The ocean at the end of the lane
On personal encounters with sharks, how I once delivered a baby shark, the exhilaration of swimming with sharks and the importance of keeping your dreams (and yourself) alive.
Kaua e mate wheke me mate ururoa!
Don't die like an octopus, die like a hammerhead shark!
This Māori whakatauki (proverb) has been interpreted in many ways over the years.
Tamati Waaka says it’s about resilience, fighting for your dignity and freedom, your mana, wairua - spirit or life force:
“If you’ve been fishing, you might have caught an ururoa. You hate it, you will cut that line because it will fight till its last breath.” <sic>
Whereas Matiu Dickson believes it also relates to conducting and presenting yourself with dignity and humility in this life:
“I think it refers to how you behave. So behave like a rangatira (leader), not like a taurekareka (rascal). Dress like a rangatira… develop relationships like a rangatira. That’s what that means to me – it’s a directive in how you should live your life”
If you want to hear more about this whakatauki, listen to this excellent RNZ podcast.
Childhood dreams
The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.
These sage words from the indelible Jacques Coustea have rung true for me ever since I entered that blue vastness of space that exists just under the surface of both our physical world and the world of our imagination.
I would have been about 3 years old.
Children have obsessions. For some it’s dinosaurs, for others it’s cartoon characters or fire trucks. Ever since I could talk, I have been fascinated with one animal in particular. An animal that existed on this Earth before dinosaurs and even trees. It is the longest living vertebrate animal on the planet and it exists solely in salt water. It is ubiquitous in all of the seas and comes in a myriad of shapes and sizes.
Sharks are among the most perfectly constructed creatures in nature. Some forms have survived for two hundred million years
(legendary marine biologist Eugenie Clark)
It survived the giant meteor explosion that wiped out the dinosaurs and since it has been evolving for nearly 500 million years, it is equipped with the most sophisticated navigational and electromagnetic sensory system that has ever existed on planet Earth.
Sharks boast a complex lateral line system made up of a centralised nerve bundle known as the Ampullae of Lorenzini which coordinates a myriad of nerves, ventricles, mucous filled pores and electroreceptors that allow sharks to sense varying electrical timestamps and disturbances in the electromagnetic field - as if these sensory superlatives weren't enough, they can sense even the subtlest vibrations as well as miniature audio and temperature oscillations all around them.
Sharks are the only animal on Earth that can do this. No other animal even comes even close to this type of sensory sophistry,
That’s what half a billion years of Darwinian selection will do to you.
Mutate, encode, test. Repeat. Not for 100 000 years, not for 1 000 000 years but for 500 000 000 years. That’s a lot of time to get things just right - the Goldilocks porridge of senses - wouldn’t you agree? Humans have five senses, sharks have 9! Douglas Adams’ captures this mastery in his beautiful metaphorical dedication to books and sharks:
“Books are sharks... because sharks have been around for a very long time. There were sharks before there were dinosaurs, and the reason sharks are still in the ocean is that nothing is better at being a shark than a shark.” - Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
The reason why I was so fascinated with this animal may surprise you.
It had nothing to do with its hunting prowess or the fact that many sharks looked quite ferocious. In fact I don’t even like the term apex predator nor do I like the concept of a “food chain” - for me these terms have always been ugly, remnants of an archaic time when humans viewed nature as the enemy and a dark and unforgiving place.
We always fear what we don’t know, and back when these terms and this language were developed, we did not know a whole lot about the animal world (I also don’t like the term kingdom - too male focused and if you know anything about nature, then you will know that females in most species are actually the main provider and decision makers.)
What drew me to sharks from a young age was that I could identify with them. They were misunderstood creatures that were highly sensitive. Like I felt at that time.
I was always utterly confused and upset by the way humans characterised this beautiful animal - with fear and vitriolic hatred, completely misrepresenting and anthropomorphising it as if it had some form of evil intent. The word “shark” has negative connotations in nearly every language and culture on Earth, except Māori, in whose culture the animal is venerated, loved and a sighting of which is seen as a divine blessing from the Gods. In French, sharks are called “requin” and requin is where the word requiem comes from, yes, the song traditionally played at someone’s funeral. Pool shark, loan shark, the shark is misrepresented in Western culture as cunning with dark intentions, a huckster, hustler who wants to deceive you. As with most things in this deeply flawed Western philosophy, this interpretation couldn’t be further from the truth.
I once went drag netting with my uncle in Ōtaki along the Kapiti coast. We walked for about 20 minutes, wading up to my neck, I felt several fish bump into me. When we finally brought the net in, we had caught about 11 school sharks. I was in awe as I tried to get them back into the ocean whilst they were flipping and flopping about. I cried when I saw that several of them had died. Some species of shark will die very quickly when they stop moving as they suffocate when they cannot get the oxygen from the sea water to enter their gills.
