No dumb jokes here.
Irma and Maria, stirring up a fine bitch’s brew, claimed another surfer this Thursday.
Irma stole Barbados’ Zander Venecia, who was seventeen, two weeks ago. He was young, full of everything possible, his life pinched short.
The man who died in Hatteras was 66.
Here’s the brief from AP:
The National Park Service says a surfer pulled from the water off North Carolina’s Outer Banks has died.
The federal agency said in a news release Thursday that a 66-year-old man with a surfboard attached to his ankle was seen floating face-down in the water north of Rodanthe at the Cape Hatteras National Seashore.
Dare County emergency medical service workers and park service rangers determined the man was dead.
The cause of death has not been determined.
We can appreciate the statement regarding the undetermined cause of death, but the evidence clearly shows he died from doing what he wanted. Thursday’s waves were just about as daydream as any east coast surfer can imagine. Nice, warm clean sets all day.
Who wouldn’t take the day to get wet?
There’s something which pounds at the chest thinking of dying at such a seasoned age whilst surfing. A lifetime of waves kept this cat coming back into his sixties and it’s aspirational.
Now, I’m sure this is causing the most wrenching emotions among his family. But, maybe there’s proverbs in the pain here.
There will be a concluding wave ridden for each of us: the final paddle strokes, last hard bottom turn, then down the line, and so forth. We’ll be grossly unaware of when this will be, however. Maybe appreciation of what we have is only realized when others lose it.
Sixty-six years old.
The man’s death won’t change our behaviors, of course, and there’s nothing romantic about drowning. We waver at the “ultimate act, ultimate price” maxim.
But, certainly it forces us to question the far bookend of our life and how we would like to leave.
Not that we have any lousy choice.