I am not a thrill seeker. I eschew zip lining; I'd rather hide in a blind in the same treetops to actually see the birds that others speedily glide past. As a child I avoided roller coasters in favor of Ferris wheels where I could enjoy the scenery from a bird's eye view and at a very human pace. So I'm wondering how I reached a point on my 55th birthday where I deliberately chose to swim with sharks.
Most of the Bahamas lie above the Tropic of Cancer but it still has a mild winter climate that is more tropical than temperate. Nowhere is this more evident than out on the coral reefs that encircle the nation's more than seven hundred islands and cays. Diving and snorkeling, not to mention sport fishing, are a mainstay of its important tourist economy. So on a stop in Nassau on New Providence Island during my birthday cruise I was eager to snorkel on a teeming and picturesque reef.
Stuart Cove's Dive Bahamas offers fully escorted dives and snorkel trips to sights off the island's southwest coast. On a standard snorkel outing they guarantee stops at two different reefs and if weather permits a swim with sharks. When I booked the tour I knew I'd enjoy the area's coral reefs and the colorful fish that dwell there. But the possibility of actually seeing any sharks below the water sounded highly unlikely. After all, on countless snorkel trips in tropical seas, I have never encountered one.
Nevertheless even with overcast skies the two stops on New Providence's reefs showcased a kaleidoscope of underwater life including parrotfish, angelfish and surgeonfish. At the last sight a couple snorkelers even saw small sea turtles. When the last of our group had finally boarded our vessel, Captain Wendall warned that there would be some choppy waters on the way to the sharks.
So sharks were really going to be part of this day's excursion. It seemed fitting that rough seas and cloudy skies would accompany the chills I felt wearing my wet bathing suit and t-shirt. At the same time I felt an uncertain queasiness. Was I going to be sick? Maybe it was too much birthday celebration the night before, or the noxious fumes of the boat's engines, or perhaps I was actually nervous about the sharks. I was relieved when a comforting burp turned out to be just a burp and not that morning's breakfast. It was also reassuring that I was not alone in my discomfort - two passengers actually needed garbage bags to relieve their sea sickness, hangover or terror.
Arriving at the sight of a scuttled tug boat lying over fifty feet below us, our guides quickly instructed us on how to conduct ourselves during our swim with sharks. A chum line - a box filled with bait - would be lowered about fifteen feet below us while a rope tied to a buoy would be extended thirty feet behind. One by one we would don our snorkel gear of masks and fins and enter the water, working our way in a line toward the buoy while holding onto the rope. We were never to swim away from this lifeline, nor extend our arms to take a picture, nor paddle our feet.
"Can we leave our fins on the boat?" I asked, thinking maybe that would keep me from moving my legs excitedly and provoking the hunters. After all, we'd be gripping a rope with our heads peered into the depths below, not swimming or snorkeling anywhere.
The captain replied, "No, you should wear your fins." Good thinking, I thought, if anything goes wrong better the sharks bite the plastic tips of my fins than my actual toe or foot.
In the water we snorkelers quickly bunched along the rope, bumping and squeezing together. The waves seemed high, frequently filling our life giving snorkel tubes and frustrating any sense of organization. But the deeper water was unexpectedly warmer than in the shallower reef we had just visited. Maybe the temperature calmed my initial anxiety because when I finally placed my mask-covered face in the water, the sight of sharks several feet below wasn't terrifying; it was breathtaking.
The chum line hung almost motionless below us, a testament to the calmer water beneath our bobbing bodies. In this serenity a few sharks sleekly glided, darting at sharp angles across each other's paths while circling the bait-filled box.
I snapped some photos with my underwater camera, careful to keep the apparatus close to my body. But the tossing waves seemed to keep me from catching any good shots. Our guide might have sensed my frustration, or maybe he wanted me to enjoy a once-in-a-lifetime experience in real-time. Whatever the reason, he grabbed my camera, took a breath and free-dove to chum-level and snapped some close-up shots of the swimming sharks. I am eternally grateful for both his bravery and experience in capturing some amazing shots.
I suspect we passengers never got closer than a dozen feet to these hunters of the seas. And I can only guess how many there were as my field of vision in a snorkel mask was limited. But some of my shots show at least three.
Apparently the Caribbean reef shark is a scavenger hunter, preying on easy catches of weakened fish or pieces that are left over from another predator's hunt and meal. So as long as we didn't seem distressed we were safe from this common shark of the eastern Atlantic's tropical waters.
After our few minutes adventure and safely back on the vessel, it was time to pull up the chum-filled box. That's when it seems like a dozen reef sharks clamored at the boat's stern, drawn in a sensory frenzy to the possibility of a meal. The fracas was close and dangerous, only an arm's length away from the safety of our transport. But I wasn't scared or sickened; instead I was awestruck by yet another precious moment in this adventure. My short time in the water made me less fearful and apprehensive of a dorsal fin skimming so close by above the water's surface, even though it was attached to a ten-foot predator.
So am I actually a thrill seeker? I still tend to think not. Speed and danger are not an excitement for me; on the contrary, they make me nauseous. But I would like to think that my next time snorkeling on a reef in the Bahamas, or Maui, or anywhere, I won't be afraid when I spot a reef shark. Instead I'll remember what I learned about a new and unfamiliar animal, the Caribbean reef shark, on my 55th birthday. This first-hand education is the only thrill I seek.
