Shark Water: Dispelling the Myths

Photo courtesy of Ocean Ramsey, One Ocean Diving

At first, they were just pale forms beneath the boat as we pulled up over a section of deep blue water off the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. The sharks rose quickly, their forms growing larger until fins broke the surface, circling one another in a frenzy of excitement. I peered over the edge of the boat and counted seven sharks in the water, many larger than myself. They rose higher and as a couple began jumping, our guide, Ocean Ramsey told us to gear up. It was now time to get into the water. Naturally, I was nervous but excited as I donned my snorkel and fins. And oh, one more thing, I also just started my period.

By going into the water, I was dispelling two myths at the same time: 1) sharks are blood thirsty man eaters, and 2) it’s deadly for a woman to swim in the ocean on her period. But mainly, I was there because I wanted to understand these creatures the way our guide does. Ocean Ramsey has devoted her life to shark study, and is one of the leading marine biologists trying to protect them. You may have seen her in recent videos taking the internet by storm – she’s that tiny blonde girl who dives down next to the Great White and holds onto its pectoral fin, riding it for as long as she can hold her breath. The shark is aware of her presence but doesn’t seem to mind her touch in the slightest. Ocean herself is the epitome of grace, oozing a gentle confidence, at home in the water. On the ride out to the site, she and our other guide Sophie shared some alarming facts about shark population decline and explain the rules of our excursion very clearly.

Rule number 1: maintain eye contact. Prey tries to hide, looks away as it turns and flees. When you look eye to eye with a shark, you meet it predator to predator. Rule number 2: no thrashing, no wild swimming with your hands. Don’t give the sharks any reason to believe you are struggling, or nervous, or moving so fast it looks like small fish (fingers) around you are up for grabs. Rule number 3: don’t get below them. Sharks school in a hierarchy with the apex predators on top in the shallows and lesser, lower individuals on the totem pole down deeper.  

It took a while to relax. Climbing down the ladder, I was trying to control my thumping heart because I just learned that sharks can feel your heart beat, feel your electromagnetic energy and know when you are confident or afraid.  It wasn’t fear I felt, but adrenaline, holding on to the rope strung on the side of the boat looking down on more sharks than I could count at one time. It wasn’t eyes I saw when I looked at them below me, it was graceful sleek grey bodies. The sharks were curious. Even though we hadn’t baited them by throwing chum in the water, they stayed near our boat, circling in an unpredictable manner. A large female Galapagos Shark approached and swam by, just feet from me.  Obviously the apex predator, she had bite marks on her body and a tall sharp dorsal fin. This shark became my favorite, as I tried to see them as Ocean does, big beautiful powerful beings with names like “Unicorn” and “Waffles,” not the fictional man eaters starring in horror films. The media has spoon-fed humanity a misunderstanding of sharks and taught us to fear them. I meet so many people who are vacationing in Hawaii while scared to death of the ocean, not putting a toe in because a shark might attack them like it did in that recent movie.  Which is sad and silly, considering people are ten times more likely to get bit by a New Yorker than a shark. More people die annually from getting hit by lightning, from falling coconuts, from vending machines toppling over for goodness sakes! Cows are more dangerous! The truth is, there are on average ten deaths a year by sharks, and we are killing over one hundred million annually around the globe. So who is the real blood thirsty murderer here?  

Photo thanks to Ocean Ramsey, One Ocean Diving

As Unicorn circled back around, Ocean invited me away from the boat to swim with her. That was a relief, as it was getting exhausting trying to hold on, trying to maintain eye contact, to not get swept under the boat by the changing current, not get hit by the ladder as it bounced next to me in the churning surface. Ocean motioned me forward, pointed in the direction that was safe to dive, and I went down without hesitation. Underwater, it was instantly calm, quiet, and I was comfortable in my deep blue element (that is, with 17 schooling sharks). Being beneath the surface in their territory was amazing. The sharks didn’t change their path at all, they didn’t swim up to me, nor swim faster. As I dove, I looked up to the boat and when I looked back I was in shark traffic, making eye contact with a Sandbar shark. With a more pointed nose than the Galapagos, his stare was intense. His eyes cut straight through me and my heart stopped for a second. There was nothing evil nor menacing in his gaze, but it was without a doubt the most direct look I have received in my life. Realizing I was below the apex and lower in the school than I should be, I swam up ten feet and Ocean and I switched direction and swam up the water column back to the boat.

