Part 2 - In Honor of Shark Week

Friday was our final day on Beqa Island before we headed back to semi-civilization of the mainland. It was also the day that I had eagerly awaited for, ever since hearing about the much hyped cageless shark dive, as well as a day that will forever remain emblazoned in the annuals of my past. Our dive boat arrived within a few minutes of the scheduled time. Another perfectly blue cloudless day. Even though the sea was eerily calm on our way to the dive, our boat bottomed out on a reef causing our Fijian dive handlers to revert back to their native tongue in a spattering of shouts, and undoubtedly several curses. After checking the vessel for any damage we continued on wondering how many years worth of coral were killed in the collision and hoping that this was not a portent of things to come.

The location of our dive site was marked only by a small, lableless, Clorox bottle used as a buoy along with the presence of the chum boat tied up to it. The Divemasters busied themselves tying off while the rest of us gazed in amazement at the flurry of activity just below the waters’ surface. Thousands of fish everywhere. Some guy on the other boat threw in a piece of chum and the ocean erupted into froth as every fish vied for a free meal. “Whoa!” Sounding a little too much like Keanu, was all I could manage to utter as what appeared to be a pod of dolphins cruised by the madness of frenzied fish. I blurted to no one in particular, “I’ve never seen dolphins before, cool.”

“Not dolphins, skipjack tuna. Four to five footers from the looks of it.” It was the first words I heard Caroline utter all day. She was usually pretty quiet until the previous nights drinking had worn off. And she could drink with the best of us. She had a hand in getting us cut off on the painfully long plane ride by starting us off with free drinks in the executive lounge at the airport, eventually digressing into her very vocal displeasure at the speed of the drink attendant on the plane. Not to mention the hilarious string of expletives that always sprung from her mouth. Or the four bottles of vodka we consumed. I bet she could make my old drill instructor beam with pride upon hearing her. Though I’m sure he would frown at the cigarette that continually dangled from her jib as she swaggered around the boat. I swear she was Blackbeard trapped in a woman’s body. A rather strange image considering she was 61 at the time.

Her sluggish conversation belied her efficient dive prep, somehow always managing to be the first one into the water and, to the chagrin of my pride in my air consumption, the last one back on the boat with more spare gas in her tanks. Determined to be first in the water I began to suit up while the feeders gave the dive briefing.

Upon hearing of the two 17 foot tiger sharks, bulls, grey reef and whitetips that awaited our arrival, two from our group decided it would be better to pay $100 to skip the dive. Our plan required us to enter the water, descend down to 100 ft. along a steep coral mountain and position ourselves between the coral and a makeshift rock and debris wall about 3 ft. high and 5 ft. in front of the coral mount. This sheltered us from behind and front, yet allowed us to see over the man made hedge with our exhaust bubbles forming a protective curtain that the Fijians assured us the sharks didn’t penetrate. A Divemaster would be on each end of our group armed with metal Little Bo Peep Sheppard staffs. Once we were in position the feeder would enter the water with the 55 gallon drum cut in half, filled with chum and bedazzle us with the show about 10 ft. in front of us. Sounded like a good plan to me.

Splash. Dammit, Caroline beat me to the water yet again. I finished gearing up, grabbed my video camera, and jumped off the back of the boat into the swirling mass of fish. I descended to about 5 ft. below the surface to adjust my gear and start my camera, while waiting for the rest of the group to enter the water. All week long the 110 degree temperatures and 100% humidity had been causing massive havoc with my camera; it would take a couple of minutes of being submerged in the cooler water until it would operate properly, so I just sort of hung there scanning the wildlife for any signs of a shark. It’s hard to describe the sheer amount of visual overload that lay before my eyes as thousands of fish of every conceivable shape, size, and color swam in all 3 dimensions all around me. Some were in schools, others simply fended for themselves in this Cirque D’Aquatic. An oceanic orchestra being conducted by the feeder topside; tossing a piece of chum to the right and the collective would rush at the slowly tumbling chunk of meat, nipping and biting until something larger pushed its’ way in or it fell away from the rushed trajectory of the pursuer. Throw a piece to the left and the assembled would shift direction in a procession of visual wonder that reminded me of the scene in Fantasia where Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer’s apprentice conducts the broomsticks to dance around the floor.

