Monday, Nov. 5: Nick’s birthday. (Go, Scorpios!)
Small, clean, beautiful afternoon. I wanted to surf. I wanted to take Nick for a birthday surf. I loaded up the car, the kids and my dad, and made the drive to Camel Rock (after driving from Manila to Arcata and back, then to Ferndale and back – my own crusade to singlehandedly deplete the world’s oil reserves). The usual crowd filled the parking lot, but a look from above revealed people to be spread out among the various peaks. The girls and Dad trekked down the stairs; Nick and I began to suit up. He stopped fairly quickly, though, concerned about his elbow. He’d tumbled on his friend’s skate ramp earlier, and the wound still bled.
After some discussion, we decided chumming might not be the best move. Nick was kind enough to encourage me to surf, however, so I hustled out by Wash Rock, caught five waves or so, admired the sunset, and came back in. Quick, easy and satisfying – and no one had to wait around too long on the cold, albeit beautiful, beach.
Up at the top, I saw R, who’d been looking. She mentioned hearing that so-and-so was out with his kid, she heard, and saw a shark in two feet of water. The kid saw it and climbed off his board “so the shark wouldn’t think he was a seal.”
Glad I didn’t take Nick out.
Sunday is three years.
At least, statistically, odds are dropping post-October.