Photo Courtesy of Ocean Ramsey, One Ocean Diving

During the entire hour and a half we were in the water, the sharks paid no more attention to me on my period than anyone else. The myth about them being able to smell a drop of blood a mile away and heading over to eat you immediately is just that: a myth. They do have an incredible sense of smell, but our blood doesn’t smell appetizing to them as we are not on their menu. Seals, tuna, sure. Attacks happen when sharks confuse us in murky water for their food source, not because we have a scrape or are on our period.  Let’s put it this way: just because you can smell a rotting dumpster half a block away doesn’t mean you want to run over there to eat out of it. But when you smell bacon on the street, you are interested, looking around, wondering which house it is coming from. Tuna blood is the drop of blood a shark would follow to investigate. Human blood is not.  

They belong in the ocean more than we do, they are an intricate part of the ecosystem and we are wiping them out at a rate of three every second.  Primarily, this slaughter is in Asia for a prestigious Chinese delicacy that represents high stature – shark fin soup.  It is a tasteless bowl of luxury, and millions of sharks lose their life for it annually. But it’s not only in Asia, shark meat is also used in dogfood, and shark cartilage in supplements - both of which are on the shelf in your local grocery store.

The other main reason behind our widespread hunting is fear. I have met sharks face to face, and felt safe the entire time. But most of humanity meets computer generated shark images face to TV screen where they are portrayed in an evil light and feel afraid. Yes, they are bigger and stronger and faster (sorry Michael Phelps) than us, but they don’t want to eat us. They’re not interested in our blood at all. Sharks are not hunting us, it is the exact opposite. And if it continues at this rate, the delicate balance of the underwater ecosystem will be damaged beyond repair.  At top of the food chain, sharks keep the underwater homeostasis of the ocean. Without them, algae may overtake coral reefs, disease may wipe out hundreds of species of fish, including ones we rely on for food, and our fisheries would shut down.

Australia has implemented a cull, meaning that in attempts to make murky waters safer for surfers who look like seals in their wetsuits and thrash like they’re struggling when off the board, sharks are being caught in masses on drum lines and killed.  94% of those caught are Tiger sharks, which are nearing endangerment and have not been responsible for a fatal attack in the area since 1929. What if, instead of killing the sharks, we could kill our own fear? That’s why Ocean Ramsey’s work is so important. As Baba Dioum reminds us, "in the end we will conserve only what we love; we will love only what we understand; and we will understand only what we are taught." Education is a key piece to sharks’ and our oceans’ survival.

           WHAT YOU CAN DO:

• Try keeping an open mind and understand the reality behind our spoon-fed perception of sharks.  Don’t believe everything you see on TV. Understand that your fear is learned, and sometimes it is not based on facts at all. If you can learn it, you have the power to unlearn it.

• Be a conscious consumer. Don’t buy products made from sharks. The obvious one is the shark tooth necklace – if it isn’t a fossil, don’t buy it. Sharks are also often found in vitamins, supplements labeled as shark cartilage, squalamine lactate, AE-941 and U-995. Sharkskin is used in several countries including the United States for belts purses, shoes and labeled as shagreen. Sharks are often dogfood ingredients labeled as: spiny dogfish, rock salmon and thresher.

• Support organizations that are fighting to save marine wildlife. Sea Shephard, Wild Aid, Humane Society International, Shark Savers, Shark Research Institute, Shark Angels, Project AWARE, just to name a few.

• If you’re up for it, go see Ocean Ramsey and meet her friends the sharks face to face in a safe environment. See how beautiful they are and see for yourself and how different they are from the demons media portrays them as. (Meet Beast, and see not the monster but the heart) If you can’t get to Hawaii to do this, or your fear won’t let you, talk about it with others, recommend it. Live vicariously through them, and at least spread a more positive outlook. Get different information out there that is closer to the truth. www.oneoceandiving.com

• If you are seated at a restaurant with Shark Fin Soup on the menu, get up. Respectfully explain to the manager why you will not be dining there as you will not support any place that serves this dish, therefore promoting mindless slaughter.  Ask them to consider removing it from their menu and calmly walk out. It is only by hearing opposition and seeing dollars walk out the door that restaurants will withdraw their financial support of shark finning. You don’t have to be rude about it, but please understand that even by ordering something else on their menu, you are still supporting a business that contributes to the decline of a critically endangered species. In the two minutes this takes to do, 360 sharks are killed by humans.

• Ask your local restaurants where their fish and chips are sourced from. Keep in mind that shark meat is served under different names such as: spiny dogfish, rock fish, rock salmon, thresher, huss, rig or rock eel and flake. Shark species used in restaurants are being fished to the brink of extinction.  

• Educate yourself and others with facts. Read the articles produced by Shark Research Institute and other organizations that have studied sharks, not criminalized them for entertainment. Watch Ocean Ramsey’s TED Talk. Watch the videos of her swimming with Tiger sharks and Great Whites and coexisting in a peaceful manner. You Tube the man who cuts his wrist in a school of Great Whites and see how uninterested they are as he bleeds around them. Sharks are not mindless killers. It is not their intent to harm us. We are not on their menu, but they certainly are on ours.  We kill 11,4017 sharks per hour.

