In 2003, I finished a stint of work in Australia and bought a round-the-world plane ticket. The sixth stop was to Jeffrey’s Bay, South Africa. It had been a dream to surf one of the most iconic waves on the planet written about it in surf magazines. It also piqued my interest in sharks. I pulled a torn piece of paper with a phone number out of my pocket upon arriving at Port Elizabeth airport – these were before the days of ubiquitous cell phones and towers. Aaron, a friend of a friend, answered. He picked me up within the hour. The ocean smell alerted me before the huge southern-ocean bay appeared, but it was a spectacle to behold as we descended a big hill. Any surfer can tell you the story of the first time they saw the Bay stacked with lines of waves.

The local community welcomed me like family. Our first meal at an outdoor food stand that had the best breaded, fried calamari; a mild, slightly sweet, nutty flavor, soft as butter when you bit into it.

After learning the lay of the land for a couple days, Aaron connected me with Surfpackers. Andre and Corine managed the place, a house with ample space and multiple bedrooms. Andre was huge - a gentle giant. The lines on his face ran deep, countless stories there. He had a thick mustache, huge boots, and spoke Africáns with a rough tone. I felt welcome the moment I shook his big hand. What brought him joy was blessing other people, whether cooking a braai (barbeque) or driving a surf crew in his classic VW van to other waves nearby. Corine, a soft-spoken woman, treated all the guests as if they were her own children. Six nations were represented. I shared meals and became great friends with a Spaniard. Not sure if he’d want to return home after surfing J-Bay, he arrived via one-way ticket. A move I respected.

Waiting for swell to arrive, we checked out a local surf shop in town. I noticed advertisements featuring dives with great white sharks – jump in a cage and get dropped into the water for a face-to-face encounter. “Yeah”, my friend Aaron said, “they dump buckets of blood into the water with some fish scraps and the scent brings in the big ones.” The whole idea seemed weird, but I was intrigued.

Getting suited and booted the first surf session at J-Bay was like telling a five year old he’s going to get a bucket of candy in about ten minutes. Cooler water and sharp black rock met fine sand at water’s edge. Shark tour boats were chumming a few miles away and the area has a history of shark attacks. Before getting in, I said a prayer. Most surfers disregard the slim percentage of being attacked by a shark. That risk is overshadowed by the reward - getting the waves of your life. “Vale la pena” (worth it), the Spaniard said with a smile as we jumped in off the rocks.

Huge humpback whales entered the bay as we enjoyed our first day of waves. Their presence nearby sent a shiver through your body, be it from nerves, awe, or both in my case.

Many days sea birds, Gannets specifically, circled overhead. One at a time they tucked their wings in and nose-dived from way above, eclipsing sixty mph on the way down. I’m not sure how far underwater they ventured, but it took a few seconds for them to resurface, usually with fish in their beaks. We called them lawn darts.

Offshore winds lightly textured the green colored water and sent spray off the top of each wave, which the orange sunrise reflected. After surfing the longest wave of my life, I began paddling back out to the point grinning ear to ear. On a good day, the paddle up the point is a long haul, but you could pick off a wave part way, if you chose. Out of breath, I was still beaming from the previous wave and taking in the moment. I looked up to see a dozen dolphins swimming in the wave approaching me. Big ones. Marvel quickly turned to fear. Nowhere to go. As they came toward me, I pushed the surfboard down to duck-dive the wave and braced for impact. Nothing. I forgot I was in their world. They saw me. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see a few of them flipping out of the back of the wave. They reminded everyone that they were the best surfers in the Bay.

The wave broke like a machine. Consistent, fluid, fast, fun, beautiful. Over and over again, each storm brings groundswell from the deep south trenches of Antarctica, the most feared stretch of ocean in the world.

A few days into my stay, we were enjoying another morning surf. The waves were smaller that day, wind offshore and the moon was full - cue the howling wolf. At the next wave breaking down the beach from us, a fifteen-foot great white shark attacked Joseph, a sixteen-year-old surfer who was practicing for a Billabong Juniors event. The shark came from directly underneath Joseph with enough force to send the teenager flying off his board. It proceeded to get a mouthful of foam and fiberglass, which it didn’t like the taste of and moved on. Coincidentally, Joseph was helped ashore by Shannon, a surfer that had been attacked by two great whites at the same time, only four years before https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkFdDVkxGuU . While other surfers scurried away, Shannon paddled toward him and helped. Admirable. Joseph escaped with no injury, only a tear in his wetsuit and some chewed up foam for a board. http://sharkattackfile.net/spreadsheets/pdf_directory/2003.08.08-Krone.pdf

From the water, we started hearing commotion along the beach. We could see people waving their arms attempting to get surfers out of the water. Shortly after, a pick-up truck with a speaker on the roof drove along the beach and calmly called people in, explaining “an aggressive great white was in the area”. Questioned looks instantly turned to fear on the faces of everyone in the water around me. Surfers tried to act calm paddling toward shore with feet up in the air and hands lightly scratching the water. Everyone wanted a wave to push them in. Quick-like. Moments later, we stood on the overlooking cliffs amidst the bright orange-yellow flowers of the Cape aloe plants, watching perfect waves peel through the Bay with nobody out. We were speechless.

Cape Aloe in bloom. Velvia color film. 2003.