Camcorder finally behaving, I dumped the air from my BCD and slowly dropped in depth as the last diver entered the water. The congregation of fish thins from thousands to hundreds as I descend to about 30 ft. where I spot the first shark cruising the perimeter of divers and oceanic freeloaders swimming near the surface. It was a blacktip, maybe four feet long, gliding effortlessly in the periphery looking for stragglers. I filmed him for a minute or so until he disappeared into the blue haze possibly finding something of more interest. Continuing downward the sandy bottom became visible around 70 ft. deep. I could make out large dark shapes circling around the descent line intermingled with another collection of marine life gathered below. Another 10 ft. down and something caught my eye through the viewfinder. “Holy shit,” clearly audible, upon reviewing the video tape, escaped my mouth as I panned and centered upon a monstrous shark swimming away from the feeding site. Possibly a bull or tiger, easily 10+ ft. with a girth twice that of my own 165 lb. frame. He looked like a fat fighter jet skimming the bottom with a casual back and forth motion of his tail propelling his seamless flight. The shark had a carbon-copy counterpart that swam several feet behind him. I filmed the two until they faded from view and turned my attention back to the action that was unfolding around the feeder as he dropped to the bottom with his chum-drum.

What I saw next just blew my mind. Commanding the attention of everyone and everything around them, three of the largest non-shark fish I have ever seen came in from my right hand side as I dropped into position behind the safety of the hedge in front of the coral mount. Giant Groupers. Two smaller and one mammoth, literally the size of a VW bus. To give a rough set of dimensions, think 10 ft. long, 5 ft. high and about 3.5 feet thick from left to right gill, weighing roughly 1000 lbs. The short video above shows the two smaller groupers moving up to the drum of chopped fish parts and treating it like a mug of coffee – and these were only half the size of the larger grouper. I’ve heard horror stories of commercial divers being swallowed whole by these fish, prompting some to believe that the origins of the Jonah and the Whale parable stem from real life grouper attacks. I soon realized that the Sheppard hooks that the Fijians carried were not so much for the sharks, but rather to prevent the groupers from consuming an unsuspecting tourist.

Transfixed by their momentous size and slow lumbering pace all I could really do was film these amazing beasts, temporarily abandoning my slow panning search for my beloved sharks. Everything in their path showed the respect of Poseidon by giving them a wide birth as they swam towards the feeding drum. Imagine the density of thousands of fish whirling around in a mini-mountain of mass the size of a house around the chum, to the point of almost being solid, then opening up a bubble of solitude around these overgrown giants as they entered; each smaller fish compacting even tighter into the group so as to not anger these behemoths which even the larger sharks deferred their respect to. When the groupers approached the drum is when things got really interesting for me.

The Fijian feeder turns and points at me to get my attention. At first I just thought he wanted me to film something particular, until I realized he wanted me to come over towards him. My heart raced as I swam over, leaving the protection of the group, the rock hedge with anti-shark bubble curtain and the Divemasters with the metal hooks. He waved me over, pointing to the ground by his feet, indicating where he wanted me positioned – inside the feeding frenzy!

It was a spot only about 10-15 ft. from the rest of the group, but quickly proved to be a very difficult swim as the water was so turbulent from the rush of fish moving in every direction, leaving a chaotic wake that moved in all 3-dimensions at once. I was battered back and forth, side to side, struggling to cover the few feet of ground. As soon as I arrived at the feeders’ side I was smacked in the cheek by an out of control tuna. The 60 lb. fish hit me with enough force to knock the regulator out of my mouth and leave me slightly dazed. More stunned than hurt, I didn’t even realize that I was without an air source until the feeder grabbed my regulator and held it up in front of my face. I sheepishly grabbed the reg and returned it to my mouth.

Both the marine animals and I were amped for the feeding to begin. It was like a surreal dream to be surrounded by so many fish that it was noticeably darker inside the mass of hungry predators. The feeder moved over to the drum and removed a fish head, tossing it towards the grouper closest in line. Without moving, the beast simply opened its mouth, inhaled and the 5 lb. chunk of meat disappeared so quickly that it looked like a piece of lint being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. After a couple of more pieces, the creature slowly turned and moved to allow his brother a chance to eat. Once the groupers were satisfied and moved away the masses returned to surround the drum.

