Xose Lorenzo is in the middle of explaining how he got the seven stitches on his scalp and the eight on his leg when a call rings out from the other side of the rocks. A pack of men and women in wet suits aim a chorus of shouts and whistles and waving arms at the bald, bearded game warden, who squints into the light and cups his right hand to his ear. Waves crash wildly against the coastline, a wall of white noise that muffles the panic bubbling over in the distance. Finally, a single voice rises up above the churn of the Atlantic: A man is down and he’s being swept out to sea.