# 5 Great White Shark Diving

When I was thirteen I started a list. Nothing grand or complicated but just a compilation of things I wanted to do in my life. It started out as twenty tasks I could only dream about achieving some time in the future. Five years passed and I revisited my list.  With six items crossed off, I decided to put more thought into it and came up with fifty outlandish, crazy, and life changing accomplishments to complete before my time on earth expired. Twelve years later, and twenty-seven more items scratched off the list, I turned thirty. Time to re-examine the weathered piece of scrap paper I had scribbled on so many years ago – much of it bringing a sparkle to my eyes.  Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man affected not only my perspectives, but my life.  Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel stole my breath for what seemed like an eternity. Standing on the edge of the great Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, I felt a power, a magnitude that seemed almost otherworldly – an adrenaline that would later resurface and surge through my body as I leaped from a perfectly sound bridge in Zambia with a bungee coiled around my ankles.  Each and every time I’ve allowed myself the chance to pencil through one more entry on the list, I’ve created a moment that will live within me forever, that I will endlessly, exclusively cherish. And yet there I was, thirty years old, more mature, polished even, but still infatuated to an extent with a voice from the past, a thirteen-year-old boy, lamenting through time, “Don’t stop now.”  And I listened, I can’t help myself, it’s who I am, who I will be for many years.

  My list has now grown to one hundred items and my friends contest, “No way can you do all that.”  I nod and smile, I’ve heard it before. I have done more in my life because of my list than many will dream to do.  And I probably won’t complete it, but that’s not the point.  Life is too short not to give it everything you have. I share with you today, number five, added to the list in 1988, my first year at St. Johns High School, Zimbabwe after seeing a compelling documentary on sharks.

  Recently engaged and chatting to my fiancé about where we should get married, I had an epiphany.  No way she would go for it, or would she?  A crazy idea, I wanted to get married on the beach in Africa.  Well, perhaps not entirely insane, I happen to be an immigrated U.S. citizen from Zimbabwe and still have family living in South Africa, and a visit was way overdue.  My bride to be, a local Martinsburg girl, had never left the states.  I brought it up in casual conversation and I remember the look on her face - pure joy.  Married on a beach in a far away land, a private gathering, she loved the idea.  What more could we ask for.  We had each other, love, nature, and God.  And so it was set after much planning - three weeks in South Africa with family and friends. 

  I remembered seeing a documentary a few weeks earlier, titled Shark Man, on The Discovery Channel.  The show had been filmed just a few hours outside of Cape Town, where we were to be married.  We were now in Africa and I started hearing a familiar voice, a young voice.  My polished, mature self tried to rationalize.  It had to be too expensive - a personal experience with the most famous shark diver ever - had to be thousands of dollars. And it was, twelve-hundred to be exact, but with the exchange rate being ten to one, my list was about to lose item number five, fingers crossed.  I called my buddy Craig who volunteered both himself and his wife within seconds.  So the issue was settled, for one hundred and twenty bucks, we were going to spend a day with the sharks, meals included, so to speak.

  We left the shadow of Table Mountain behind us as we crawled up and over Sir Lowry’s pass, a serpentine road winding back and forth steadily upward before reaching the precipice, only to mirror itself all the way down into the valley on the other side. Steep escarpments of jagged rock rising thousands of feet silently watched over the gentle, rolling hills of renowned South African Wineries – a drive worth taking under any circumstances.  We arrived in Gansbaai at eight a.m., welcomed by a hearty breakfast and a crew that briefed us on the day’s adventure. With waivers signed, payment accepted, and a firm reminder set in place that these were wild creatures and there was no guarantee that we would see a shark and/or even return, we set off.  Wait, return?  No guarantees?  I hadn’t flown thousands of miles to not see a shark.  The joke didn’t occur to me until later.  We were informed that the company did in fact issue a no-shark voucher to be used at a later date for a free expedition. With one day left on our trip, I had to see a shark. Though it was mid January, which is apparently not prime shark season, I kept faith. With breakfast finished, we were whisked off down the jetty to board The Barracuda, a thirty-six foot twin engine, twin hull shark boat dressed in an ocean blue, with a six person steel cage attracting the most attention. My eyes were drawn to the holes in the cage, which seemed rather large - big enough for my head, leg, arm or other appendages that I had grown rather fond of, to fit through.  The skipper expressed the obvious question, “Don’t forget people, this ride really brings to light the importance of keeping your arms and legs inside at all times.”  As if needed, he added, “Please do not touch the sharks.”  A fifteen minute boat ride brought us to our location – an unimpressive spot that, were it not for the presence of a few other charters, would not have suggested an abundance of shark activity.  The skipper anchored the boat and began his briefing. We learned that the best time to see a shark in Gansbaai is winter (our summer), in the famous Shark Alley, next to Seal island, where ten thousand seals make a home – a forty-five  minute boat ride out to sea.  The water is warmer in winter and you’re practically guaranteed a sighting.  Our present site was the result of a local fisherman’s tip that led to this nondescript spot a mere fifteen minutes from shore. 

