Cage diving with the Great Whites

EDITOR’S NOTE: Starting this month, Northwest native and recent Spokane resident Andrea Shearer will begin sharing her interesting travel stories. Over the last decade, Andrea has lived, worked, vacationed, studied and volunteered on almost every continent. Now, she is happy to share her exciting adventures – everything from diving with sharks to trekking through the desert – with PINCH readers! You can also find her travel advice and answers to reader questions at www.awayfinderonline.com. Questions for Andrea can be sent via joebu@spokesman.com.

They say the best way to overcome a fear is to face it head on. So when presented with an opportunity to face my greatest fear, I decided to test the theory.

Since I was little, I have had an irrational fear of sharks. Not that being wary of sharks in and of itself is irrational, but my particular fear is of the absolutely terrified, freeze-inducing variety. And as an avid SCUBA diver, this has led to some extremely uncomfortable underwater showdowns. I actually tell new dive buddies about my phobia before a dive so they know to watch for, and hopefully excuse, any unprofessional, uncool behavior not expected from a seasoned Divemaster. Like clawing my way to the surface for dear life.

While I have yet to follow through on this flight-or-faster flight instinct of preservation, I worry that one day my cool exterior will crack. Will it be the next shark, or the one after that, which sends me to the decompression chamber?

On a recent trip to South Africa, I attempted to rid myself of this long-term phobia by signing up for an adventure excursion. I took the opportunity to go cage diving with the great whites.

On an early, overcast morning in August, our small group of adventure seekers climbed into the waiting minivan. We had a two hour drive to the launch point in Gansbaai. Too early to talk, let alone think, I curled into my oversized fleece hoodie and catnapped most of the way. It was blessedly quiet on the ride, as even the morning people in the van were subdued. I don’t know if it was tiredness or trepidation, but either way it allowed me those few precious hours I needed to face the day and the upcoming challenge.

Arriving in Gansbaai we piled out of the van and stumbled into a quaint hotel café. It was much more welcoming than I had been expecting for a shark encounter orientation venue. In retrospect, I think the excursion organizers did this in an attempt to relax us and create a comforting atmosphere. It didn’t help.

Three cups of coffee, an orientation video, and a pep talk later, we were back in the minivan heading down the hill to the docks. An 8-kilometer (5 mile) boat ride took us out to aptly named Shark Alley. An underwater valley between adjoining Dyer Island and Geyser Rock, Shark Alley is only 5 meters (15 feet) deep. Attracted to the area by the numerous seals and penguins that inhabit the islands, sharks are forced close to the surface while passing through the shallow channel. It is here that tourists wait to catch a glimpse of the most intimidating member of the shark family.

To entice the sharks even closer, bait in the form of large fish heads is thrown over the side, attached to long ropes. The smell of blood brings the great whites right alongside the boat. In an effort at responsible tourism, the boat operators don’t allow the sharks to actually eat the bait. The theory behind this is the age old concept of not feeding animals in the wild. So instead, the bait is hauled back on board just as the sharks are about to bite down.

And I find myself asking, what in the world possessed me to board a relatively small boat, set out into the Indian Ocean, and purposefully surround myself with hungry, pissed-off predators?

And yet, watching them from the top deck was incredible. I was mesmerized to see a fin racing through the water. Then a flash of single purpose, double row teeth set in a pointed head with dark, beady eyes emerged with a splash. All of this ugly was countered by the body following- sleek, powerful, and smooth. As the sharks breached, they would roll, showing the brilliant white of their bellies.

Once I got past the face, I found them to be beautiful. Like a lion on the savannah, their ferocious heads, combined with their perfectly formed muscular bodies, clearly identified them as kings of the deep.

When I first boarded the boat, and continuing throughout the ride to Shark Alley, I wasn’t sure I would actually get in the cage. Regardless of the reinforced, double-bar, steel construction, I was leaning towards staying warm, dry, and in one piece. But by the time I was told to suit up, I was downstairs, wetsuit on, waiting my turn at the cage before consciously deciding to brave the beasts. Somehow I’d gone from dreading the experience to eagerly anticipating my face-to-face encounter.

And I wasn’t disappointed. Even though the water was a balmy 14 degrees Celsius (57 degrees Fahrenheit), I didn’t feel it. Later, I wouldn’t feel anything, and it would be a full two hours before I would feel my toes again. But during my time in the cage, I was only aware of the magnificent creatures swimming around me.

The perspective from the cage was completely different from that on deck. Not only did I have a close up of their razor sharp teeth and those eerie, depthless eyes, but I could appreciate their lightning quick turns and agility that belied their size and bulk.

At 3 to 5 meters (9 to 15 feet) in length, they dwarfed the cage. Mix that with their weight (approximately 600 to 1,100 kilograms/1,300 to 2,400 pounds) and power, and you can well imagine the jolt I got every time they rammed my protective steel enclosure. Shockingly, I felt no fear. I was absolutely exhilarated and in complete awe.

When my time in the cage was over, I grudgingly crawled out of the water. I spent the first ten minutes on deck in the fetal position, willing blood back into my extremities. Once again dry and no longer life-threateningly cold, the enormity of what I’d done and, more importantly, my reaction to it sank in.

I had faced the great whites. I had stared my greatest fear in the face – literally. And I wanted to do it again.

Since this experience, I have dove on a number of occasions. While the sight of a shark does not entice me to chase it down and try to pet it, as some of my more suicidal friends attempt to do, neither do I feel that overwhelming urge to inflate my BCD and rocket to the surface. Instead, I watch them glide by with a newfound appreciation. After taking a few slow, deep breaths, of course.