Many are venturing into the sea without according it respect for what it is: the largest environment on the planet, home to more animals than any other—all of which must eat in order to survive. It is an environment in which most of us are not only aliens but also clumsy and ill-equipped to survive.
And yet on every glorious day of every summer, men, women, and children around the world plunge into the sea, taking risks that they shouldn’t … most involving drowning but some involving creatures that sting, pinch, and bite. Including sharks.
That’s why I believe that practically no shark bite is unprovoked. We provoke sharks simply by going into the water, entering their feeding grounds, becoming fair game.
There are some practical steps to take to reduce the risk of shark bite, and the first requires a bit of a change in one’s worldview, a shift of focus from the utopian to the real.
These days, most of us are so rarely in danger from anything in nature that we’ve become complacent. We assume we’re safe everywhere. Australians are an exception, because they’re brought up to know that their lovely nation is home to innumerable dangerous living things. The rest of us have been conditioned to Bambi-ize the animal kingdom, so we tend to regard every animal as warm, cuddly, and friendly, or, sometimes, simply afraid of us. So little are we exposed to wild animals that we have no real knowledge of how to behave around them.
On land, our ignorance is rarely tested: deer eating flowers in the backyard aren’t a threat to life and limb. But when we choose to venture into the sea, we can’t afford to be complacent. Among the many millions of creatures living there is the world’s only large, free-roaming predator that poses a genuine—and sometimes mortal—threat to man in an environment in which he freely chooses to go: the shark.
And sharks can be anywhere: in shallow water or deep, in the surf itself, even, occasionally, profiled against the face of a breaking wave. They can be in the little dips between the shore and sandbars just offshore, where low tide sometimes traps them. They can be in murky water or clear, rough water or calm.
Furthermore, while only a few species of sharks are considered dangerous to man, all sharks—especially all sharks over three feet long—should be respected and avoided by swimmers. I’ve been hassled by a school of three- and four-foot-long sharks, and what began as a game of push-and-shove soon turned into a terrifying mass mugging from which I barely escaped, with bite marks on my fins.
Before you enter the water, stand for a moment and look at the sea around you. If there are birds working offshore—swooping and diving into a school of baitfish on or near the surface—that’s a sign that larger predators are underneath, driving the baitfish upward.
Perhaps those predators are bass or bluefish, but perhaps a shark or two could be stalking the bass or bluefish. Any signs that schools of fish—of any size—are in the neighborhood can indicate the presence of sharks. If you see a concentration of ripples on the surface of the water, or silvery flashes as feeding fish roll out of the water and their scales catch the sunlight, or a patch of action anywhere in an otherwise calm sea, don’t go in the water. Nature’s food chain is in process, and there’s a chance that the apex predator that inhabits the very top of that chain is out hunting, too.
Don’t go in the water if you’re bleeding—at all, from anything, anywhere on your body. The same salt water that may heal your cut or wound will carry away the scent of your blood. The sensory apparati of sharks are so finely tuned that they can receive and analyze the tiniest bits of blood imaginable and can direct the shark to home in on the source of the blood from far, far away.
Blood is not the only attractant that emanates from us humans; we emit sounds, smells, pressure waves, and electromagnetic fields—all of which a shark can detect. That shouldn’t surprise you: you know that your dog or cat hears and sees in spectral ranges far beyond ours, so why shouldn’t a shark? After all, sharks have been around, and very successful, for scores of millions of years longer than cats, dogs, and people.
Don’t swim or surf in water near seal or sea lion colonies. The playful and alluring pinnipeds are the prime (and favorite) food source for, among others, great white sharks. A surfer on a board appears, when seen from below, indistinguishable from a sea lion that has come up for a breath of air. Great whites are, by nature, ambushers; they prefer to blindside their prey, attacking from below and behind, and with such speed and force that they sometimes bite through surfer and surfboard before they realize they’ve made a mistake.
