Surfer

A for Effort

t was a stunning day for a paddle: 75 degrees, water as green as the purest emerald, a light easterly breeze carrying the scent of pine, the ocean tossed with a gentle windswell sending ankle-high waves smacking noisily into rock stacks crowded with barking harbor seals—as beautiful as the Golden Gate gets. After about a quarter mile of paddling, I sat up on my midlength, marveled at my good fortune to live in such a place, and wheeled the big board around to paddle back toward the cove where I started. A flash of light on a sliver of untouched beach

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