Scott Stephens’ Great
White Shark Attack 0
Tuesday, October 30, 2012—the day before Halloween—started like any other morning in my life. I filled up a mug of coffee, loaded my car, and headed to the beach to surf. Fall had been good to Humboldt Bay’s surf-exposed peninsula and this morning followed suit. Smoke from a nearby power plant drifted up and over Samoa Boulevard, hinting of offshore southeast winds and groomed conditions off the North Jetty. I remember the first thing I noticed when I eased onto the beach at the end of Bunker Road was a large flock of shore birds flying low to the surf, reflecting shimmering silver like the offshore ocean spray. I tried to film the spectacle on my phone—but you just had to be there to appreciate it.
The morning looked perfect, high-tide peaks broke up and down the beach, most of the action focused where an underwater canyon funnels in the approaching swells and maximizes their size and intensity. The water looked clean and clear—characteristic of October. As I began suiting up into my 5mm wetsuit I got a call from my friend Teddy asking how the surf looked. I laughed and asked him how he knew I was checking the surf. “I guess I know you too well,” he answered.
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