Sea Beast

God himself may quite possibly be the only force in the known universe more powerful than the sea, the only force that comes close to matching the untamable and raw power of the ebb and flow of the ocean’s tides.

​I have always admired the ocean. Contemplating what rests within the depths of the teal blue waters is a mind-bending task. Predatory sharks twelve feet in length cut through the waves, fins jutting up above the surface. Thousands of fish the size of my hand swim in schools, their synchronization unrivaled even by the best militaries in the world. Tentacled creatures lurk deep in the darkness, some twice the size of a school bus.

Even now as I stare out at the Gulf, as I watch the azure waters lap at the fine-grained sand of the shore, I am left in awe. Only a few hours prior I was out there, far enough out that the water beneath me was royal-navy and no longer light green. The only thing that had separated me from the great beast of the sea was a few inches of plastic, a paddleboard not designed for the sort of adventures I enjoy having. It hadn’t been my plan to end up bobbing that far out in the dark waters of the Gulf. I suppose most true adventures are unplanned anyways.

I’d been paddleboarding out on a fresh water lake a mile or two away from the ocean. The water was silty, stained dark brown like a good cup of tea. It was warm too, despite the Florida sun hiding behind a wall of thick clouds. A year prior in the same lake I’d come within ten feet of a feeding gator. The combination of alligator and uncomfortably warm water ensured that my two feet would remain on the paddleboard.

Fueled by iced coffee (oat milk latte with one pump vanilla and one pump hazelnut. Trust me on that one.) and the need to escape the bustle of tourism, I’d headed out with my cousin and best friend Hudson for an afternoon on the lake. We spent a few minutes tooling around, but boredom soon took hold. Paddleboarding isn’t like fishing. There’s no payoff for just standing there.

And so we decided to press on. There was a bend ahead where the lake began to morph into a river. Where it led was anyone’s guess. The water around us was smooth, the sun still hid bashfully behind the clouds. A gentle breeze lulled us as we pressed forward, watching reeds sway in the wind and herons stalk small fish along the banks.

Hudson and I went on, gently paddling side-by-side. “What’s that over there?” Hudson asked, pointing ahead with his paddle.

I looked to where he was gesturing, squinting my eyes. Surrounding us were sand dunes dotted with scraggly plants, but up ahead the horizon widened. I continued to paddle, “I think that’s the Gulf.”

We looked at each other, searching the other person for an emotional read. Do we go on? Turn around? Actually learn how to paddleboard before we go out into open water? Simultaneously we grinned. Of course we were going to go on.

“Stay close,” I cautioned, taking the lead.

“Right behind you,” Hudson replied.

We made our way out into open water, skirting over the teal-green of the shallows and pressing on towards the cerulean water of the open ocean. As we gazed down, the sandy floor began to sink lower until it was no longer visible at all.

​“Look over there,” Hudson called out, once again gesturing with his paddle.

​Ahead of us birds swooped low, screeching out in hunger. They circled, contemplating the best path for a blitz. Then, after what seemed like only a moment of discretion, they dived, swooping low like a fighter plane.

​We looked down. Beneath us, it seemed like the sea churned. Hundreds of fish the size of my arm writhed. Sharks swam at them, picking off the weak and slow. From above us, the birds continued to dive.

​Hudson and I made eye contact, in that moment realizing just how powerful the ocean truly was. We were nothing. Just two ten foot boards of plastic. Around us fish leapt to try and escape, sharks swooping after them. My goal was just to stay afloat, to keep myself from being swallowed up by the sea.

An hour later we made it back to shore and enjoyed a hearty lunch. Now, as I stare out over the Gulf with the sun painting the sky a bloody maroon, I am reminded of a fundamental law of nature. On land mankind rules. They are the top of the food chain. Out here, though? Well, let’s just say it’s best to just keep drifting. The sea is a beast and she will win every single time.