Don’t go swimming at dawn, dusk, or night. Many sharks—tigers, for example—come into the shallows at night to feed. On some islands, locals swear that sharks can tell when six o’clock in the evening comes along, for that’s when fins can be seen crisscrossing the bay or cruising along the beach. Dim light, furthermore, decreases a shark’s vision, forcing it to rely on its other senses and thus increasing the chances of a random bite.
The same holds true for swimming in turbid or murky water. A shark may sense nearby movement of a warm-blooded animal that it can’t see and may decide to bite as a test of edibility.
Don’t swim alone, and don’t swim far from shore or other people. As a lone swimmer you are vulnerable prey—and the farther you are from rescue if something untoward does happen, the lower your chances of survival.
Don’t go swimming where people are fishing from boats. They’ve probably put bait in the water, or even chum, which is a mixture of blood, oil, guts, and fish bits. (Even if you’re not set upon by a shark, you’ll stink for days, especially your hair.)
Finally, and most obvious, don’t go swimming in areas where sharks are known to congregate or feed: steep drop-offs, where tide and current sweep prey to waiting sharks; the passes in tropical lagoons where, every six hours, the change of tide brings new feeding patterns to the entire chain of wildlife in the water; channels into harbors, where fish are cleaned and remains tossed overboard by returning boats.
There are also a few don’ts for when you do go swimming.
Don’t wear jewelry or any shiny metal in the water. It flashes and shines and can, in frothy or murky water, look to a shark like a wounded fish. A friend of mine went swimming wearing a bathing suit with a brass buckle. As he was wading out of chest-deep water, he felt something brush between his legs, and when he reached the beach he found that he’d been slashed open from thigh to knee—by something with extremely sharp teeth, either a barracuda or a small shark, for he never felt any pain. If there hadn’t been a lifeguard handy to put a tourniquet around his leg, he might have bled to death.
Another friend wore a gold cross on a gold chain while he was snorkeling. A shark rushed him from below, ripped cross and chain away, and, with the same slashing bite, tore open his chin.
Don’t swim in the ocean with your dog. Dogs swim with an erratic, ungainly motion that can attract curious sharks.
And don’t you make any erratic movements, either, such as splashing, kicking, or tussling with your buddy. All of those send out signals that say, wounded prey … worth investigating.
Despite all these cautions, it’s important to remember that no matter what you do, the odds are in your favor. Whether or not a person acts with vigilance and common sense, still the statistical chances of being set upon by a shark remain well within the comfort zone, somewhere between slim and none.
The most notorious face in nature: a great white shark, upper jaw dropped into “bite position.” In fact, though, this was a moment of curiosity, not aggression. The shark had poked its head out of the water and was just having a look around. South Africa, 1999.
© JENNIFER HAYES
A great white shark that circled our tiny boat several times off Gansbaai, South Africa, in 1999. When we boarded the boat, the captain said, “Rule number one: if anybody falls overboard and a shark grabs him, the person next to him jumps down onto the shark’s head. That startles ’im and makes ’im let go. Usually.”
PETER BENCHLEY
Nature�
�s perfect creation: a great white shark approaching a bait (top) and eyeballing a diver in a cage (bottom). Essentially unchanged for tens of millions of years, great whites have no enemies except bigger versions of themselves, killer whales, and, of course, man. No one knows for sure how many great whites still exist, but the evidence, anecdotal and scientific, suggests that the magnificent animals are threatened everywhere and, in many parts of the world, actually endangered.
© HOWARD HALL/HOWARDHALL.COM
The shark approaches the cage and prepares to take a test bite.
© ABC SPORTS
After completing a circle of the cage, the shark comes at it from a different angle and lifts its head out of the water to swallow a bait.
© ABC SPORTS
Shark’s view of me in the cage. Do I look appetizing? I don’t think so.
© JENNIFER HAYES
My fantasy becomes reality: the first great white shark I ever saw underwater. South Australia, 1974.
