter. I double checked that. Experts say that means a 12 to 17 foot shark. His fellow swimmers said it lifted him clear out of the water when it attacked.

What really freaked me out were the reports that seals and sea-lions in the area were deliberately beaching themselves en-masse just to get out of the water. Nevertheless, at 6:00 PM I stood at the La Jolla cove, new wetsuit in hand, speaking to the lifeguard. I'd told myself I'd go for my planned swim if there were enough people in the water. A Friday evening this time of year usually means fifty to one hundred people in the water. The man who died was part of the San Diego Tri-club so I could expect that they'd call off formal practice, but I thought plenty of die-hards would still be there. Six swimmers were coming out of the water when I got there, and I didn't see any others. The lifeguard said it had been busy earlier, and a woman sitting next to him said that her husband was out there with a friend, but that was it.

I walked back up the stairs to the grassy area where people change to see if anyone was milling about. I decided I wasn't going to go, but then one of the six swimmers who had just gotten out told me that the water was clear and beautiful and that I should go, so I changed my mind. Another onlooker came over and asked me if I was going to swim and I said yes. He said he was thinking of it too, but didn't want to go alone and asked if I'd wait for him to get his wetsuit. Relieved, I told him sure. Last thing I wanted to do was get in the water alone-- not that it would make a difference, but it's a psychological thing.

So we suited up, waded in and with a "you ready?" we went for it. He was much faster than me (and probably less panicked), but he waited patiently for me at the turning point and gave me a closed-fisted high-five when I got there. I apologized for being slow, but he just said "Hey, we're living life out here." I think he was glad he'd found someone to swim with too.

Same deal on the way back. He waited for me on the sand and thanked me, saying he wouldn't have done it alone.

"That's what it's all about, right?" He asked. "Sometimes, you've got to conquer your fears."

I don't know if I conquered anything. I was scared shitless out there and even slower than normal because of it, but I did it. It was fine. It was safe. The fear was all psychological. Like the lifeguard said: "It's not any more or less safe today than it was yesterday." So there you have it. My friend told me all day to be careful, which I found funny.

"Careful doesn't enter into it," I told them. "I get in the water or don't. The rest really isn't up to me."

I got in the water and, for me, that was enough.

Maybe O'Brian

"It's early evening-- before dinner time, around five o'clock-- on a Friday in mid October. The sun's down and it's nearly dark, but I'm just noticing. It had seemed light enough just moments ago. I'm eleven or twelve and I'm sitting on the front porch of... what the heck was his name? John or Patrick something? Tip of my tongue but I can't shake it loose. It doesn't matter."

"I'm sitting there on the porch with my friends from the neighborhood all around, riding bikes, chatting, whatever. It's getting chilly out. Maybe I'm sniffling a little, but my body's warm from running around with my friends and I'm comfortable in that way when you can feel the cold creeping around the edges of your skin, but it just can't make it's way in."

"The crispness of the New England air, the quality of the nearly-gone light, the leaves starting to turn, everything's just about perfect and I'm noticing it, actually appreciating it while it's happening. In retrospect it's one of those rare moments of youth where you're actually aware how lucky you are to be young and healthy and free, but let's not ruin this with retrospect. Point is, I'm feeling pretty fine."

"I'll have to go home soon for dinner, and that will be fine too. I'll be hungry soon enough anyway and the kitchen will be warm just as I'm starting to actually feel cold, and my mom and my sister will be there and we'll talk a bit about school and after dinner we'll watch some TV maybe before I go to bed. I can feel that off in my future, so achingly close to taking me away from the now, but still not for a few minutes yet and then after, a whole weekend to myself. At that age my consciousness didn't dare to extend too far beyond the next couple of days. A whole weekend might have been eternity."

"So I'm sitting there, almost excruciatingly happy with this simple thing I have-- these friends, this life-- and as near as I can tell the possibilities of it extend on till forever."

"Yeah? So?"

"So that's what I want being in love to feel like. Find me that and I'm in."