With swell in the water, Andre, the caretaker from the Surfpackers knew we wanted to surf. He fired up the VW van and took us through dirt back roads to the next best point break in the area. On the way, he shared two stories of recent shark attacks at this spot, which was met with blank stares from each of us. “The point,” he continued, “has a deeper channel running alongside it and the sharks like to swim in and get the bait fish that hang around for food on the reef and fresh oxygen in the moving water.” Accepting fate, we surfed for an hour. I did my best to avoid looking down and keep my mind on the good waves. The beach breaks started looking better on the inside of the bay. As if beckoning us, the offshore wind groomed beautiful waves and blew picturesque white mist off the tops. After trading barrels and smiles with the Spaniard, we got tired. He drifted over to the next peak, moving closer to the van. I was alone, taking in the moment between sets of waves. How did I get here? How cool that I get to experience such amazing... and out of the corner of my eye I see a huge shadow swim near me. Gulp. The glare on the water made it hard to see. (As I write this, adrenalin fills my veins remembering the intensity of the situation). Again, it swam by and I lay up on my board with arms and legs pulled in. I prayed for a wave and laughed to myself. As I took a couple deep breath’s, all I could think was, “is this the end?” Will my name end up in the same newspaper alongside the kid that was attacked earlier in the day? Within a minute, it swam by, scared me again, and revealed the blow hole on the top of its head for a loud gasp of air. Dolphin. “Gah! You scared me!”, I yelled and laughed at the same time. On the way home, we laughed and shared how all our senses were on high alert for the day. The Spaniard noted he saw the same dolphin and watched my freakish reaction, laughing from a distance. After taking us back to the Surfpackers, Andre grilled fresh fish, calamari, and veggies for us to cap off an event-full day.

The Spaniard getting barreled near J-bay. B/W film. 2003.

Fast forward fourteen years. I’m visiting Oahu with friends. We’re sharing a beer at a local watering hole with our friend, Kim, who calls the area home. She asked what our plans were during our stay. Our responses included, “surf, eat acaí bowls and poké, take naps and hike.” I mentioned swimming with sharks. Kim pulled up her phone and showed us the Instagram account of pelagic shark tours. I had to ask what pelagic meant. Open water. “So, there’s no cage?”, I asked with a surprised look. Kim affirmed and smiled. Heads are shaking side to side at the thought of it.

I regretted never getting in the cage in South Africa to swim with the great whites. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass by. After some convincing, Jesse and Julian committed. Well, verbally anyway. Saying you’re going to do it is one thing and sliding into the clear, deep, seventy-five-degree, blue water a mile offshore where sharks are circling is another. We scheduled the tour. Two days later we’re driving toward Haleiwa harbor as the sunrise turned clouds bright pink and purple on the horizon and pineapple fields passed us by at fifty mph. Nervous laughter filled the air the entire drive as we tried to choke down food. Once on the boat with twin outboard engines, the three guides explained the process. They were calm and collected and recommended the same demeanor in and out of the water. “All you’ve ever heard about sharks is how aggressive and how much they attack, correct?”, one of the guides asked. “I’m guessing it was from shark week.” He was right. Anything I’ve ever seen on tv was of the sort. He then explained “how curious sharks are of us, just like we are of them. Generally, if they have plenty to eat, they probably won’t attack, unless they feel threatened, or sense fear.” He went on to explain they had been in business for three years and never had an attack. Their knowledge and expertise of shark habits, erratic behavior, and swim patterns/speeds, was evident. They do this every day, I thought, trying to convince myself everything would be just fine. I wondered how I would calm the nerves inside me throughout this experience. It is something I’ve had to practice a lot since my TBI injury. Whiplash messed up my head, neck, and shoulder muscles. With tense muscles, my migraines begin and my brain goes to mush. Yet, I thought this might be a freeing and overcoming experience. The guide looked at me and asked if I knew how to stay relaxed. “Breathe”, I responded. “Yup, he’s right. Once you’re in the water and see these beautiful creatures aren’t out to attack, you can calm your heart rate down and enjoy it.” We had a few minutes to take in our thoughts and enjoy the passing views of Mokuleia Forest reserve that grows around the towering peak of Ka’ala.

Mokuleia and Ka’ala. Fuji digital. 2017.

One of the crew tied off to a mooring, a mile or so out to sea. Before the first guide could even get in the water, there were three sharks swimming around the boat. The largest, a ten-foot Galapagos shark. “Holy moly, I can’t believe you got me to do this”, Jesse said while laughing. We were all laughing trying to cover our anxiety. Flippered feet and masks/snorkels across our face, we slid cautiously, one at a time, into the clearest blue water and swam toward the guide.

The sun rays penetrated the water to undefining depths. Staying close to one another was protocol. All I could hear was how loud and fast I was sucking air in through the snorkel. Breathe. Relax. It took a couple minutes, but we were able to calm down. More sharks arrived from as deep as you could see, slowly making their way up toward us. White tips, black tips, even a gnarly toothed barracuda. If they swam in our direction, we were to keep our hands/arms close to our bodies. A challenge, for sure. They were curious alright. One swam as close as I cared. I did my best to breathe, hold my arms in and relax. Moving gracefully, it looked me over and swam on by. Looking it in the eye was captivating. For forty minutes, we snorkeled in two elongated circles around the boat taking in the experience, admiring these curious creatures. We were told there was a fourteen-foot tiger shark that occasionally made an appearance. No such luck. Nearing the end, the guide gave us the nod to dive down deep a time or two if we wanted. A few of us swam down twenty to thirty feet, pressurizing our ears, and floated weightlessly at the depth the sharks were now lurking. Intimidating and beautiful at the same time. Slowly the others made their way back on to the boat. Admittedly, I didn’t want to leave, but our time was up. The memories I carry with me for a lifetime far outweigh the risk of getting in the water.