Adventure is the name of the game, and I suddenly have the urge not to play. One uncomfortable bus ride squashed against a window reading the inspiring Tuesday's with Morrie, the thought of what I am about lingers menacingly at the back of my mind. We reach our destination after two and a half hours of traveling and are treated to a light breakfast. I scan the room full of disturbing pictures, pictures that conjure up a terrifying image of what could possibly happen to me and a cold shiver runs down my spine. Shark Cage Diving is suddenly my new death wish.
Boarding the boat, a faint hint of playfulness and optimism mingles with the smell of salt of the ocean. We are told we are going to be filmed, dare us not to be? The boat ride to our destination is oddly unsettling, the vast ocean seems endless and we are on the proverbial road to nowhere. Suddenly we reach our destination, 15 keen, clearly shaken, untrained Shark Cage Divers looking ridiculous in inflatable life jackets. Who wants to go first? The question is asked by an attractive woman, with a toothy grin, as she looks around with her dark sunglasses on, I feel the need to get this over with so shockingly I raise my hand. My voice timid, I manage to whisper, "I'll go first...." fatal mistake, always allow someone else to go first and then watch and learn, a valuable piece of information I learn't on this trip, amongst others.
Squeezing myself into a wetsuit was not my finest moment, while the boat swayed to the rhythm of the ocean, I tried to stay upright. As the goggles I was given suctioned onto my face, I was unrecognizable. A long, black soldier determined in my mission to face my greatest fear. It was only later when I looked over at my colleagues that I realized the size of my wetsuit was far from suitable. The moment had come, no shark had been spotted yet and I made my way to the cage. Temporarily distracted with my appearance, I climbed into the murky green water and tried desperately to figure out where I needed to hold onto. Surely not in front? The shark would make a beeline for my exposed, fleshy fingertips, the perfect appetizer in his search for human meat.
It was at the this point, half of my body floating in the water, the other half in line with the water, that I spotted man's greatest predator, that's not a fact, that's an assumption and a damn good one. A massive fin stuck out of the water right in front of my eyes, it was the fight or flight adrenaline that kicked in, and I knew I didn't stand a chance against this prehistoric creature, so I screamed "I WANT TO GET OUT!" I must have screamed that about 4 million times as I was scrambling on deck, in fact, I'm sure I said it when I was comfortably on the boat. Now for most, this would have been embarrassing and to a certain extent it was for me, but as I looked over the side and saw the size of the shark circling the cage, all I could do was sigh a breath of relief that I wasn't in the water with it.
Of course, the boat continued to sway, side to side.......side to side......side to side.....so you can imagine what urge we were all feeling at that point. The urge to bring up our delightful light breakfast and many of us did. The sounds of joyous screams mingled with the familiar sound of barfing overboard, it's a distinct throaty noise that you couldn't miss even if you tried. We were encouraged to let it out, it was nothing they hadn't seen before and who knew, we could be attracting more sharks? A sort of natural chum, as natural as it gets. If you didn't detect the hint of sarcasm in my voice, read it again, it's there. The combination of a swaying boat and the disgusting smell of chum, was deadly. I'm surprised some of us made it back.
Sitting at the front of the boat, the urge to jump up and scream "I'm king of the world" was a distant memory as people tried to compose themselves and save just a shred of dignity. I knew it was too late for that, we had passed the point of no return. I made my way to the small and cramped toilet facility and couldn't help but giggle at the fact that I was pumping instead of flushing. If you've ever been in a boat, you'll understand that. The afternoon lasted an eternity, the sea was brutal, something you can only truly appreciate on a boat, land seems to take the power right out of that statement. When the skipper decided it was time to head back to shore, there was a mixture of emotions, staying meant a further beating from the sun, more chunking and leaving meant saying goodbye to Jaws and knowing that the chances of seeing that particular shark again was as unlikely as winning the lottery for the second time.
My final thought as the boat rumbled to life and started on it's journey home was a pleasant one. Watching these creatures from the comfort of a deck, I was awed by them. Serene in their swim, agile in their attempt to bite the fish head, curios in their approach of the cage. I couldn't help but change my beliefs about this so called man eater. He was as magnificent as he was terrifying and the passion of the crew towards these predators was nothing short of amazing.
