Touched by majesty and awe

by Michael Knapp (Australia)

A leap into the unknown Australia

One thing about shark cage diving, it happens in out of the way places, and I’d been travelling for just on 30 hours when the small, commuter aircraft landed at Port Lincoln in South Australia just after 2 on a very hot and sunny January afternoon. This town of 20,000 inhabitants occupies the southern tip of the Eyre Peninsula, known as the ‘tuna capital of Australia’, but it’s also becoming famous for its shark cage diving. The minbus picked me up at 7 the following morning, taking me and my 9 fellow passengers to the high speed boat which would take us on a 3 hour journey to one of the two spots where cage diving is allowed. The two metre swell running made the trip a little uncomfortable for some, but years spent at sea had prepared me for such journeys and I relished standing on the bow, being sprayed and pleased I had brought my wet weather gear with me. The boat slowed as it approached South Neptune Island, dropping anchor about 200 metres from shore. The skipper called us together to give us a briefing on the necessary protocols and what to expect, how the cage operated and what to expect once in the cage. Shark sightings were not guaranteed, but they had been lucky so far this season and great whites, being extremely territorial, were about, increasing our chances of a successful dive. As if I knew what I was doing, I made a cursory inspection of the cage, paying particular attention to the welding, clueless as to what I was looking for. Could a great white rip this thing to pieces in its frenzy to get at what he considered lunch? This was truly going to be a leap into the unknown for me. For someone who had never scuba dived, kitting up in the tight, thick suit was an exercise in reverse-Houdini: climbing into an escape-proof suit. The cage could accommodate six divers at a time, each diver breathing through a respirator. We’d be anchored at the spot for two hours, which gave us multiple opportunities to go in and out of the cage. I was up first, and, wearing a 35 kilogram weight belt to stop me from rising to the surface, I took a small leap over the edge and into the cage, filled with that uncertain mix of anxiety and excitement. The first sensation was one of shock and awe, as I understood ‘wet suit’ meant becoming intimate with sea water at just on 14 degree C, my breathing short and shallow. As the sensation of being snap frozen subsided I began to take in my surroundings, and on looking down I saw a magnificent, sleek, light grey creature slicing gracefully through the water, hugging the sea bed, some 20 metres beneath. It was difficult to know how long it was, but I later found out it was close to 6 metres, about the same size as the 12 seater minibus which had collected me from the hotel. Great whites patrol close to the seabed as they attack their prey from underneath, often making multiple passes before launching their attack. Is this what this fellow was doing, eyeing off a nice package of 6 tasty morsels? I was looking around to see if any other sharks were about, when the diver to my right started making alarming vocal sounds, pointing down, and the great white was rapidly ascending, making a swim past, its massive mouth open displaying in crystal clarity its three rows of teeth, so sharp they’d bring a smile to the face of a master Japanese knife maker. At that moment the universe disappeared and all sensation ceased as the only thing which existed was this beautiful creature gliding past. He repeated this swim-past three of four times before he decided we weren’t to be his lunch and he swam off at high speed, disappearing in mere seconds. Although I went in and out of the cage a few times, that first sighting was my one and only, but even now, when I think back, the extreme thrill, the excitement, the majesty of experiencing these magnificent creatures return.