Two great debates ensued around 20 years ago, when standup paddleboarding became popular.
The first is whether a stand-up paddleboard (SUP) or any vehicle propelled by a paddle should be allowed to compete in the surf zone with surfers who lack equal paddle power.
The second, more benign question is, are there more sharks in shallow waters than there used to be or is it that the increasing numbers of humans in the ocean and us venturing further offshore on small craft simply causing us to spot them more often.
I have thoughts on both issues but find it safer to keep my opinion about SUPs in the lineup to myself.
As for the latter issue concerning sharks, I am convinced that more sharks frequent shallow water than ever in my lifetime. I have surf regularly since 1962 and never saw a predatory animal in the wild until I visited Western Australia and was buzzed by an aggressive big bull shark, what they call a bronze whaler.
That was 30 years ago. Since then, I have spotted several sharks while free diving for halibut. One moved in close to see if I wanted to share the lunch on the end of my spear, or maybe offer myself as lunch instead. I did the only thing I could think of, swam quickly and calmly (I felt anything but calm) toward shore.
As spring shifts into high gear, the ocean calls, and I intend to answer — and not always with a wave-riding vehicle. My dusty kayak is being used to store my unsold books. It is in my garage, hibernating, but ready to launch into deep water, and see what the ocean has to offer at the slightest stirring.
While I enjoy the workout of a long paddle and the possibility of catching fish, the biggest reason I want to paddle to the kelp and beyond is to explore a place I know little of.
The great kelp forests, rich with sea life, offer mysteries that will never be solved in my lifetime. Beyond that, a mile or so offshore, where the continental shelf reaches its vanishing point and white sharks reign supreme, is a world as unfamiliar to me as the surface of the moon.
Of course, I can easily fire up a small boat and be out there in minutes, but keeping close to the ocean’s surface, and moving under my own power brings me in touch with the wild child and the wild animal within.
I know how corny that all sounds, but honestly, I feel wild and alive at such times, breaking the glassy surface of a still ocean with my oar.
This sort of ocean voyaging is not entirely safe, and while I am not the most adventurous person in the world, I realize that a safe life is really no life at all.
I paid less than $500 for my kayak, around the same as I would for five good dinners (wine included), followed by a movie (popcorn not included.) The food and the visuals may be enjoyable for the moment, but they will never yield stories to tell your grandchildren.
I can’t wait to tell them about the summer of 2023.
