Surfing is a selfish sport, there’s no doubt about it. It’s all about you, feet on a board, gliding down a wave. Unless it’s 20-foot Waimea, there’s no room to share. Surfers are territorial, tolerating the common faces in the lineup, while loathing newcomers. They might hoot for a friend who gets a good wave, but secretly wish it was them who had paddled into the pitching swell.

Logically, one would think that since surfers are selfish by nature, unwilling to share waves or locales, then solitary isolation would be the ultimate goal. But ironically, for the majority of surfers, save for the few crazies who charge massive outer-reef breaks with only a tow partner, the goal is walking the fragile line between surfing solo and safety in numbers.

Why the need for aquatic camaraderie for such a selfish pursuit? Sharks. Sitting completely alone on top a thin fiberglass board, legs dangling just feet from the reef can be an unnerving experience where every shadow could be a shark and every ripple could be a fin. The mind can get pretty creative, but after all, we are geared for survival.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m as guilty as the next guy. When the waves are good, it’s fun to share the experience with a few (key word: few) friends, but too many heads bobbing around can make for a frustrating and annoying session. At the easily accessible, world-class breaks on Oahu, crowds are a fact of life. Paddling out with only 15 or 20 other guys is considered uncrowded. But for those willing to chance a new break, do a little leg work, or better yet, arm work, there are spots that still lend themselves to being considered uncrowded. The thing is, most of these places come with some sort of excess baggage that can run the gamut from dangerous to deadly.

There is a secluded, outer-reef break that I drive past daily on my way to work. The barrier reef is way out there so it always looks small and weak from the shore, which is an added bonus as most salivating surfers keep the pedal to the metal and fly right on by and up to the North Shore. This particular stretch of reef isn’t the best place to surf alone and there aren’t many takers. It’s about a 10-minute paddle across the shallow lagoon out into the lineup. The reef is sharp and has several stretches that are mired with sharp spires that rise vertically off the reef. And of course, sharks are always lurking in the dark recesses of the back of your mind, no matter how much you try to suppress them.

I have surfed out there alone before, but only because the few other surfers had paddled in, leaving me and the “men in gray suits” with the place all to ourselves. At that point, every surfacing turtle jolts your senses, a blinding shot of adrenaline, and then it’s one more and back to the car.

So it even came as a surprise to me as I stood on shore under the tropical almond trees, looking at perfect waves without a soul in the water. I couldn’t pass it up. The stoke buried the anxiety and fear. I put my boardshorts on and paddled out, alone, amped, fearless and nothing else. My brain was quiet and my soul was at ease. It was the ultimate goal, the prize at the end of the tunnel. I could pick and choose any wave I wanted and didn’t have to share with anyone. No hassling, no egos, just surfing.

I skirted the edge of the reef, along the deep-water channel and rounded the sharp, broccoli-shaped coral heads on the outer corner of the reef, the destroyers of many a fin and shredders of soft fingertips. I paddled up the reef, past the wicked reef spires, to the first right that jacks up and spins down the line. Without even stopping to sit up, one of those beautiful rights popped up and I paddled into a nice and lined up head high wave. I got four good turns in and gave myself a hoot as I kicked out over the extremely shallow inside reef. Had that wave been at V-land or Rocky Rights, with the lineup full of guys who absolutely kill it, I definitely would not have blurted out my jubilation for all to hear. But that’s the difference with surfing alone. That wave felt good. The turns felt good, each one snappy and crisp. The whole ride just flowed, a fluid line from beginning to end. I was stoked. And why not shout about it? Why should it ever be any different? Isn’t that what it’s all about, what it’s always been about, that feeling?

About an hour later, four guys paddled out. Of course, for safety’s sake, I was stoked to see a few faces in the lineup, but on the other hand, I was really enjoying the solitude of my session, feeling comfortable and loose, really able to focus on the waves and my surfing. I surfed for another hour, thinking about the alone time, thinking how the solitude and the fear of the unknown was nothing of concern, practicing exercising patience by waiting for the second or third wave in a set.

The next morning, as I pulled into the muddy parking area to check the surf, the report came across the airwaves and through the speakers in my car: surfer attacked by shark yesterday, left leg, critical condition, same stretch of reef, water was cleared. I guess I wasn’t alone after all. Once again, the break was devoid of surfers, but this time, I decided to pass.

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