The International Writers Magazine: Meeting up with a Great White

Jaws of a Dilemma • Tony Fosgate I am bobbing about in a tiny boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean, its engines cut so that the only sound is that of the choppy waters slashing at its sides. Powerless, it drifts as it rolls one way and then another in the endless sparkling blue sea.

Above us a cloud of gannets hover, attracted by whatever pickings may eventually be left. The salty tang of the sea air is infused with the rich scent of blood. I yearn to be back on dry land. I could be in my hotel room right now, watching the Discovery channel, or visiting the Cape Town aquarium, followed by a nice fish lunch. I have no idea what I am doing here.

Clearly this is not a good place to be. Out here the water is infested with large, sharp toothed predators, just circling as they look around for a bite. You really wouldn't want to attract their attention.

So it's strange that from the back of the boat our South African skipper Hansie is happily munching on a sandwich, seemingly unconcerned. In fact with his other hand he is tossing out ladles of their favourite treat of evil smelling fish guts and blood in an effort to entice them to take a closer look- at us.

Even worse, a metal contraption floats on the surface, tethered to the boat. It looks like a wire basket. Hansie tells me it is made of galvanised steel, and in any event the monsters we are about to encounter cannot see through it. "They only see the cage," he says, "not what is inside it." It is something to do with magnetic fields. The basket has a big viewing slot under the surface which presumably you don't stick your fingers through, and hand holds above a small step to balance on.

I look dubious, mostly at the fact that the only thing standing between me and over two tonnes of big fish with killer attitude is a bar no thicker than one of my still attached thumbs.

Still, the idea is to pop into that "can" when the visitors arrive for lunch , to slip into the chilly blue water and duck down so that you can get a good view, so that you can get up close and personal, eyeball to eyeball, with the unblinking stare of a great white shark. Well, why wouldn't you?
On deck we are all ordered to zip up our wetsuits in readiness. I fumble with mine. Everyone is looking nervous, scared even, or is that just me?.

I am on a vessel that suddenly seems, really, really tiny and looks like the boat in "Jaws", at least before it sank. A great white by contrast is really, really big, about the length of a family saloon car, and that's with all the kids in the back.

It also has a head full of teeth, keen as hunting knives and longer than your big finger. Up to 300 at any time are stuffed in its mouth, the better to eat you with. Hansie doesn't mention this. Nor the fact that its bite is equivalent to a couple of lions doing their worst.

I am sharing the boat with some wide eyed Americans clutching expensive digital equipment, a brace of Swedish college kids, still sleepy from a 5am wake- up call in their Cape Town hotel, and

Annette and Klaus, a German couple who totally confound national stereotypes by having a magnificent sense of humour . At least they find me in my wetsuit and goggles, hilarious.

The conditions are breezy. One of the kids has turned green. Annette looks sick but is determined to track down what she charmingly calls "The bitey" as if she is already on matey terms with one of these pitiless killing machines. Eyes scan the horizon as the Americans fiddle with the shake on their camcorders. We are all on the lookout for fins.

Way behind us is the Western Cape's coast and the port of Gansbaai, until the early 90's a sleepy fishing village and now Mecca for the kind of "shark tourism" that is in increasing demand as we look for ever more edgy adventures. Days start early as at least ten tour operators vie with each other to launch their boats laden with the kind of tourist dollars they could only have dreamt of in the days when there were just fish. All of them promote their conservation and eco credentials and quite rightly- they have proved that a live shark is more valuable than a hunted one, so ensuring their survival.

They are not above advertising the thrill element though- "guaranteed to get the adrenaline going," they say. I know what they mean. "White Shark Ecoventures", one of the operators out of Gansbaai, offers a full briefing before setting out, and in the case of some of us a superfluous breakfast.

I am the proud owner of one of their baseball caps and tee shirts proclaiming, "I dived with White Sharks." It has a cartoon of a spiv like shark grinning at a diver whose goggles leap out of his face. I hope it is not tempting fate.