© ABC SPORTS
The shark has snagged the tether rope in its teeth. Cowering in the cage, armed only with my trusty broomstick, I alone realize that chaos is about to ensue.
© ABC SPORTS
The summer of hype—2001. One newspaper’s attempt to explain the supposed explosion in shark attacks on humans.
© AMERICAN MEDIA, INC.
A completely phony computer-generated image that was circulated on the Internet during the summer. No wonder shark-attack hysteria gripped the nation.
On the beach set of Jaws in the cold spring of 1974. Left to right, my wife, Wendy; PB; Roy Scheider (Chief Brody in the movie); and, in front of me, our five-year-old son, Clayton.
© UNIVERSAL PICTURES
Steven Spielberg preparing me for my scene as the television reporter on the beach on the Fourth of July.
© UNIVERSAL PICTURES
The intrepid reporter interviewing Richard Dreyfuss (Hooper) during the Fourth of July beach scene in Jaws.
© UNIVERSAL PICTURES
On the set of The Deep in Bermuda, 1976. Nick Nolte (left) had starred in the TV miniseries Rich Man, Poor Man, but this was his first leading role in a major feature film. The leather-covered cigarette lighters hanging around our necks, each stamped with the name of the movie, were gifts to cast and crew from the gutsy, game, and gorgeous Jacqueline Bisset (right).
© COLUMBIA TRISTAR
Two of the most memorable shows (for me) from ABC’s The American Sportsman. As yet unaware that I’m leaking blood from a wound in my ankle, I’ve become an object of desire for an oceanic whitetip. My celebrated broomstick is about to meet its end.
© ABC SPORTS
Riding a giant manta ray in the Sea of Cortez. A second after he took this picture, Stan Waterman had his face mask knocked off and his nose bloodied by one of the manta’s wings.
© STAN WATERMAN
Stan Waterman, left, one of America’s pioneer divers and underwater filmmakers, a gentle man of consummate charm and grace.
© HOWARD HALL/HOWARDHALL.COM
Stan greeting—while attempting to film—a whale shark, the biggest fish in the sea.
© MARJORIE BANK
An armada of scalloped hammerheads in the Sea of Cortez. No one knows for certain why they gather in such numbers—perhaps it’s a ritual related to breeding—but they seem to have no interest whatsoever in human beings.
© HOWARD HALL/HOWARDHALL.COM
A silvertip in the South Pacific, one of the “sharkiest-looking” of all shark species.
© JENNIFER HAYES
One of several species of bull shark—unpredictable and dangerous.
© HOWARD HALL/HOWARDHALL.COM
Prey’s-eye view of a great white ambushing from behind and below. Many professional shark wranglers believe that if you’re under water and a great white shows an aggressive interest in you, the smartest thing to do is ascertain that the shark knows you’ve seen it. Great whites depend so much on the element of surprise for a successful attack, says this theory, that if they know you’ve seen them, more often than not they’ll abandon the attack on you and go instead in search of easier prey.
© JENNIFER HAYES
10
What to Do When Good Dives Go Bad
Usually, when you’re diving—be it for sight-seeing, sport, or business—you don’t want to see sharks, any more than you want to meet up with a bear while you’re walking in the woods or with a pack of wolves while you’re cross-country skiing.
Apex predators—the creatures at the top of the food chain that, generally, have no natural enemies except others of their own species (and, of course, man)—have a way of spoiling your whole day, even if they don’t chase you down and tear you to bits in an aberrant fit of madness or hunger.
If you’ve had good training and/or a lot of experience as a diver, you know how to cope with equipment failures, symptoms of the several afflictions that can befall you under water, and other routine emergencies. (“Routine emergencies” is not an oxymoron, by the way, not when referring to the underwater world. Running out of air is a routine emergency: there are ways to deal with the problem, and often it is preceded by warning signs. Nonroutine emergencies strike from nowhere, are impossible to prepare for, and can cascade with unbelievable speed into disaster.)
