human beings were, for the most part, cases of mistaken identity. Sharks had been condemned as man-eaters for millennia, and it would be several more years before that core belief would be effectively challenged.
We knew so little back then, and have learned so much since, that I couldnât possibly write the same story today. I know now that the mythic monster I created was largely a fiction.
I also know now, however, that the genuine animal is just asâif not even moreâfascinating.
Most shark behaviors, it turns out, are explainable in logical, natural terms.
Sharks are critically important to the health of the oceans and the balance of nature in the sea. Later Iâll go into detail about what I perceive to be the value of sharks and why I believe we should appreciate, respect, and protect them, rather than fear them.
First, though, back to Australia in 1974 ⦠my first personal year of living dangerously.
4
South Australia, 1974
Part II
The journey for
The American Sportsman
had not begun in that cage in the home range of the great white sharks: the cold, dark waters near Dangerous Reef in the Neptune Islands. Rather, the shooting schedule had been designed, wisely, to introduce me gradually to diving with sharks in the wild, to accustom me to seeing sharks under water, to let me learn, from swimming in company with some of the less imposing species, that while sharks are, indeed, powerful and efficient predators, they know that human beings are not desirable prey. No oneâI least of allâwanted me to be so traumatized that Iâd refuse to participate in the âmoney shots,â the moments of peril with great white sharks in South Australia that viewers would tune in to see. The archives of
The American Sportsman
contained instances of celebrities freezing at critical junctures and refusing to go on, sometimes fabricating elaborate excuses that included sudden summonses to meetings with Hollywood moguls, summonses that had mysteriously made their way to points on the globe so remote as to be unreachable by phone, wires, or radio. (There were no faxes back then, no cell phones, no satellite dishes, no pagers.)
We began on the Great Barrier Reef, where there was no danger of encountering a great white shark because great whitesâcalled âwhite pointersâ by Australians, âwhite-death sharksâ by the tabloid press, âwhiteyâ by the few divers who had been in the water with themâdidnât exist on the Barrier Reef. The water there was too warm; white sharks preferred the cool seas of South Australia (and California, New York, and Massachusetts). Also, the Barrier Reef was well charted, well known, and visited year-round by thousands of divers. The ports along the east coast were populated by knowledgeable mariners who could choose specific parts of the reef to dive in, depending on what the clients wanted to see.
The Great Barrier Reef is one of our planetâs largest living organisms, an interconnected complex of creatures fifteen hundred miles long. Itâs the longest, the biggest, the richest reef system in the world, home to the most numbers of the most species of the most beautiful ⦠well, you get the idea: it is a living superlative. It has wild areas, savage areas, restricted areas, populated areas, tourist areas, and conservation areas.
It was decided that I should be initiated into diving with sharks by beginning with what Australians call bronze whalers, relatively small sharks (five to seven feet) that tend to gather in schools and are generally regarded as controllable by people experienced in dealing with them, although they can be dangerous when their territory is threatened or when theyâre fighting over food.
On our first morning on the reef, Stan Waterman had assembled the underwater housing for his 16-millimeter movie camera andâcareful professional that he isâdecided to take the empty housing into the