  The deck hands opened the mysterious buckets at the rear of the boat – a pungent, fishy smell seemingly crawling from each one.  Chum, a mix of fish oil, tuna heads and various other sea related body parts truly made an impression on the group.  Skipper informed us that the waiting game had begun, a timeframe that could last a few minutes or a few hours.  The oily film on top of the ocean was our chum line and as long as a shark swam into it we were in good shape. Five minutes later, I was changing into a wetsuit and goggles. Apparently, this was all the equipment we would need because visibility was a mere three to five feet – not exactly good news.  And then, “Shark, Shark!” yelled a deckhand. I turned and there she was, a beautiful twelve foot grey shadow sliding gracefully along the edge of the boat, barely two feet below the surface and not much farther from me. I had to get in.  I needed to see her face to face - a fleeting glimpse of an unforgettable event.  But with an equal stealth, she vanished.  Fortunately, another shark was not far off, and the cage was gently lowered and held tight against the boat.  “Who’s first, we need six divers in the water now,” barked the skipper.  I thought I might wait for the second go around since our group was seventeen strong, but Skipper had other ideas, “You came all this way and there is no guarantee you will get another chance.”  He was right; I had waited twenty years for this opportunity.  I jumped into the frigid water, followed by my future stepson, a couple from Denmark, Craig, and his wife.  We were like sardines stuffed in this cage side by side just waiting for the ultimate predator to come by for a morning snack.  I peered down through the greenish blue water and could hardly see my feet. This was far scarier than I thought. I was no stranger to diving but this was different. We had intentionally baited the water and then volunteered to get in. What in the world was I thinking?

  “Divers Down,” our call sign to submerge.  I had my camera poised.  There she was, five feet away, cruising past us.  All I could think about was trying to get the picture, and I missed her.  I heard that familiar voice again, “You can either try to take a picture for your friends at home or you can enjoy this once in a lifetime experience.”  I let the camera fall and hang by its cord and refocused.  I wanted to meet this creature face (to cage) to face.  A deep breath and I pushed myself to the bottom of the cage. She was coming in straight toward me out of the murky shadows, staring directly into me – thought I knew her true interest was the tuna head suspended by a rope four feet in front of us.  As the deck hand pulled the bait closer, she launched with surprising speed for a creature of such size.  Her mouth extended into a gaping cavern, lined with serrated teeth. She clamped down on her prey and exploded into a violent thrash.  Writhing back and forth, her body smashed into the cage, inches from my face. I felt a massive strength within the collision. Her teeth slashed through the rope, she swallowed the tuna whole, task accomplished.  And as suddenly as she had attacked, she resumed her graceful, slow motion arc – staring through us all.  The moment might have lasted a minute, but it will live in my mind forever.

  We experienced four more sharks that day, of similar size, but none were as personal as that first one.  She will swim on in my mind and in my dreams for years to come.

  I had some time to reflect on my twenty-year-old list as we made our way back to shore, proud of my effort to chase dreams, even seemingly trivial teenage ones.  It comforts me to think of how my list will grow in time with me, allowing for a life rich in adventure and fulfillment. 

 

  I have shared with you a personal story of value to me, and now you can too. If you have an item that you have crossed off of your list and would like to share, submit yours here or send your story and pictures to mike@aroundthepanhandle.com