Shark Tales

Tom is sitting on the sand at the water’s edge, his knees drawn up, putting on his “NoShark” ankle band. With his long limbs and full-length black wet suit, he looks like some strange sea creature. He carefully wraps the heavy-duty Velcro strap around his ankle, securing it. It’s a device that sends out magnetic waves that disturb the shark’s very sensitive electro-receptors. Tom started wearing it after he heard that there were a lot of sharks on the North Shore, even though we’ve never seen one in the hundreds of times we’ve been out swimming.

Along with Katharine and Daniel, our other swim partners, we’re about to launch on a one-mile swim in the open ocean. We’ve been doing it for years, but each time it feels fresh and exciting; we never know what will happen. We usually swim from what is called “Baby Beach” (because it has a shallow, protected area perfect for kids), up to the lifeguard tower at Baldwin Beach, on Maui’s North Shore; other times we go half way to a spot marked by a fallen tree trunk on the beach, then swim back. For the last few months we have been out in huge winter waves; today the ocean is exceptionally calm.

“This is my shark band,” I say to Katharine and Daniel, holding up something that looks like a sleek charcoal grey watch. It looks very feeble next to Tom’s heavy-duty device.

“How does it work?” asks Katharine.

“It’s a very strong magnet. The only problem is that it has a range of 3 feet. I might save a leg, but lose an arm. But mine only costs $59, and Tom’s costs $399.”

“Peter, I think you have very low self esteem,” Tom jokes with a big smile as he looks up. “You think your life is only worth sixty bucks!” We all laugh.

“Well, you could get one for each ankle and another two for your wrists,” Katharine says.

“And one for your neck!” Daniel laughs.

“Well, I did get one for my partner Susan, and it’s a pretty aqua one. She swims on the South side every day, way out to this catamaran. She always wears it. That’s where a lot of the shark incidents are.”

We’ve all been a little concerned about sharks since one killed Margo, a friend of Barry’s, a year ago. She was swimming alone at a well-known snorkeling spot on South Maui when she was attacked. Fortunately, not all attacks are fatal. Just recently, a young couple from Minnesota, named Matt and Beth Mason, were standup paddling in front of the Grand Wailea, when a shark came along, swam under Beth’s board, and clamped onto her husband’s board. The shark twisted the board and he fell onto the back of the shark. “Shark! Shark! Shark!” he screamed, as he fell into the water. “Hit him! Hit him!” Beth yelled. Summoning up resources from who knows where, he punched the shark in the mid section. The shark swam away and they both got to shore safely. People who had witnessed the attack from the shore gathered around them, and looked in astonishment at the bite marks on the board. “Can’t anyone get me a beer?” Matt finally called out. He ended up buying the board from the Four Season for $500 and taking it back to Minnesota. Why they charged him for it is the big mystery. Were they going to rent it out again with bite marks on it?

Photo courtesy of Matt Mason.

“I’ve got a good shark story,” I say. “Tom doesn’t like hearing them, but you might enjoy this one.” Everyone (except Tom) loves shark stories. There’s something about the randomness of a shark attack that triggers our most primal fears. Maybe it’s because we all watched Jaws when we were little; maybe it goes even deeper in our collective psyche. The Hawaiians have always revered the shark, which they name “mano,” and consider it a powerful spirit, or an aumakua. I can see why they admire their strength, their beauty, their grace, and their power.

Researchers have been tagging sharks recently to study their behavior. By going online to Hawaii Tiger Shark Tracking, you can track them real time. When I look at the Maui map, there are hundreds of little colored fins, showing where they are as they move throughout the day. The sharks all have numbers, like ID tag: 133370, 14.2 (4.3 m) female; I’ve given them names, like Gertrude. It’s possible to follow where Gertrude has been over a period of time by following the animated pink dot as it moves from Ma’alea Harbor, out into the channel between the islands, then up to Wailea. Man, do they get around! Most of the dots are clustered on the South side, where I swim almost every day of the week.