I found one particularly large female, who took her last breath right there in front of me, essentially dying in my arms, whilst tears were rolling down my cheeks. Her stomach was really abnormally bulging, so I decided to dissect her. Lo and behold she had come so close to shore to give birth, sharks do this to protect their young from predators. I did my best to cut the baby shark loose out of the coiled amniotic sac, and to my surprise and utter joy the little pup started writhing in my hands and then swimming as I placed her in the open water. My heart skips a beat even to this day, remembering that story. Recently I saw a dolphin give birth (albeit on YouTube) and it brought the whole memory back again.
Open ocean rendezvous, voulez vous?
/\ (my shark fin emoji) /\
I have loved swimming in the ocean ever since I was a child and in the last few years I’ve become quite the voracious ocean swimmer, swimming several kilometres out in the open water at least twice a week.
I’ve been blessed to share the water with sharks on nearly every swim, yet have only been conscious of this in a handful of scenarios. One such time, I was swimming with my brother in law, out to a boat that was moored about 200 metres off the coast, when we swam past a person in a sailing boat, who leaned over and thought it would be fun to tell us that he had just seen a “large 3 metre Bronzie (bronze whaler shark) about 10 seconds ago” and that we better get out of the water quickly. I was ecstatic and looking all around for the shark. Obviously it had inspected us and had just swam away, peacefully going about her own business.
Yes, I always refer to sharks with female pronouns.
On another occasion, I had come out of the water after an exhausting hour long swim, about 400 metres offshore, when an elderly couple walking along the beach with their dog approached me, excitedly telling me that they had been trying to signal me to come out of the water. I explained that I was half blind and not wearing my contact lenses;
“Were you not scared” the old woman asked
“Of what” I asked back dumbfounded
The old man interjected nervously, as I dried the inside of my ears, trying to get the water out with my towel;
“Of the two sharks that were following you? We thought they were going to bite you!” He added dramatically.
It was a calm day and the water was very still, supposedly two fins had been following me from the moment I swam out far enough and then followed in close formation behind me for the duration of the swim, investigating this weird swimming fish man they had found on their morning patrol.
I often think about what their minds and Ampullae of Lorenzini had picked up in that encounter. What kind of electrical stamp did I have, did they like my electromagnetic impression? Was it acceptable? Did they want to get to know me better? Become friends perhaps?
Many questions pile up in my head when I retrace that situation. I wish I could communicate with them.
So that you can all feel the raw, visceral and deeply conscious emotions involved in such a rare swimming encounter, I wanted to share a little story about one of my last swimming rendezvous.
I have shared the first two installments in previous articles, and here I finally reveal the ending. So congratulations to all who have waited so patiently all these months to read the finale of this story:
Life in the fast lane
I turn the ignition in my car off and look out the window at the lone seagull swooping above the majestically calm Tasman Sea sprawling out in front of me in all directions. Eternal gratitude floods my mind as the butterflies begin to exit their little cocoons in my stomach and I start getting that lovely feeling of nervousness that I get before every ocean swim.
Even after the thousandth time doing it, the feeling never ceases to enthral me. The air is cool for late winter and so I decide to “double swim cap” my scalp as the head is usually the part that makes you disembark the water before you are done.
Yes, I view my swims like I was baking a sweet batch of chocolate chip cookies, the timing for entry and exit have to be perfect, otherwise you are too soft or too baked for comfort. I pull the bottom part of my wetsuits up over my shoulders and stretch my way into my seal suit. After pulling cord up in the back and fastening the velcro across my neck I do a couple of loose stretches and arm swings to get the juices flowing. I walk waist deep into the water feeling the comforting protection of the suit as the freezing temperature feels just fine against my naked skin, like a lukewarm shower, not annoying but not lazy warm either.
Just right for a swim.
I gaze out over the calm green blue water shimmering in the rising light of the post dawn sun. I look out for any fins traversing the 1.3 km path I am set to take out to Tata Island, not for spotting danger or out of fear, but more out of this childlike sense of awe and wonder. My dream has always been to swim alongside a large orca or shark in one of my ocean swims, alas never been so lucky. Yet. I have had people tell me that they have seen fins following me on some of my swims, but I’ve never been conscious of them.
I adjust my swim goggles, take three deep breaths in and out followed by 5 successive short breaths and then one super long one and dive headfirst into the water, the sharp temperature difference takes me aback, flooding my body with much needed adrenaline, enough adrenaline so as to tackle this long swim. The water is so quiet and empty, I love the feeling of being connected to the whole world when in the ocean.
