I observed from a not-entirely-safe distance as my fellow Garden Staters paddled through fitful bales of viscous, 40-something-degree sea water.
I thought this:
It seems unlikely that he’ll make that. Just look at that wave: Hurling the weight of its frigid lip over its deceptively curvaceous hips at Red Bull-vodka speed. Hollow and fast–but definitely not an easy score.
A mostly solid, greenish curtain formed within milliseconds and stretched for considerable moments.