There's a moment, just before a wave folds over itself, when the ocean seems to look back at you. Hovering above this giant as it broke, I caught it mid-collapse — the dark boil at its centre ringed in churning white water, like an iris closing around its pupil. It felt less like photographing water and more like meeting a gaze. The ancients believed the sea had a spirit of its own, moods and tempers no mortal could predict. If the old god is watching, do you think they would be pleased with our treatment of our holy waters?