For a powerful visual graph of the comparison, click  here

Getting the Shot - the Delicate Business of Earning Trust

Earning a wild animal's trust is a remarkable gift.  Especially within predator and prey roles. On my dive site, an octopus's relationship with humans usually ends with a spear gun. They're so rare, I see one in every fifty dives for a good reason - they're tasty. Everything, including the average male, is out to eat them.

I quit eating octopuses years ago when I truly got serious about scuba diving. I cherished my interactions with these highly intelligent creatures, so I just couldn't be a part of their demise. I still eat seafood, just not the characters I've made a personal connection with.

I recently upgraded to a serious new camera with an involved underwater housing and this week took it diving for the very first time. I was so excited to get it in the water, and wasn't sure what I would shoot. I was hoping for a nudibranch (sea slug) that would hold still while I fidgeted with the settings and experimented. I mean, there's bound to be a huge learning curve with the new toy, right?
What I met was so much better.

She was about thirty feet from me when I spotted her, and I approached slowly. She did the same thing all octopuses do when they see a diver and tucked down, reducing her size to hide in a hole. Because they don't have bones in their body, octopus can really make themselves shrink.
Before she disappeared, I took this photo. This is what most of my octopus photos in the past (that I have felt really lucky to capture) have looked like. (Hint: She's that perfectly camouflaged reddish bit in the center.)

Usually, I leave, and when I get twenty feet or so away, the octopus will come halfway out to check and see if I'm gone. They're curious, they can't help but watch us go. But this particular morning, I decided to try something different. There was a sand patch nearby so I lay in it, careful to keep my fins up from touching the surrounding coral. And then, silly as it seems, I put it out there. I explained to the octopus that I had no intention of hurting her, or eating her or molesting her by pulling her out of her hole. I made my energy as small as possible and tried to tell her I was not a threat. I was in wonder of who she is, I wouldn't touch her or disturb her at all - I merely wanted to see her, to photograph her.

She peeked a black eye out of the hole's entrance and looked at me. I held very still, and yet, you just can't hide bubbles. But other than breathing, I was the epitome of peace.

In my experience, all octopus hide until you've gone, but this one got my message. She rose slowly, cautiously out of her safe haven and watched me watch her. After a few minutes, I chanced it and moved closer, taking photos.

The more she realized I wasn't a threat, the farther she came out of her hole until I could see all eight legs and watch her hearts beat, watch her breathe. She changed texture, but not color unless I moved another inch forward.

Soon we were about two feet from one another. I could see the individual chromatophors (color changing cells) on her skin. I was awestruck. Because, well, let me put it this way - on my official nametag as an employee of the Westin Hotel, under my name it states my passion as: cephalopods. I'm fascinated by them and here I was, having a staring contest with an older, more experienced, curious one.

They say octopus have a vivid memory and can recognize specific humans, even when those people change clothes.  I hope she remembers our agreement next time too.

The octopus allowed me to stay and hang out with her for half an hour. I felt blessed, ecstatic, grateful, and was the first one to leave. She obviously had important octo things to do, after all.

I find this same principle to be true while traveling. When there is a language barrier, it is the energy you exude that makes a connection, that tells someone if you are dangerous or safe.  Without speaking a word, you can be of peace, show your respect and make a new friend.

What Guiding Means

After working in close proximity and sharing office space with another dive company, I have been watching how others operate above and below the water. As a dive instructor, I have been struck by the huge variance in guides. And after shadowing my husband Tim today at his dive site, watching him lead dives and teach, I am inspired to write about it.

Google defines a guide as: “a person who advises or shows the way to others.” For many companies in our little section of land in the Pacific, a dive guide is someone who leads an underwater tour. As I have observed in the company working nearest to me, they go in at the same place, the same time, following the same routine: take a group in, swim with their back to the participants looking for some cool wildlife to show them, often handling said wildlife. Sometimes they do a dive briefing, sometimes they don’t. For some guides, the class is an opportunity for them to show you how much they know. So basically, a guide here on our island, with few rare exceptions, is a person who takes you in the ocean and points out cool stuff. There is nothing wrong with that kind of guide. Hundreds of people have had fun in the ocean with guides like that this year alone.

It’s just that what we do is entirely different.

Who we are at heart as well as our intensive training reflects in our guiding style. For Tim and I, a guide is someone who is with you from square one, addressing your concerns, tailoring the dive to your needs and abilities. A guide is someone who holds your hand if you are unsure, helps calm you down and gets you to breathe through the learning curve. A guide is someone who is watching so they can reach out and gently lift you before you skin your knee on corral. A guide is someone who teaches you not only the basics, but also in depth information about the physics behind what you are learning. They have studied what is harmful to the creatures of the sea and they don’t do that, they show you wildlife without harassing them, they inspire you to also protect what you love. But underwater, for us as guides, you are the number one priority. You may see great things while we are keeping you safe, but our attention is on you.