No matter how experienced or well trained you are, however, you can never be completely prepared for the sudden appearance of one or more aggressive sharks. The reason? Here it comes again: no matter how much we think we know, the truth is, none of us knows for certain what any shark will or won’t do in a given situation.
Always remember that the shark is on its home range, and you are the intruder. Think of yourself as a trespasser in a yard posted with signs warning BEWARE OF SHARKS.
And if you see a shark, or sharks, try to keep it in view while you decide what to do next.
There are some cardinal rules for divers, but none of them is a guarantee. Here are some that, to me, make the most practical sense:
Rule #1: If you’re diving on a reef and you see a shark, any shark, and it begins to behave erratically—shaking its head, hunching its back, lowering its pectoral fins—you’re probably being shown a territorial threat display, a warning to scram. Take it seriously. Slowly and calmly retreat. Get out of the water if possible, but at least get away from the area and to a part of the reef where you can find shelter on one or two sides. In my experience, all but the largest sharks will avoid a direct, head-on, frontal assault on a scuba diver.
Rule #2: If you’re diving with a group, stay together and tighten up your formation. As a group you demonstrate size, strength, and confidence (never mind that it’s a fraud; the shark doesn’t know that). Don’t stray alone out into open water, where you broadcast vulnerability.
Rule #3: If you’re a photographer, you’re carrying a camera, perhaps one housed in a hard, rugged case, which can be an effective defensive weapon. Usually, a shark that bites down on a camera housing will conclude that the entire entity associated with it—that is, you—is unpalatable.
Rule #4: If you’re not a photographer, make it a habit to dive with something in your hand that can be used to fend off a nosy predator: a sawed-off ski pole, maybe, an actual shark billyclub, or something like my broomstick. Nine times out of ten, a shark that comes too close or becomes too curious for comfort can be discouraged by a tap or two on the head or body. If that doesn’t do the job, a vigorous jab often will.
Rule #5: Don’t dive with dolphins. They can be an irresistible temptation. Dolphins look, sound, and act friendly, and they usually are. But oftentimes they also compete with sharks for the same prey, and to an excited shark a human being can appear to be a weak or wounded dolphin.
Rule #6: Some supposed experts insist that a diver should immediately exit the water at the first sight of any large shark, particularly a tiger, hammerhead, bull, mako, or great white. To me, the generalization is too general. Every encounter between diver and shark develops a situationa
l dynamic of its own. (I do agree, however, that a diver who can’t identify the particular species of shark that has appeared—and several species closely resemble others—should err on the side of caution and head for safety.)
The tiger sharks I dove with in Australia were interested in nothing but the bait laid out for them. Luckily for me, they dismissed humans—these humans, at least—as of no interest.
In the Sea of Cortez I dove with vast schools of scalloped hammerheads—so many that, seen from beneath, they blocked out the sun—and not once did a single one of them express anything more than idle curiosity about us.
In deep water off Rangiroa, an atoll in the Tuamotu chain of islands in French Polynesia, photographer David Doubilet and I pursued—to dicey depths between 150 and 200 feet—five enormous great hammerheads. Great hammerheads are a species unto themselves, manifestly different from the schooling scalloped hammerheads, and these five were hefty, robust females, all fifteen feet or longer. Any one of them could have consumed either of us in two bites, but not one would pause long enough for David to take a photograph.
Rangiroa is also home to a small but healthy population of silky sharks, a particularly “sharky”-looking type of shark with a supersleek body and a perfect shark profile. Silkies are considered dangerous to man, but I’ve dived with the ones around Rangiroa half a dozen times or more, and I’ve never had trouble with any of them. Once, through a misunderstanding of signals between David and me—I thought he was signaling me to get closer to the shark, while what he was, in fact, signaling was that he was ill and about to vomit into his regulator—I let a large silky come so close to my head that I could count the pores on its snout and see the texture of its yellowish eyeball. When at last I realized what was happening, I shrugged one of my shoulders, nudging the silky in the jaw, and it sped away.
Shark Trouble Page 8