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It’s the call from the dawn, that gray limbo between the black shark infested night and the molten cracked glow in the morning sky. It’s being present as the sun first warms the earth and shifts the winds, grooming the swell in the presence of a few lucky surf junkies. It’s the romantic danger of nocturnal predators below scrounging for one more bite before retiring for the day with no one on the beach to call for help. And of course, it is the satisfaction you feel as you crawl from the water, beaten and drained of your surf lust as hoards of groggy slow pokes with bed head sip from styrofoam cups and wish they were you