I can't sea clearly now

"To myself I am only a child playing on the beach, while vast oceans of truth lie undiscovered before me."

                                                                                                         Isaac Newton

PHIPPSBURG — Some where hidden in all this fog lay the Atlantic Ocean. 

I could hear the loud rumble of waves, but no beachgoer could see the huge body of water from the shoreline. 

No sun, no ocean, just thick fog that you remember in old horror flicks. The fog would have made an excellent backdrop for the 1940s movie, "The Uninvited." 

If fishermen were at sea, I don't see how any skipper could navigate in that thick soup that hung around at Popham Beach. 

We were all in a fog on Sunday.

An obscuring haze covered the beach, lowering visibility to about 35 yards. 

The misty and pasty stuff snuffed out the sun, but the oppressive humidity hung around to make everybody feel uncomfortable. You didn't have to go swimming to cool off. Beachgoers got drenched just sitting in the warm sand as the low-flying cloud of vapor left us all feeling damp. There was a sheen of moisture covering the hair on my head and arms.  

I would wipe away the water, but minutes later, I was covered with murky film.  

Anthony and I watched as dozens of swimmers disappeared into the mist as they headed toward the choppy ocean. 

We joined them, hoping to latch on to a few giant waves. After a quarter mile walk, the soothing water stood at our feet. The water was warm, but when I looked back toward the beach, it vanished into the white haze. 

There were no signs of life beyond 50 yards. 

Walking back to the sandy beach would put our navigation skills to the test.

The water was unusually warm and I started thinking about sharks — really big dangerous sharks. Several days ago, a swimmer was bit by a great white off Cape Cod's Ballston Beach in Truro, Mass. 

There is nothing great about a great white sharks. They might look awesome on a nature show, but getting up close and personal doesn't appeal to me. 

Popham's cold waters do warm up in August, but the tepid water felt like I was taking a swim in a neighbor's pool.

My fear didn't stop me from diving into the surf, but I would quickly surface, see if Anthony was topside and quickly scan the water for a dorsal fin cutting through warm sea.  

I didn't like it, and I didn't like these bastards hanging around the New England coast.

Let them eat other fish and lay off the human flesh, I say. 

Thanks to changing temperatures in the world's oceans, great whites are paying more visits to our shorelines and sharp attention to unknowing tourists flopping around in the surf. 

Motion in the water is like signaling a shark that dinner is ready. 

I grew up a couple of miles from the ocean. Revere Beach was my second home as child, and I was like Jacques Cousteau enjoying its vastness. I couldn't get enough of the salt water or air, Kelly's Roast Beef, Bianchi's Pizza and foot-long hot dogs. That was our diet during summer months.

My mother ordered all four of us to the beach on those sweltering days. 

It was years ago, but shark warnings went up along the Massachusetts coast. I was 10 or 11 and didn't concern myself with sharks. 

I ventured 80 yards as the tide was going out when I heard yelling from the beach. 

At first, I thought everybody was waving at me. I waved back. I blamed the hot sun on their peculiar behavior.  

Then I heard the word, "Shark," from the shore and I got a little nervous. They were telling me to come in due to shark warnings, and I was floating target

I looked side to side as I trudged through the surf, fearing I was about to be cut in two by a shark with a voracious appetite.  

Terror can act like springboard when you are swimming for your life. I trembled as I safely rushed to shore. 

That was years ago. 

All I had to contend with was annoying fog and a warm ocean on a quiet Sunday afternoon at Popham Beach.  

And that was just fine with me.