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Sunday, December 7. 2008
Sharks Revisited
a rerun if you will)
What do you think death is like?
Is it restful, does it have stars and bars, blaring bands heralding a new beginning? Is it just a white light with the glowing souls of our dearly departed beckoning us to follow them to the end of the tunnel?
How do you think you’ll die? In your sleep from a heart attack, in a motorcycle accident — murdered — from cancer, emphysema, diabetes or a host of other incurable degenerative diseases?
We don’t know. Every time when standing on the bus going to or from the J.O.B., I often picture myself flying through the windshield if the bus has to suddenly come to an abrupt halt. As in, it rearends a vehicle in front of it, causing the abrupt halt and everyone holding those little straps or the aluminum rails go flying forward in a screeching crunch of flesh against flesh against shatterproof glass and then most certainly metal and concrete.
Kinda messy: blood, brains and flesh splattered all over California State Route 163, the howl of sirens screeching through the early morning commute, the emergency vehicles causing an even more time consuming traffic jam as two or more lanes — maybe in both directions — are closed to facilitate the clean up.
Which brings up this tangent, a rehash of a previous post, about the crushing number of single occupant vehicles cramming our roads and freeways. That probably has more to do with traffic accidents than anything else.
And what about my Trusty Trek, attached to the bike rack on the front of the bus? I’d be pissed were I to survive and the Trusty Trek didn’t.
More than likely, I’ll be doing something mundane or routine and have that third heart attack … or maybe the fourth or fifth … and voila! You’ll be reading my obit in the San Diego Union-Tribune, Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel and quite possibly the Shepherd Express. Yeah, they’d write my obit. At least I hope they would.
If there’s a fantasy death, it would be making wild, uninhibited sex with one of my many fantasy girlfriends (Click Here) and voila! Just as I squirt, I expire. With a smile on my face of course. ’Course, the flipside is I could be having some “alone time” with one of those many girlfriends, her photos splayed across my monitor, and just as my erectus genitalia is about to explode its sinful load of wasted human seed all over the … whatever … phewt! My last thought will be, “This is so fucking embarrassing.” Umm … what can I say? Shit happens, even at the most private of times.
Remember the episode of The Sopranos when Gigi Cestone, one of Tony’s Capos, died on the shitter whilst either taking a dump or … err … having some alone time … at Satriale’s? That was pretty funny. But it wouldn’t be so funny if someone found me in that … err … state of flux ...
When the time comes, I’d like to be cremated and my ashes interred at a military cemetery, preferably Fort Rosecrans, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. That’s where my Dear Brother Carl’s ashes are resting. I miss him. If not Rosecrans, then let my ashes fall into the Wide Blue Pacific off the end of the Crystal Pier in Pacific Beach.
Which brings up the reason for this moribund subject: a man was killed after suffering a great white shark (carcharodon carcharias) attack this morning off Solana Beach. He was 100 yards out, swimming with some folks who were training for a triathlon.
I’m going snorkeling tomorrow (while you are reading this) about 10 miles south of where the attack occurred, That is, of course, if La Jolla Cove is open. Much of the coastline has been closed for 72 hours so the authorities can search for the shark and “remove it” from the area. That actually means they’ll kill it if they find it.It’s a tragedy for the man’s family of course, but there is the risk, every time we get into the ocean more than a foot deep, we will stimulate the curiosity of some giant predator that thinks we could possibly be one of the harbor seals it’s hoping to munch on for breakfast. I don’t really tell my visiting relatives this when they come out to Sandy Eggo and want to jump in the ocean. Unless they ask and I’m guessing if they come out anytime in the next six months to a year they will probably ask. I do mention they should shuffle their feet to avoid stingrays. Anyway, if they read this blog they have the standard answer.
One of my favorite photos is of my wonderful sister Elaine having fun jumping in and getting pounded by the waves at Pacific Beach, a smile of pure ecstasy on her face. Life doesn’t get any better than that for me. If I could see that every day, life would be grand.It would be a shame though if a shark attack, as infrequently as they occur, kept any of my family or friends from getting in the ocean. Sharks live in the ocean and no doubt when Dear Elaine — and Dear Brother Tony — were jumping about in the waves, there were flesh-eating sharks no more than 100 yards away doing what they do. I didn’t tell them that, as I recall, since the odds of getting attacked were next to nil. So, this is the forewarning: there are sharks in the water.
Once, when my nephew Dan was visiting from Colorado, we decided to do some snorkeling. In La Jolla Cove and then off La Jolla Shores Beach, the latter in the hopes of swimming in and about the local leopard sharks. They’re bottom feeders and rarely ever attack humans. They can be as large as seven feet, but I’ve never seen any that big.
As I recall, I forgot to mention a small detail to Young Dan. At the time, hundreds, maybe thousands, of leopard sharks were congregating at the south end of the beach, in as little as five feet of water. You could actually see their silhouettes in the water. As we finally paddled out to them I said — yelled — “Dan! Sharks!” Dan had been close on my right. When I looked towards where he had been, he was gone. My first thought was, “How am I gonna explain this to his mother (Dear Elaine).”
The day before, Elaine and I had gone ’round and ’round about Dan and I visiting Tijuana, B.C., Mexico, even in the light of day. There are a lot of nasty stories about Tijuana, most of them true, so Elaine was adamant I would not be taking her son into Mexico — Tijuana in particular — without adult supervision. I really wanted to take him to a donkey show or something. He was 16 and it was about time, I thought, for his first real intense sexual experience.I didn’t tell her that of course … moms get peculiar about those subjects and what the Hell, she was objecting to the relatively benign reasons I had for visiting T.J. Buying Cuban cigars being one of them, getting some cool souvenirs was another … can’t remember the others. Maybe brush up on his Spanish.
So, Young Dan was forbidden from going to Mexico, but when I told her we would be swimming with sharks, she was okay with that. Geez, moms are fucking peculiar. But I love the ones in my life anyway, as goofy as they are.
So, getting back to our shark encounter. After the shock of losing Young Dan in about six feet of water, my heart pounding with the fear that he might be lost, I turned in every direction hoping to spot his snorkel bobbing in the water. After a few seconds I turned to the beach and there he was, already on dry land. Bear in mind we were about 150 yards out. In about 15 seconds he had turned around (we were facing out to sea when we first saw the sharks) and bee-lined his way back to the beach. He was one helluva swimmer that day and I’m still impressed.
No amount of persuasion could convince Young Dan we were safe from attack, as even the harmless leopard sharks look pretty mean, so we didn’t spend any real time with them. Didn’t get any photos either. Foolishly I tried reaching out to touch them, but they skittered away, frightened by the big blob of a human invading their home. But, they could have acted more aggressively to defend themselves so trying to touch them was an idiot thing to do. Ah … live and learn. So, when you come to visit, don’t be afraid of getting into the water. Especially in the summer when the water temperature is too warm for great whites. Shark attacks are so rare we’re more likely to be killed in a traffic accident getting to the beach, so maybe we’ll take public transportation.
Sixty-seven years ago today our nation was launched into World War II when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on a calm Sunday Morning. There are those of us whose parents lived through that time, and even fought in the war, and like those who survived WWII and are still alive, the memory still lingers.
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