We headed south to escape the nuclear wind only to be tackled by crashing surf. Timing your shot over a 4′ curl will sometimes leave your shorts gritty with a dull pain deep in the gut. We turned away as the sun began to set but then decided to give the beach one last look. The silence spiked intensity and instantly focus was regained. Spotting what appeared to be super tanker turning towards shore, I hopped off the sideXside and ran to give her my best shot. Perfectly placed fly and she was lit, charging into less than a foot of water missing the hook repeatedly, dorsal comb slashing about. I was shook and amazed with little water to work with – So I set without the fly ever being taken. Looking back I should have played dead and let the surf work for me but instead she turned for the deep. I’ll never forget the size and color of that mouth, opening and closing in response to my panic. I’m not done yet.