Memoir #1: Born Again Christian shark karma

Now, I’m not saying that my friend was almost attacked by a shark due to tricking me into entering a Christian recruitment ambush. I’m just saying it was a hell of a coincidence.

On that particular day after enjoying a good morning session of surfing, eating a burger with the works and hearing the cricket was rained out, the prospect of going to Miami Great Hall to watch surfing movies was tantalising. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a tiny voice – quite possibly Satan – telling me there was something wrong.

But as I sat in the hall surrounded by cliche surfer types, all enjoying the classic ‘Kong’s Island’, I finally relaxed and focused on the flick. My instincts had obviously been off kilter.

Then the lights came on, the ‘organiser’ asked us if anyone was ready to commit their lives to Jesus Christ and it seemed every head twisted Exorcist-360 and finally faced me, demonic eyes blazing above welcoming smiles. Sun-bleached zombies started shuffling slowly, almost ashamedly towards the bloodshot-eyed, Lightning-Bolt-wearing soul-grifter as he beckoned rhythmically, revolving his hand as though he was winding the reel and could feel the labouring spiritual fishing line dragging his catch ever closer.

I think I was the only one who didn’t convert to whatever the fuck it was they were peddling. My friend had the audacity to look disappointed in me. Kind of like a murderer being disappointed when his intended victim doesn’t sit still. I sat there thinking, ‘guys, I’m sorry I’m not willing to sell my soul to a random doctrine for the price of a short surfing movie, the promise of possible surf wear discounts and permission to smoke weed while I worship, but really it’s a big fucking no from me’.

Back at Sunbrite, God appeared to be apologising for the mix-up by delivering the sweetest little dark, glassy afternoon waves I’d seen in months. The creator also seemed to be willing to reward the conspirators.

In between breaks, clouds wrapped the sun and the whole scene turned into a sinister charcoal drawing. The Frank Miller-produced shore-break was begging for weirdness and it happened, right under my board as I faced my friend.

Obviously I didn’t feel the body of the shark against my skin. What I felt, forcing my legs apart like it was my first day in prison, was the water displaced by the shark as it moved under me. The creature was large enough to displace so much water that I felt myself lift. That explained the ghosty-pale complexion of my friend and his premature rigor mortis. As I was to later discover, the shark had been very close to the surface and aiming its oversized arrow of a head at me before suddenly diving deeper.

My board and I returned to our original positions and I scanned the dark water, trying to find the threat. It wasn’t the ideal time to lose a shark. Judging by my friend’s eye-line, it had dived and was traveling under him. A few seconds later I saw the shark’s fin surface in the background, moving away, along the coast towards Miami, hopefully in search of pot-smoking Christians. I’m not sure how big that fin was but the shark appeared to be well endowed.

It took me about twenty minutes to get my friend out of the water because he was catatonic. His state eased to a completely crippling paralysis, then suddenly he snapped into a rushed panic. I’ve seen outboard motors make more froth, but not many.

Why did I nurse him to shore despite the fact that I was shit-scared of being eaten? Well, he was still a friend, and as the old saying goes, ‘to err is Christian, but to forgive is divine’. I got that right didn’t I?

Having said all that, I’m technically a Catholic so it’s particularly breezy in my glass house.