Right now, on the boat, I am clinging on to Annette in my slick wetsuit, trying not to look like a seal.
We are plying the waters of "Shark Alley" which boasts one of the largest concentrations of Great Whites on the planet, courtesy of a local colony of Cape fur seals which act as a plentiful fast food takeaway for the sharks. Despite such riches and the prospect of frequently "going large" the Great Whites sometimes need encouragement, hence the smelly slick of fish bits and worse that trails behind the boat. It is this process, called "chumming" that attracts their attention on a slow day.

It has also attracted the attention of critics of the industry who claim that it is establishing a link between shark feeding and human presence that is getting downright dangerous for those surfers and divers that swim in the open waters off the coast. they charge the shark tourism business with damaging the fragile marine eco system and changing the behaviour of the sharks, and suggest it is behind the increasing shark attacks that are being reported not just in South Africa but in places such as Australia and Mexico where enthusiasts flock to go cage diving.

Paul Botha, a local veteran water sports promoter and campaigner is on record as saying that he believes, "the industry as a whole is conditioning the sharks,", and that they are , "becoming bolder."
He also decries the whole practice of chumming. "You don't chum for whales or put a dead mule at the waterhole when you're looking for lions," he says. " If you want to see great whites, then get in a

boat and go and look for them. If this is so safe why not put the people in the water without the cage?"
But others disagree. Dr Michael Scholl, a world renewed marine biologist and conservationist who is an expert on the Great white and supports the responsible side of the shark tourism industry, rejects the idea that there is a link between chumming and humans in the fishy mind.
"These sharks are not resident here," he says, "so those encountered on a daily basis are not the same individuals and cannot develop any kind of response as they are not receiving frequent enough 'training.'"

He also believes that the sharks do not "see" us humans. "A shark perceives the boat, the cage, and those on board as one entity, larger than itself-as a lion perceives a safari vehicle and its load of passengers. If a person falls overboard, then they are toast, just as a safari tourist would be if they left the vehicle in the proximity of lions."
I am hoping that I am not going to fall into the category of toast.

I came to South Africa, after all, on a sedate holiday to follow its "Garden route", along the south western coast, a place of sun dappled vineyards and eye spanking colonial whitewashed towns, whose prettiness often belies past and present troubles. The region is topped off by the majestic slab of Table Mountain and Cape Town's waterfront tourist bustle.

But most of all there is the sea. In a place where the Atlantic and Indian oceans smash together, the kind of marine life thrown out is a source of wonder, and I am not immune to following the crowd, right or wrong.

Still, the ethics of it all swim out of my head when the first fin breaks the surface. There is movement in the water and pandemonium on board. This is the moment we have been waiting for. I hold back politely to give others their turn, but finally I am coaxed into the cage. The water is murky but out of the gloom a torpedo like shape suddenly emerges. It is awesomely huge and sleek and fills the field of vision with its slate grey body and white underbelly. It lunges for the bait dangled over the side, a breeze block sized cube of fish which is quickly withdrawn. The cage rocks.

I hold my breath as it carries on circling the boat, jaw hung open, snout probing, curious as to what it has found.

Then it turns and comes for me with a horror movie grin full of daggers. At the last moment it bumps the cage, brushing past me with the arrogance of a creature for which I am beneath notice.
These have just been some of the most heart thumping and exhilarating few seconds of my life.

Back in England I am swapping shark tales with Annette over the internet and she is still talking about the "Bitey".

Meanwhile the press is awash with the news that the Australian government is thinking about scuppering its own shark encounters industry and has already banned all cage diving off its western coast following a spate of shark attacks which have lead to four deaths among surfers. It may only be a matter of time before other parts of the world, including South Africa, are forced to think about doing the same. Unless a solution can be found, meetings with the big fish may become more rare.
Which would be a shame. Because a photograph is not the same and nor is an aquarium.
Sometimes you just have to be there.

From Gansbaai any number of operators will take you out to view or dive with the sharks for approximately £130 per day (R1400). No particular expertise is required for using the surface cage. Booking for more than one day is best as the sharks don't always turn up. Cape Town is about 100 miles west along the "Garden Route", one of the most stunning coastal journeys in the world. Nearby Hermanus, close to where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet, is arguably the whale watching capital of the world.

© Tony Fosgate August 2012
tony.fosgate@tiscali.co.uk

Marine Dynamic Tours Gansbai

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