Even though we call them the “7 seas,” they really are just one giant sea connected over the whole planet, from the Antarctic in the south to the Arctic in the north, one giant pond. The beach I love to swim at is my favourite, because you can swim there at any tide. The place I call my home, Golden Bay is a large and very tidal bay that is nestled snugly in between two large sand spit outcrops to the west and northeast. The western one is called Farewell Spit and is one of the largest sand spits in the world, famously visible from the International Space Station, the other one is the start of the Abel Tasman National park, one of the most beautiful nature walks in the whole world.
On my first dive under water I always try to swim out far enough on one single breath so that I cannot see the bottom any more, which is about 30 metres out, where a cliff wedge drops to about 20 metres and the bottom becomes indistinguishable to the surrounding water. I then take one big swoop upwards and dive out of the water headfirst drawing a deep breath of fresh air back into my lungs and settling into my rhythm. Most people like the front crawl when they do longer ocean swims, but not me, I have always loved the breaststroke because if you do it right, your body mimics that of a seal or dolphin - both of which I have encountered to my delight on my swims before.
Forward dive in, hands curled, arms pulling equally to the side like a duck and pull both hands along the inside of the torso from belly button to the throat forwards, briefly out of the water and then the superman glide. 2,3. Repeat. Forward dive in, hands curled, arms pulling.., wait a minute what was that splashing noise, I pause my swim and propel myself up by kicking my legs underneath, look up, expecting to see either a kayaker or surf board, but nothing. I resume my swim. Forward dive in, hands curled, arms pulling equally to the side like a duck and pull both hands along the inside of the torso…. splash.. there it was again? This time I didn't pause my swim, but instead kept going whilst poking my eye out of the water, skimming the horizon. There it was, a dark object about 30 metres in front. My mind starts working out scenarios, is it a spear fisherman, gosh I hope he doesn’t spear me? A seal? A dolphin?
I keep swimming.
The thing about ocean swimming that you learn pretty early on is that panic zaps your energy, and when you are 700 metres in the open water, energy is your best friend. So you train your mind to not panic. Still, in theory that sounds awesome, but now I realise there is something swimming ahead of me, and it looks like it’s getting close. I eye up the island in front of me, about 500 metres off in the not too near distance. I look back to the beach, too far out. I get on my back and start doing the backstroke to calm my mind, that’s when I feel the first bump, on my right calf, something hits me hard enough so that my right ankle jumps out of the water and flipping me back, my head briefly submerges and water uncomfortably goes up my nostrils. Alright, that’s not a dolphin, but maybe I can talk to it?
Your brain starts telling you strange things in situations like these, like I honestly believed I could communicate with whatever I was sharing these waters with. Shaking that thought, I turn, get my bearings and start eyeing the water around me, to the left, the right, down, yes, there it is, swimming about 10 metres below me. I return to my swim. I wish I could go and inspect it, but I first need to get to the island in case panic sets in. One stroke, one breath. Two strokes, one breath. Three stro.. - bang - a sudden sharp bump on my pelvis sends my whole body out of the water for a brief second, winding me. Keep your calm, keep swimming..
My heart starts racing again and my breathing becomes even more erratic than before. What on Earth was bumping me below the surface of the water? It really hurt. Reminded me of being hit really hard in my leg with a baseball when I was younger - this sharp stinging pain. My leg was numb. I couldn’t feel my leg? I suddenly had an ominous thought… was I, bleeding?
I look around the water, a panic attack creeping into the realms of the possible - nothing, I feel my leg whilst treading water, trying to find a wound, a cut, anything. Gauging the surrounding water, I see only green and blue, no red. I try to look out further, I see nothing, only the horizon and shoreline off in the distant. I’m so far out? My trained biologist brain kicks in, okay if this was a dolphin, would just be playing with me. Same goes for an orca. Does it?
If this was a shark it would also not be unusual behaviour. They have been observed bumping other animals to test their responsiveness, as in; would this animal put up a fight? Orcas are known to play with other animals, most notably stingrays and seals. Throwing them about on the surface of the water. But they also eat these animals? My brain goes back into panic mode; if it was an orca, it might try to pull me under water on its next dive? They have been known for this ‘playful’ behaviour too, observed both in captivity as well as in the wild. Hmmm.
I start secretly wishing it were a shark. The water here was pretty deep, if an orca would grab me and pull me under for a few minutes I would drown. I can hold my breath for about 2 minutes and a bit whilst swimming but in this panicked state? Nah, game over.
