To supplement the joys of the pandemic, of the "special military operation" in Ukraine, and the joys of aging, I’ve been swimming lately off the westernmost of the two Depressions, so-named because of two dips in the cliff line just around the bend from Campus Point. These provide beach access and are the first spot I surfed, in the late '50s.
In the water and stroking up the coast, I was startled by a sea lion surfacing and charging straight toward me. I waved an arm and shouted as the creature homed in on my face, glared into my eyes, snorted, and slid effortlessly beneath me, disappearing.
I wasn’t through swimming, but calculated my risk-reward ratio and headed for shore, grabbed my gear, and, tail between my legs, headed up the beach.