Ocean
Watch
Monday, December 2, 1996
Don’t bite the shark
who bites you, ocean-lovers say
RECENTLY, while working as a volunteer in the remote
Hawaiian Island National Wildlife Refuge in Hawaii's northwest chain, two
other volunteers and I decided to go snorkeling.
"Every time I've been snorkeling here, I've seen a
shark," I told my companions, both new to Hawaii, as we walked to the
beach.
"What kind?" one asked.
"Gray reef. They're no problem if you stay out of
their space," I said boldly. "They're territorial."
We sat in the blinding-white sand, put on our gear and
soon took the plunge.
Seconds later, my prophesy came true. A gray reef shark
appeared in the clear blue water of the drop-off before me.
Although every rational cell in my brain told me this
was OK, my fear won the moment. I motioned to my friends to follow me,
then swam like crazy for the beach.
"I saw a shark," I said when we got back.
"It scared me."
They accepted this. I was the experienced ocean person
with local knowledge. If I were out of the water, so were they.
The two women began examining shells on the beach, but
I sat staring out to sea. How could this happen? I love to snorkel and
dive in interesting places like this. And I've often done it with sharks
and did fine. But not this time. Today I was afraid.
How do we ocean-lovers cope with such unwanted fears?
Star-Bulletin reporter Greg Ambrose attacks this question head-on in his
new book, "Shark Bites, True Tales of Survival" (Bess Press).
Greg's approach to the complicated and controversial fear-of-sharks issue
is to tell the stories of people who were attacked and survived. Kevin
Hand, Star-Bulletin artist and marine enthusiast, illustrates each
incident with flair.
Don't pretend it doesn't happen, the pictures and
stories say. Face it. The ocean is the sharks' home. Sometimes, sharks
bite people. It's frightening, but victims usually survive. Now get over
it, and go enjoy the water.
When I read these stories, I saw a pattern. The sharks
in these attacks weren't interested in actually eating people. They saw
something that appeared to have potential as food and checked it out. It
wasn't right. They left.
This supports a theory that Greg discusses in his
introduction. Most shark attacks are cases of mistaken identity. Sharks
evolved millions of years before humans even existed, thus, "We
aren't on the menu. Humans are an oddity rather than a meal."
This rationale and the stories in "Shark
Bites" won't work for people who are so afraid of sharks they can't
relax in, or even enter, the ocean. I know several of these dry-landers.
But for the rest of us, the tales are an inspiration.
Nearly all of the attack victims still surf and dive (although they have
their moments) and believe the attack held a message. "It changed my
living patterns and exposed me to other things. ... In some ways, it added
to my life," one survivor said.
"I walked out onto the front yard and saw blue
ocean like I had never seen it before," said another after an attack.
"You just have to be thankful and enjoy every day, every
moment."
Speaking of enjoying the day, I sat on that Tern Island
beach brooding about sharks for about 10 minutes. Then I donned my mask
and fins and led my friends back into the water.
Each of them got a thrilling look at the curious shark,
then it disappeared.
It was a wonderful day of snorkeling, complete with
finding a place where six turtles were grazing. One was missing a rear
flipper from a shark bite. Oddly, this encouraged me. Predator-prey
relationships are the driving force of the marine world, and we humans are
not a natural part of it.
I'm proud of myself for taking Greg and Kevin's advice
that day: I faced my fear of sharks, then got over it and had fun.