If a shark bit me, it would leave me alone after. Shark’s brains are incredibly adept at gauging fat content and calculating how much energy they get out of a particular prey hunt, compared to the energy they put in. If a shark bites a human, it will touch bone pretty quickly, that’s why it will let you go - you’re simply not worth the energy it takes to kill you. More energy spent than earned - bone is not nutritious, at least not for a human’s digestive tract.
Contrary to popular myth, sharks also really don’t care much for human blood, they do not “go into a feeding frenzy” when they sense blood. Recent studies have proven quite the opposite, leading biologists to hypothesise that microorganisms and increased adrenaline in our blood when in the ocean and just “attacked” could actually put a shark off wanting to eat us, over and above the fact we wouldn’t be a very energy efficient meal - our blood registers signals of danger and disgust in a shark’s brain. It could actually get sick from us.
On top of the chemotactic response, adrenaline also has a very distinct electrical fingerprint and the Ampullae of Lorenzini that sits just on top of a shark’s brain can sense electrical outputs like a Geiger counter detects radioactivity. 500 million years of evolution will produce an animal of this calibre. Please let it be a shark. Not an orca. While all of these thoughts are going through my brain, calming me down, I start to take notice of my surroundings more closely. Stay rational, stay rational. Woah! What was that? No, not a bump this time, more a subtle brush of skin on skin, along my left calf. Gosh that was weird. I feel dizzy and start praying to Tangaroa, the god of the ocean:
tiaki mai i ahau, maku ano koe e tiaki
if you look after me, then I will look after you
I start recalling all the work I did to get shark finning banned in our country. The countless hours petitioning the government, ghost writing articles for the New Zealand Herald and organising activists like my friend the Hawai’ian conservationist Ocean Ramsey to come to our shores to speak with our parliament. Surely they can sense this? And if they can’t, Tangaroa will know.
Makō. Mangō. Shark. I try talking to Tangaroa’s son Punga, the ancestor of all sharks.
“You know me. I am on your side. I am you. Please, listen!”
Then my emotions swing to grief, I start apologising for all the seafood I ever ate. All the fish, the octopods, the shrimp, the crabs, the squid, the oysters, the mussels, everything.. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Meanwhile I realise I have been swimming quite quickly. I remember how I delivered that shark all the way back in Ōtaki beach, perhaps she was coming back to say “thank you”? Baaaaby shark doo doo doo da doo doo doo dum, grandpa shark doo doo doo da doo doo doo dum.. yes that supremely annoying song was actually calming me down. I smile inwardly, don’t be so silly Christopher man. I shake my head, in my head and keep going..
One stroke, one breath. Two strokes, one breath. The island is maybe 200 metres away now and I can already see the bottom of the ocean now. I calm some more, stop swimming and dive down to inspect the surroundings, I get about halfway to the bottom and do a full 360 loop around. Wait a minute, what, what was that? It looked like a miniature squiggly submarine. There it was again, off in the distance about 30 metres away. Was it a seal? It’s too big to be kekeno I think to myself.
Then I remember a news report from about a month ago talking about a leopard seal, endemic to Antarctica, found on the beach in Tahunanui. I start getting rattled again. Leopard seals are far more likely to bite me than any shark, and they’re teeth are sharper. Keep swimming, you’re almost there..
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. It feels like I am being watched. You know that strange sensation you get when you are in a public place and something on the back of your head feels warm and you turn around and find someone looking right at you? That feeling. Except I wasn’t in a public place. And there definitely were no eyes staring at me. Well, no human eyes at least. Something really weird starts happening in the water right next to me, these strange vibrations, like thuds, “duf, duf,” permeating throughout, as if several large rocks were being thrown at me from the shore. Like literally, all around me.
Truly bizarre, I try to block out my thoughts and think of nothing. I shut my eyes even tighter and imagine the whole world fading away, everything is in a quantum flow state right now, frozen in time.
I quicken my pace and change from breast stroke to front crawl, it is a lot faster but also seems to make me more tired. I keep swimming faster and faster. Until, huh, what was that, my hand touches something solid, it is sand… I extend my knees down and they hit sand. I try to stand up, I wobble and fall back down. Shaking. Adrenaline will do that. I finally stand up, wobbling, the water comes up to my shins. I start laughing maniacally, I’ve made it to the island. I sit down and catch my breath.
I look out to the mainland, about halfway across, I see several black shags darting in the water from high above making huge splashes. Staying underwater for several seconds and then surfacing, some with fish, some without, flapping their wings incessantly, managing to get out of the water, then flying up to about 20 metres and repeating the plunge again. There must have been about 15 of them. Going about their business.
I stop, look at my body, look up again and pause - I think about where I had felt the “heavy” bumps. No? It couldn’t be. Could it?
Could it? Who knows.
Stranger things have happened for sure.
Not a shark. A shag.