Most of the Bahamas lie above the Tropic of Cancer but it still has a mild winter climate that is more tropical than temperate. Nowhere is this more evident than out on the coral reefs that encircle the nation's more than seven hundred islands and cays. Diving and snorkeling, not to mention sport fishing, are a mainstay of its important tourist economy. So on a stop in Nassau on New Providence Island during my birthday cruise I was eager to snorkel on a teeming and picturesque reef.
Stuart Cove's Dive Bahamas offers fully escorted dives and snorkel trips to sights off the island's southwest coast. On a standard snorkel outing they guarantee stops at two different reefs and if weather permits a swim with sharks. When I booked the tour I knew I'd enjoy the area's coral reefs and the colorful fish that dwell there. But the possibility of actually seeing any sharks below the water sounded highly unlikely. After all, on countless snorkel trips in tropical seas, I have never encountered one.
Nevertheless even with overcast skies the two stops on New Providence's reefs showcased a kaleidoscope of underwater life including parrotfish, angelfish and surgeonfish. At the last sight a couple snorkelers even saw small sea turtles. When the last of our group had finally boarded our vessel, Captain Wendall warned that there would be some choppy waters on the way to the sharks.
So sharks were really going to be part of this day's excursion. It seemed fitting that rough seas and cloudy skies would accompany the chills I felt wearing my wet bathing suit and t-shirt. At the same time I felt an uncertain queasiness. Was I going to be sick? Maybe it was too much birthday celebration the night before, or the noxious fumes of the boat's engines, or perhaps I was actually nervous about the sharks. I was relieved when a comforting burp turned out to be just a burp and not that morning's breakfast. It was also reassuring that I was not alone in my discomfort - two passengers actually needed garbage bags to relieve their sea sickness, hangover or terror.
Arriving at the sight of a scuttled tug boat lying over fifty feet below us, our guides quickly instructed us on how to conduct ourselves during our swim with sharks. A chum line - a box filled with bait - would be lowered about fifteen feet below us while a rope tied to a buoy would be extended thirty feet behind. One by one we would don our snorkel gear of masks and fins and enter the water, working our way in a line toward the buoy while holding onto the rope. We were never to swim away from this lifeline, nor extend our arms to take a picture, nor paddle our feet.
"Can we leave our fins on the boat?" I asked, thinking maybe that would keep me from moving my legs excitedly and provoking the hunters. After all, we'd be gripping a rope with our heads peered into the depths below, not swimming or snorkeling anywhere.
The captain replied, "No, you should wear your fins." Good thinking, I thought, if anything goes wrong better the sharks bite the plastic tips of my fins than my actual toe or foot.
In the water we snorkelers quickly bunched along the rope, bumping and squeezing together. The waves seemed high, frequently filling our life giving snorkel tubes and frustrating any sense of organization. But the deeper water was unexpectedly warmer than in the shallower reef we had just visited. Maybe the temperature calmed my initial anxiety because when I finally placed my mask-covered face in the water, the sight of sharks several feet below wasn't terrifying; it was breathtaking.
The chum line hung almost motionless below us, a testament to the calmer water beneath our bobbing bodies. In this serenity a few sharks sleekly glided, darting at sharp angles across each other's paths while circling the bait-filled box.
I snapped some photos with my underwater camera, careful to keep the apparatus close to my body. But the tossing waves seemed to keep me from catching any good shots. Our guide might have sensed my frustration, or maybe he wanted me to enjoy a once-in-a-lifetime experience in real-time. Whatever the reason, he grabbed my camera, took a breath and free-dove to chum-level and snapped some close-up shots of the swimming sharks. I am eternally grateful for both his bravery and experience in capturing some amazing shots.
I suspect we passengers never got closer than a dozen feet to these hunters of the seas. And I can only guess how many there were as my field of vision in a snorkel mask was limited. But some of my shots show at least three.
Apparently the Caribbean reef shark is a scavenger hunter, preying on easy catches of weakened fish or pieces that are left over from another predator's hunt and meal. So as long as we didn't seem distressed we were safe from this common shark of the eastern Atlantic's tropical waters.
After our few minutes adventure and safely back on the vessel, it was time to pull up the chum-filled box. That's when it seems like a dozen reef sharks clamored at the boat's stern, drawn in a sensory frenzy to the possibility of a meal. The fracas was close and dangerous, only an arm's length away from the safety of our transport. But I wasn't scared or sickened; instead I was awestruck by yet another precious moment in this adventure. My short time in the water made me less fearful and apprehensive of a dorsal fin skimming so close by above the water's surface, even though it was attached to a ten-foot predator.
So am I actually a thrill seeker? I still tend to think not. Speed and danger are not an excitement for me; on the contrary, they make me nauseous. But I would like to think that my next time snorkeling on a reef in the Bahamas, or Maui, or anywhere, I won't be afraid when I spot a reef shark. Instead I'll remember what I learned about a new and unfamiliar animal, the Caribbean reef shark, on my 55th birthday. This first-hand education is the only thrill I seek.
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| Caribbean reef sharks with chum-filled box. |
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| Reef shark with chum box. |
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| Reef sharks with chum box. |
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| Our guide's shot of reef shark. |
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| Our guide's shot of reef shark. |
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| Our guide's shot of reef shark. |
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| Our guide's shot of reef shark. |
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| Reef shark. |
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| Reef shark off the stern of boat. |
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| Reef sharks. |
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| Caribbean reef shark. |
Mike! Very enjoy reading your blogs and feel what you were experiencing, now I found you can do more than a photographer, you can be an author, seriously.
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