Ray is a man, and he has some man habits that are very different from mine, like communication or better put, lack thereof. It took me a while to understand why we had to get to this place until Ray explained that to him, if a place is hard to get to, it makes it better. That sounds crazy but it is no different than my wanting to bike around an island. Somehow if is it harder, it is better.
With the sun rising behind us, 
we walked over the dunes to find miles and miles of beach with turquoise sea. A large sand spit jutted into sea. 
Ray had planned to fish here, so he pulled bait and tackle from the back. I’m not a fisherman, but with his bad shoulder he needed help. So I grabbed a mask and snorkel and carried our gear. Walking an half mile to the end of the spit, he set up tackle and poured bloody chum and fish parts into the water and tossed out a line.
Walking back to shore, several feet away, I donned mask and snorkel jumped into the surf- in seconds came out. I was not comfortable. something inside of me was hollering-get out! I jumped in again and saw a huge school of big fish racing past me. Again, I was out of the water. Now I will snorkel a mud puddle if I think something is in it and this behavior is really odd for me. Just then, Ray’s line snapped-all the bait and tackle gone. I walk through the surf back to Ray and over his shoulder I see something big and black, at least 12 feet long jump. My gut turns over.
Ray is standing waist deep in the deepening surf. “Okay, what part of fool do we not get?” I semi-joking say, trying to cover the rising panic I feel. “We are at Shark Beach, in the land of shark attacks, waist deep in surf pouring chum into the water, hum? Ray jokes back. “Big Chum?” Then we both see it-a big, big black shark. We quickly exit the water. Instead of surf fishing, we walk miles and miles of beach.
Returning to our camp we find new prints of BIG Roo’s, this photo is my flip-flop next to their butt/tail print.
