Sharks have always fascinated me, their cold emotionless eyes watching with interest and perhaps calculating if I would make a good meal. The first time I saw one was in Australia. A five-foot long Whitetip Reef Shark (Triaenodon obesus) swam right up to my face veering off only at the last instant. Everyone says to remain calm when confronted by a large shark. At the time, I thought that the people offering this advice obviously never tried to put it to use. Stay calm? My heart pounded furiously and one thing was certain: I was out of my element. This shark knew I was scared and there was nothing I could do about it. The next move was his.

He circled around for another look, passed within a few feet of me, and continued on out to sea. I never saw him again on that dive. This seemed to contradict everything I'd heard about sharks. Where was the attack, the danger? Later, I learned that in this area the Whitetip Reef Shark is relatively shy and unagressive. It is still a shark though, and one this size deserves respect. "Well, so much for sharks," I thought.

For three and one half years I lived on the tip of Australia's Northwest Cape, in the town of Exmouth. During that period, I encountered sharks almost every time I went diving and after a while, grew complacent about their presence. They were never a problem, more like a nuisance, and I accepted their existence to the point that I looked forward to seeing them, which was rather foolish.

My friend Richard came by one afternoon and asked me to take him snorkeling. "I'm planning a barbecue", he said, "and I'd like to catch some rock lobsters." I was more than happy to help him because it would give me a chance to restock my refrigerator, too. So, early the next morning, we set off to a place called Lighthouse Bay.

The wind had been blowing all night and as we drove over the dunes to the beach, I could see a long surf-line sweeping into the bay. The waves were not very large, perhaps two to three feet high, but they had churned up the sandy bottom and turned the water a milky blue-white color. The sets broke about fifty yards from shore, right at the edge of the reef. From there, a hard rocky bottom sloped up to the beach. We hurriedly put on our gear, waded out, and started swimming.

The water was exceptionally stirred up and the visibility almost zero, but out beyond the breakers it appeared to be clear. I assured Rich that the diving would be better once we got out there and urged him to keep swimming. As we passed through the surf, the silt began to settle and soon we could see nearly fifteen feet. Not great, but the water is shallow and already I can see the antennae of a big lobster protruding from under a ledge.

Within half an hour, we had grabbed two of them and were attempting to get a third one that had backed into it's hole. I dove down and looked inside. A long twisted tunnel passed completely through the reef and the lobster stood silhouetted against the rear opening, just beyond my reach. However, something else was in there too, a small shark, lying off to one side in the shadows. Returning to the surface, I told Rich the situation and of my plan to dive back down and chase the shark away by prodding it with my speargun. "Watch the other opening," I said, "in case the lobster slips out that way."

Once on the bottom, I set my gun down and looked into the hole. The lobster was still there, but I could no longer see the shark. Where did it go? Common sense kept me from making a grab for the lobster. I knew better than to reach in there until certain it was safe. With my lungs straining for another breath of air, I went back to the surface.

I began to tell Rich what I had seen when the water splashed behind me. Turning, I saw a large dark shape just under the ripples, about fifty-feet away. "Only a big sea turtle," I thought. Suddenly, a huge fin rose out of the water and sliced through the sea toward us. Shark! Instantly I pulled in my arms and legs making myself appear as small as possible. I kept looking below the surface, but could not see him yet. He drew closer and I watched, unable to move, as his fin slid quietly beneath the waves. I waited, looking furtively, straining to see through the murky depths, and saw nothing. He was gone, but where?

My speargun lay on the bottom below me. I desperately wanted to feel it's smooth surface resting in my hands, but to get it I had to uncurl my body and stretch out as I swam down, presenting an easy target to this predator. Staying on the surface was as bad as going for the gun, but action rather than inaction seemed a better choice, so quickly I dove down, grabbed onto a rock and reached out for my weapon.

At that moment, the shark came up from behind me passing so close that the water surging off his powerful body pushed me to the side. I looked up as he disappeared into the depths. He was big, maybe six feet long, and looked like a type the Australians call a Bronze Whaler (Carcharhinus brachyurus). This was a dangerous species and locally, had a bad reputation. With my gun in hand, I kicked toward the surface. Calmly, I told Rich to stay close to me and swim toward shore.

My buddy did not seem to understand the danger we were in and wanted to get some more lobsters. Later he told me, "You said you were going to chase out a shark, I thought that was the one." I finally convinced him that we needed to get to the beach and we started the long swim back.

The shark circled us now, and I caught glimpses of him as he passed by, first from one direction and then another, but never where I expected him to be. We still had over one hundred yards to swim and my mind raced ahead to the surf line. The visibility in there was bad, and I knew that the shark could see no better than we could. If an attack was going to happen, this would be the most likely spot. Believing that you are about to be eaten does wonders for your imagination. I had a vision of the shark with a napkin tucked under his chin and we were the dinner. It took all my effort to keep swimming and not let these wild thoughts make me panic.

The water turned milky around us as we groped along the last fifty yards to the shore. Large shadows slid by causing my heart to skip. I remember thinking that the end was near. When my feet touched the bottom I nearly flew across the last bit of surf and up onto the beach. Dry sand never felt so good.

Many minutes passed before I felt calm enough to tell Rich how close we had been to serious trouble. He never got scared and I think that is what saved us. I said I would chase out a shark. He felt that since I was the expert, I must know what I am doing and everything will be all right. If he had only known how concerned I was, the ending to this story might have been different.

The sea contains an enormous diversity of life and some of it is dangerous. The goal of this story is not to promote fear. Certainly the possibility of meeting sharks exists, but it should not be a deterrent to diving. In more than 14 years of regular diving, this is one of only two times that I felt seriously threatened by the marine life I encountered.

Reflecting on the series of events preceding that day, I realized that repetition or familiarity can make one indifferent or careless. Continued diving education is the key, you must be informed, aware, and well trained, because unforeseen events can turn a commonplace day into a life and death struggle. I have learned to be more cautious in my scuba diving and to never underestimate the ocean. It is a beautiful place to visit when you give it the respect it deserves.

The End

Author's Note:
The events in this story took place in 1983. At that time spear fishing was legal on the Northwest Cape. Since then this area has been included in the Ningaloo Marine Park and is now protected. The spearguns we carried were used only to obtain fish and were in no way used to illegally take rock lobsters. For an excellent website on the Ningaloo Marine Park visit the Ningaloo Marine Park & Exmouth Gulf.