I have a friend who lives in South Africa. He ends all his e-mails with the statement: Every wall a door and don't say shark. It's a mix of local folklore from the group of laborer/friends he surfs with, mixed with a bit of his own philosophy. Apparently surfing in a community known for having more than it's fair share of shark attacks will inspire a bit of mysticism between surfers. He believes it's all part of the balance that keeps South Africa's coast so wild.
I mention this because we've had more conversations about sharks the past few weeks than I can remember. And since I was in third grade — as most kids are I'm sure — I have been obsessed with sharks. In the most nerdy way. It was borderline obsessive. Once, when I was 8, I sat down with a pencil and paper and wrote 15 pages off the top of my head on everything knew about sharks. There was no assignment for this. I just needed to let it out. This is not the climax of the story I promise.
Last week Dane Reynolds came by and we were talking about spots for a couple upcoming surf trips. A location was thrown out that Dane immediately doubted, "Can you even surf there and not get attacked by a shark?" No one really knew. It was sharky as fuck. (Continued after the jump.) [...]