At this point the animals got distinctively more excited. Since the giant bullies that could end their lives with a single gulp exited the scene the rest knew that their time to eat had come. The more animated the creatures became the more difficult it was to keep the camera steady. As I dropped to my knees to try and level the shot I noticed one of the other Fijians with Little Bo Peep moved along side of me. He kept putting the staff in front of me blocking my shot of the action. After the second or third time, I looked up from the camera to give him a look of anger that said, “What the hell?” when I realized why he was doing it. The sharks had returned. And they were close. Like if he didn’t staff block them I would have been bitten close. It was a little disconcerting to look up from the camera only to see a large bull shark with mouth agape 3 ft. from your face with only a little metal rod between you and him. Though it was enough to discourage him sufficiently that he veered and swam off. This guy with the hook instantly became my new best friend.

As crazy as things were they were nothing compared to the tempest of animation that exploded once the feeder removed the lid of the drum to release the contents of blood, fish oil and meat to the awaiting masses. It became an underwater tornado of scales swirling around the barrel. I was thrown all over the place unable to keep the camera the slightest bit steady. Dumping every bit of air from my BCD, in an effort to get as low to the bottom as possible, helped little, so I picked up the largest boulder I could manage and placed in on my lap in an attempt to anchor myself. That kept me from tipping over and gave me the added benefit of protecting my groin from the frenzied cannibals that bit into the remains of their diced brethren and anything else that got into their way.

At 100 ft. deep, light from the surface is enough to see everything clearly except for color. The sun is filtered by the water column to the point where everything attains a greenish hue. The cloud of blood that pillowed from the chum bucket appeared as a dark green mist rolling out in all directions from ground zero of the drum. A severed fish head tumbled out of the mist followed by a dozen or so skipjacks that swooped in for a taste of the flesh. It came to rest next to my left foot making for some great up-close footage of the carnage, but also placing myself into dangerous proximity of the ravenous banqueters, making me glad that I had the big rock on my lap, since I received several bites to the leg.

A long slender nurse shark swam directly over my camera, its tail fin actually brushing against the small light mounted on top. It made me pull my face out of the viewfinder for a moment to get a wide look at the amazing spectacle that played out before me. I felt on top of the world. I felt like a National Geographic photographer capturing history. I felt like a kid again. I was a world away from my day job as a manager, expense reports, daily yields, bills, personal problems or health concerns. I was free and loving every single minute.

The Fijian next to me tapped me on the shoulder, waking me from my reverie. He pointed up quick enough for me to catch two magnificently colossal tiger sharks gliding overhead; one of the only creatures in the world able to compare to great whites in size, length and sheer awe factor. One came from the left, the other from the right, both merging onto an imaginary lane that they rode out of sight. Aside from an elephant at the zoo, I have never witnessed an animal of that size before. Even cruising 20 ft. above my head their size was apparent. Almost twice the length of the largest grouper, these creatures were an amazing sight to behold. It was almost as if they were the final spectacular act that ended the show on a bang. With the barrel empty and the crowd thinning, the feeders collected their equipment and signaled our group to begin our ascent.

On the way up, Fate held one more surprise for me in the form of a beautiful 6 ft. long whitetip that followed us up to our safety stop at 20 ft. He snaked his way between the other divers looking for any leftovers. His long, slender body would bend almost into a u-shape allowing him to turn on a dime every time he reached the end of our group and decide to make another pass. It made for some great footage as I swam behind him and he turns heading directly at the camera. Either hunger or curiosity caused him to stick with us the entire 5 minutes of allowing our bodies to decompress from our dive. When our time was up, I gave him a military salute, bidding him goodbye and made my way back to the boat.

The total bottom time clocked in at 19 minutes. About the same length as your average sitcom or an oil change. If you exercised for 19 minutes it wouldn’t really make any difference in your overall health. If you drove for 19 minutes you wouldn’t really get that far. And if you studied for 19 minutes you wouldn’t really learn that much. Yet somehow those 19 minutes that I spent inside a ball of sea life changed me forever. It helped me through some of my darkest days. It gave me the confidence to try things I never thought possible. It gave my soul more peace than any religion. And it fulfilled more dreams than any other single adventure in my life – even if Caroline made it back onto the boat after me with more air in her tanks.

Unbelievably, this was just the start of a day that consisted of another dive where I saved a woman from drowning, witnessed firewalkers cross burning coals barefoot, drinking with the leaders of Fiji and being crowned honorary king for a day. But that is a whole other story for another day.