Undiscovered Paradise

It is a personal mission of mine to visit every revered beach known to mankind. By way of research or public acclaim, I am able to see some real crowd pleasers: Ipanema and Copacobana in Brasil, warm Bahamian tropics, Kailua and the North Shore of Oahu, the illustrious Cote d'Azure along the coast of southern France and the other side of the Mediterranean in Tel Aviv. Of course, each stop is more than just a name crossed off a long list of waterfronts. They have each been memorable coastal destinations that have helped me quench some insistent thirst for salty sea air and divine waves.

However, I reached a place in my quest for new seaside heights when I arrived at a beach unknown to anyone other than a local Japanese spear fisherman.

Two bridges and two islands past, we arrived on Shikoku, a southern set island below the mainland of Japan. After parting through the main town of Tokushima, we rolled along a towering coastline and finally the majestic Pacific stood straight ahead. It looked like a mix between the dense, mountainous areas of Oahu and the bouldered shores of northern California. And, like the light at the end of the rainbow, a small cove nestled between the thickly vegetated bluffs presented itself. The water was as clear as the Bahamas and the sun seemed to toast the waves perfectly.

The shore was stones and when I took my sandals off to feel the first few thrusts from the ocean, the bottoms of my feet were seared like pan-fried tuna. Still, that water. I anticipated cold, like the water back in Akashi, tucked into the bay, but it was like a lukewarm milk bath; layers of velvety ocean peeled on and off of my burned skin. It smelled so fresh and reflected the sky in such radiant hues of blue.

Taken aback by the sheer unclaimed oceanside I had all to myself, I nearly forgot the reason we were there. Yet another reason to love the ocean: skin diving and spear fishing, a sport relatively unpopular to the masses.
Weights, wetsuit and weaponry required, the men in our crew geared up for a trek out to sea to try their luck with underwater fishing.

Several of us got lucky in the attempt to catch fish like a sophisticated, modern Cro-magnon. One clean pierce and the kill is yours. The weapon of choice is a simple, three-pronged spear that is shot off from a thick rubber band as well as a speargun with the same sort of rubber-shot mechanism.

I had a somewhat cathartic experience in the water that day. I laid on my back and let some of the swell lull me to and fro, leaving my body in complete care of the ocean's arms; it gave me a real hug that day. I closed my eyes and the muscles in my body remained as flaccid as the water that kept me afloat. It was almost as if I felt my limbs melting into the salty puddle of sunlit sanctuary. The sky above and the comfort and covetous protection of the towering cliffside, I was alone out there in the water. In essence, I was alone on shore too. Letting go of my body's weight made me realize how powerful of a presence something has when it's all yours.
No sign of a bathroom, food stalls, beach umbrella rentals. It was an untouched ocean and an undiscovered paradise paramount to my beachside discoveries. If I gave away the name, it might not be such a secret anymore. Good luck trying to find it, though.