Shark-diving - the experience of a lifetime
by: ThePope
Word Count: 1759
More and more people around the world are jumping into seas full of sharks, and paying handsomely for the privilege. An estimated quarter of a million people will - intentionally - have a close encounter with a shark this year.
One reason why shark-diving has become so popular is, of course, the danger. Or, rather, the perceived danger. While we now know that most sharks are too fussy about what they eat to take much interest in divers, there is no escaping the fact that they still have lots of very sharp teeth.
In theory, it's more dangerous to stroll along a palm-fringed beach with a pina colada than it is to jump in the sea with a cut finger. 150 people die every year as a result of coconuts falling on their heads, while sharks kill only 15-30. Admittedly, several dozen more people survive an attack to tell the tale, albeit with a limb or two fewer. But, then again, no fewer than 1,600 people are bitten in New York City, by other people, every year.
Attracting tourists the world over
While sharks live in almost every sea in the world, finding and getting close to them, is another matter. On your average dive, shark-sightings are surprisingly rare. This is why you need to visit shark hotspots. At Dirty Rock, off Cocos Island, Costa Rica, schools of hammerheads gather in the same area day after day, while at Walker's Cay, in The Bahamas, more than 100 sharks of several species are attracted to a regular feeding site with a large quantity of fish bait. Bait is also used at Dangerous Reef, in South Australia, but there the sharks are great whites, and the divers are in cages.
The downside
Critics of cage-diving with great whites in South Africa claim that some of the boats and cages used for the dives are unsafe and that several of the skippers are unqualified. No fewer than seven operators take divers to one particular hotspot in Cape Province, jostling for space, and competing to attract the sharks to their cages. Certain operators are criticised for dragging sharks against the cages or boats to provide better photo opportunities for their customers. Logic suggests that it's only a matter of time before someone gets seriously hurt. Just one fatal attack on a tourist could undermine worldwide efforts to protect great whites.
One of the strongest arguments for shark-diving is that it can help to dispel some of the myths about sharks and to change attitudes towards these much-maligned creatures. People who see sharks come back as shark devotees and are more likely to add their support to conservation efforts.
Perched on the back of Jackie Smit's 8m catamaran, in the fishing village of Gansbaai on the southern tip of South Africa, was the cage. It was made of 3mm steel mesh, and later that morning, I'd be inside it with a mêlée of great whites on the outside.
We sped off on the half-hour ride to a shallow channel between two small islands, Dyer Island and Geyser Rock, lying roughly at the point where the Indian Ocean meets the South Atlantic. Geyser Rock is home to an enormous colony of Cape fur seals, and thanks to them being the sharks' favourite food, this is one of the best places in the world to see great whites.
A little encouragement
The sharks don't automatically materialise, and a bit of encouragement is required - something like a dead horse, you might imagine. But Jackie uses nothing more dramatic than a smelly concoction of crushed sardines and seawater dribbled over the back of the boat and an old anchovy bag full of dead sardines.
I donned wetsuit, snorkel and mask and lowered myself over the side of the boat, dropping in through the open hatch-door. Jackie released the rope, and I began to drift away from psychological safety. It was a moment or two before all the bubbles had cleared sufficiently for me to see what was happening. Desperately hanging on for dear life, while being buffeted around in the surge of the sea, I stared out into the murky water. Nothing. A few small fish nibbling at the sardines in the anchovy bag, some slightly bigger ones swimming lazily below. Ten minutes later, still nothing. I began to relax.
Enormous mouthful
But suddenly there was a sharp jolt from behind. I struggled to turn around and, before I'd even registered what was happening, came face-to-face with the most enormous mouthful of razor-sharp teeth I had ever seen. A huge great white shark. And it was mouthing the cage no more than half a metre from the end of my nose.
It was an experience I've repeated many times since. A jaw-to-jaw encounter with the world's largest predatory fish is probably the ultimate wildlife experience. It changes the way you perceive the world. Quite simply, from then on, every time you sit on the 7.50 to Waterloo or walk into a pub, you want to shout in a loud voice: I've had a close encounter with a great white shark.
