Some of these were teeny invertebrates, just strange slugs others were large and scary. In May alone, marine biologists discovered over 5,000 new animal species in the watery ether. Five percent!! A tiny sample that includes 40-foot squid, fish with built-in stilts, prehistoric-looking sharks with hundreds of teeth, a “deep-sea blob,” a blind transparent eel that looks startlingly like the titular species of Alien, and whatever the hell this is. The sea has spoken, and she said, “Get the fuck off my lawn.” Fine by me!īecause if we don’t, can you imagine what harbinger of doom our maritime mistress will send in next? The terrors we have already unearthed from the sea’s depths only account for 5 percent of its contents, and that slice alone is enough to keep me far away. Meanwhile, off the coast of Europe, killer whales are apparently executing coordinated boat attacks. Shark sightings in New York and Long Island are up, and one woman is expected to be permanently disabled after one bit her at Rockaway Beach this month. Several California surfers have recently been attacked by sea lions, whom scientists say were poisoned by toxic algae. In June, for example, an ominous mound of fish corpses suddenly materialized on the shores of Texas, like a warning about what happens when you infringe too much on the ocean’s territory.
Big ocean waves hit shit full#
All this, just to take a saline dip in a fathomless body of water full of beasts ready and able to pull you under at any minute? Don’t forget, the spookiest beach phenomena of all lurk beyond the tide. If the sun is beating down intensely enough that cold water sounds inviting, please keep the other side of the coin in mind: Boiling-hot sand that scalds the feet and worms its way into every nook and cranny of your life like evil glitter a roaring burn in the one spot you forgot to slather SPF the queasy mélange of pasta salad, watermelon, and warm beer baking together on your blanket. Then there is the issue of so-called “beach weather,” which is far too hot for my liking.
I don’t know about you, but a bath in poop-infused salt water is not my idea of a good time. Also, apparently: poop? Last year, the U.S.’s leaky sewage system released enough fecal matter into our seas to bring 55 percent of beaches to risky contamination levels. Instead, my idea of a beach trip involves gravelly shores dotted with trash and stinky seaweed, terrifyingly loud and invasive walls of water, and seagulls that might as well be on cocaine. Maybe, if I weren’t a lifetime East Coast resident, “the beach” would conjure enticing visions of pristine, cotton-soft sand and grand, majestic waves. Harmless freshwater situations are perfectly fine - it’s the sand strips that feed into oceans that I both fear and hate. To be clear, I do not have beef with all bodies of water, nor even all water-based activities. But quite frankly, I would rather brave a whole shower of stagnant New York subway drip than go near a beach this summer.
I’ve forged large puddles of dirty rainwater. My answer is “no.” Summer is almost over, and I’m proud to say I haven’t been to the beach once. I have to go to the beach! Inevitably, someone’s roommate’s boyfriend’s cousin manages to procure a car, and the offer arrives: Do you, like so many people you’ve encountered since temperatures soared above 70 degrees, want to come to the beach? I can’t believe I haven’t been to the beach yet! everyone says, unprompted. It begins every year in early June: a collective, desperate sojourn to the nearest coast.
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