Living on Maui, there are “shark incidents” every few months. The media usually downplays these events, so as not to scare away the tourists. But I hear of them all the time. Turning to Daniel and Katherine, I tell them my latest shark story.

“I was talking to my friend Gary,” I begin, “the guy who swims a mile every day with a 10 inch dagger strapped to his leg. He told me about these two guys and a woman who were doing a distance swim on the South side when they came across a 13-foot tiger shark. One of them was a former triathlete; the other two were experienced swimmers. They were in the middle of their swim when they saw the shark approaching them.”

“Yikes, where was that?” Katharine asks.

“Out in front of the Andaz Hotel, by Ulua Beach.”

“That’s where all the tourists go!”

“Yeah, I used to swim off that beach every day of the week,” I say. “Right away they instituted their ‘shark protocol. I thought that was kind of cool.”

“Shark protocol?” Daniel asks.

“Yeah. The first protocol was that they all grouped close together.”

“That makes sense,” Daniel says.

“Number two was to bring your knees up close to the body and arms in close.”

“Oh, so there are no limbs for an easy taste,” Katherine says.

“Right, and number three was kick or punch the shark if it got close.”

“Eeeoouuu!” cries Katharine. “I’ve heard that too. But how do you hit a shark?”

“Apparently the shark went underneath them, and one guy kicked out with his fins and hit the shark’s back. It swam away afterwards.”

Eyes wide, Katharine says, “That’s crazy!”

“He said that the back of the shark was as rough as sandpaper. What’s even more crazy is that once the shark swam away he wanted to continue the swim!”

“Well, that’s what triathletes do. Never quit!” Daniel laughs. He’s a former ironman.

Reveling in the excitement of our precarious existence, we’re now pumped up for our swim. One by one we get in the water and head out through the channel into the open ocean. I’m amazed by how calm it is today. Usually we’re tossed around by the waves and it’s a wild Disneyland ride. Today, the currently gently takes us out to sea. I notice that out of habit, I’m swimming like my life depended on it, even though I’m going with the current. Wow, I tell myself, stop and smell the roses. Or at least look at the fish. Through my mask I can see brilliant yellow and gold fish, darting in an out of caves in the reef. A few colorful wrasse swim by. Rays of sunlight dance on the sandy bottom, only a few feet beneath me. I start to relax. This is fun!

Once we’re out of the channel, we have to get through a spot where the waves are breaking over the reef. A few days ago, a huge wave rolled in. I ducked under, but my friend didn’t, and got washed in about 50 feet towards the shore. Today it’s calm for the first time in months.

Finally we’re out in the safe zone, opposite a sign nailed to an ironwood tree for the kiteboarders. “Stage Three!” Tom yells at the top of his lungs, while holding up three fingers of both hands. “Stage Three!” we all yell, laughing as we do so, attempting to come up with some playful and crazy way of marking this stage of our swim. “Three, three, three!” I yell. Katherine raises one arm with her head in the water, like the pectoral fin of a humpback whale, and raises three finger. Daniel raises both arms high shouting, “Three!”

Now we’re in the open ocean, swimming parallel to the beach, hundreds of yards out from shore. In the far distance, out to sea, waves are crashing on an outside reef. Beyond that, there is nothing but open ocean, all the way to Alaska. Every so often I look up and scan the water around me, looking for what might be a shark. This is crazy, I tell myself. A shark isn’t going to wave his fin and say, “Here I am!” He’s going to come up behind me, curious to see what this strange thing is on the surface. A turtle? Something good to eat? If it’s interested, it might come up for a closer look and take a sample bite. This is when my pathetic little shark band is meant to do its work – against a 13-foot tiger shark. I doubt I’d ever know what hit me. Maybe I should swim closer to Tom, with his super shock band.

Resigned to my essential powerlessness in this entire scenario, I turn my attention to being out in the ocean with three people I love and care about deeply, swimming stroke after stroke, surrendered to the mystery and awe of the sea. I can either spend all my time terrified of the unknown, or I can just be present to the beauty of the moment, and enjoy the swim. Sharks or no sharks.