Balancing at the back of the boat, 2km off the coast of Grand Bahama Island, I took one last look over the edge of my black fins towards the dark shapes doing determined figure-of-eights below - and jumped - right into the middle of two dozen hungry Caribbean reef sharks.
Dinner is served
Trying to remember all the dos and don'ts spelled out to us during the pre-dive briefing at the headquarters of the Underwater Explorers Society (UNEXSO), in Port Lucaya, I quickly made my way to the seabed. There were sharks everywhere. They seemed to be about 6m long, though, in reality, the longest were probably only 3m.Within a few minutes, there were seven of us kneeling in a wide semi-circle, 14m below the surface, with three dive instructors. Two were armed with short sticks and wore strange helmets that made them look like Darth Vader from Star Wars. The third wore a head-to-toe chainmail shark suit that made him look like a medieval warrior.
The sharks knew that the medieval warrior was to be their waiter at this unlikely underwater banquet, and they began to swim around him in ever-decreasing circles. On the menu was herring, stuffed inside a metre-long black tube with a diaphragm opening. The warrior thrust his hand into the tube, pulled out a fish by its tail and handed it to a shark swimming nearby, which took it from his fingers, like a dog accepting scraps from the kitchen table. He handed another fish to a different shark, and then another. There was no feeding frenzy, no gnashing of teeth.
Biting the hand that feeds
In the midst of all this civilised predation, there was an extraordinary feeling of serenity. But suddenly there was a commotion in the water, as legs and tails and sand seemed to be flying everywhere. The warrior's feeding hand was trapped inside a shark's mouth, his free arm wrapped around its head, and the two of them were turning frantic somersaults no more than a shark's length in front of me. Without warning, the shark unexpectedly released its grip and rocketed away from under the warrior's arm. Then the most extraordinary thing happened. While the sand was still settling, the warrior knelt down on the seabed and one of our new-found razor-toothed friends seemed to lay its head gently in his lap. He began to stroke the animal on its head and side, as if he were stroking a cat. If sharks could purr, this one would have purred louder than any pet moggie. It lay there motionless for a full 30 seconds before breaking away to rejoin the predator patrol once again.
It may be one of the largest animals on Earth, growing to a length of more than 10m, but the basking shark is a harmless plankton feeder: the ultimate gentle giant.
Under the watchful eye of Ken Watterson, best friend of the baskers and founding director of the Basking Shark Society, I slipped quietly into the sea. We were about a kilometre off the coast of the Isle of Man - the best place in the world for a close encounter with the largest fish in the North Atlantic - and a steady trickle of freezing cold Irish Sea dribbled down the neck of my so-called drysuit.
Not just any old fin
Carefully, I swam into the path of an approaching fin. But this wasn't just any old fin. This was a metre-high fin that would have made Steven Spielberg glow with pride. As I lay motionless on the surface of the water, almost in the shadow of Peel Castle, I could vaguely hear Ken's running commentary from the boat: "Twelve metres away from you, ten, five." Suddenly, out of the planktonic gloom, came a huge, gaping mouth. It looked more like the open cargo doors of a military aircraft than the oral cavity of a fish.
Methodically working its way through the clouds of plankton, rather like a groundsman mowing the lawn, the giant feeding machine passed within a metre or so of where I floated. Briefly, we made eye contact. But the shark's prehistoric stare gave nothing away. As the shark passed by, shafts of sunlight dappled its long, greyish-brown flanks. It swam with a smooth, graceful movement that belied its size and effortlessly left me behind as I desperately finned to maintain visual contact. All too soon it disappeared into the murk.
A very British mystery
Basking sharks move into British coastal waters from June to early September, where they are now officially protected. But we have no idea where they come from. Do they spend the winter in other parts of the world - or do they simply drop to the bottom of the sea and hibernate? No one knows. Yet without even the most basic information, it is very difficult to look after them properly. So Ken's shark-watchers are encouraged to help with everything from recording sightings and behaviour to identifying individual sharks and collecting plankton samples. They also provide urgently-needed funds - a real lifeline for the Basking Shark Society.
About the Author
From an original article in the August 1999 issue of BBC Wildlife Magazine - Happy snappers.
Mark Carwardine
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