For us, a guide is someone who inspires, who believes you can do this, someone who encourages you and is proud of you for trying new things.  A guide is someone who monitors your air closely and increases your dive time by working with you to swim efficiently.  A dive with us is not just tagging along with a knowledgeable person, it is experiencing the ocean with someone who is there diving not for themselves, but diving for you. This is why it’s entirely different. How and where the group enters the water, how we weight you, the pace, the depth, all this is different every dive because we realize we are taking out individuals. 

For us, being a guide is a responsibility to our guests, but also to the ocean. We pick up trash when we see it, we stop people from touching turtles because we see the tumors that causes, we talk to people spraying on sunscreen that poisons the reef.

Sure, it’s a cool job and we get to work outside in a beautiful place, but for us, it’s more than that - we are caretakers of you and of the ocean.  I guess being a guide means a bit more to us than the average Scuba Steve - it’s about educating, encouraging, inspiring, watching over, assisting, believing in and yes, advising and enthusiastically showing the way to others.  

Feeling the Rain

Wind-generated waves rose up quickly as the storm hit us. I had called my divers early and explained that today would not be a safe nor fun day for diving as the visibility was then five feet and decreasing. Since I wasn’t diving, I used the extra time to walk the beach in the wind and collect Styrofoam, plastic, beer bottles, cans and trash.   

Now, with the storm full fold, I walked towards the beach to take a video of the impressive conditions. Waves were consistently crashing on the shore, the wind was howling and dark thunderclouds threatened rain at any moment. As I was taking a short clip of this craziness, I noticed four black spots in the water. People?! There were scuba divers coming in towards shore on the surface. I found this odd, as they were sinking and disappearing over the crest of every wave. Certainly, it would be more calm to swim in underwater, but perhaps the visibility was reduced to nil.  Quickly, I kicked off my shoes, tucked my phone in a dry location and ran to the beach to see if I could assist the divers' exit from the ocean. In the harsh conditions, they were getting pounded by the waves. The first diver lost his fin in the boiling sandy mess and his expression told me he was just going to let it go – it was more important to get to the safety of the beach. I blindly located his fin and retrieved it for him. The first two divers made it out okay, and the one looked surprised to see me as I handed him his fin. There was no one else on the beach. The tourists had gone in, and the rain was coming down steadily now, blown sideways by the wind.

I could see there was a woman in the group who had yet to make it out. She was getting tossed by the waves and pushed down every time she stood. Luckily, she had kept her regulator in her mouth so she could breathe as the sea churned over and around her. Their dive master was attempting to walk to her through hip high water, but with his fins still on, his progress was slow. Her eyes were huge and she was shaking as I offered to help. Together we each lifted an arm and braced to support her through the last persistent beating waves.

All the while, the scuba instructor for the hotel, Steve, stood above the beach taking a video for his own enjoyment, laughing. He’d rather watch amused and point fun at these people than help them. As I walked up to rinse the sand off he said, “You have too much compassion. I figure if they don’t have the sense to remove their fins, they don’t deserve my help.”

Well, that’s Steve for you.

As I rinsed my feet, he followed me, still talking. “I wasn’t going to help them, it’s too funny to watch. I’m sorry.” He shrugged.

“No,” I told him, “You wouldn’t. And you’re not sorry.”

He agreed but I didn’t look back at him after that.

Instead, I eyed this group’s leader/dive master curiously. Why were they out there? Why would he take a group out in limited visibility and huge waves like this? Enjoyment at that point had gone out the window and their safety had definitely been compromised. What could be more important than guests’ safety? As I watched him lead the group through the hotel grounds with a strange smile on his face, I knew the answer. Money.

Not at all the instructor I strive to be.

I returned for my shoes and as I looked around the beach, not a soul in sight due to the rain, it was cleaner because of my cleanup walks earlier that day and still beautiful. I watched the power of the sea in awe and mused that while Steve stood and laughed, I ran to assist. I suppose that’s what you call making a difference.

And it was only because I had run out to the shore to help these people that I saw them then – amongst the whitecaps, four whales were peeking over the water. At first I thought they were breaching, but they stayed still, somehow holding the top half of their enormous bodies out of the sea, above the waves, just balancing. I looked around me wildly for someone to show, someone to share with, but Steve was long gone and it was just me in the rain. I turned back and studied the whales, squinting in the thick downpour. What could they be doing? While the ocean churned around them, they were perched upright, holding still, faces up to the dark sky, feeling the rain, experiencing the other side.