A cage dive with sharks isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Those cages don’t seem as sturdy when they’re all there is between you and one of nature’s most efficient killers. Travel and outdoors writer Norman Dacanay tells of his close encounter with sharks in South Africa.
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A Cage Dive With Great White Sharks – Below the waterline with a South African Icon
Cape Town, South Africa. My wife and I were standing on a street corner staring out into the pre-dawn darkness when a voice behind us broke the silence.
“Going cage diving today?”
I turned, and nodded my head. Without saying another word, the man gestured that we should follow him to his van.
For the next 30 minutes we were driven around Seapoint, one of Cape Town’s coastal boroughs, stopping at regular intervals to pick up more passengers. It was still dark when we started heading southeast, and soon the lights of Cape Town faded from view. For the next two hours we wove our way through the South African countryside.
To be perfectly honest my recollection of the journey is a bit blurry, as I used much of it to catch up on some much-needed sleep. My circadian rhythm was feeling the effect of being several time zones, and literally half a world away, from the suburbs of Toronto, which is where we called home at the time. The reason for our early morning drive, however, was to visit a different world altogether.
As I faded in and out of sleep, I caught glimpses of highway signs illuminated in the van’s headlights. We were on the N2, which at some point becomes the famous scenic Garden Route that connects the towns and cities on the Western Cape of South Africa.
Around Hermanus we caught the first glimpses of daylight and the wide expanse of the Southern Atlantic Ocean. Soon after we arrived in Gansbaai, a town of some twelve-and-a-half square kilometers in size, and which is primarily known for the high density of sharks that patrol its shores.
Walking into the reception of White Shark Projects, our chosen outfitter, we were greeted by the smell of coffee, pastries, eggs and sausages. Looking around there were more people going on this trip than I had expected. From the accents I gathered there were Brits, Aussies, Eastern Europeans, Scandinavians and even New Yorkers. Pleasantries were exchanged over java, orange juice and muffins. Hints of trepidation and excitement could be clearly sensed in our conversations.
Our guides introduced themselves, then proceeded to explain the various safety protocols and what to expect during the voyage. The Captain was a tall white man in his early-to-mid-thirties. With his thick Afrikaans accent he warned that a cloudy, overcast day with light drizzle had been forecast. Also expected were “less than calm seas”. With liability forms duly filled, we were asked to don our thick wetsuits while the crew made their exit to prepare the boat. The wetsuits had to have been at least five millimeters thick, with hoods and accompanying boots. With the water temperature hovering around twelve degrees Celsius we would need all the warmth these suits could afford.
As we boarded the white and orange colored boat I was suddenly aware of how much smaller it felt with so many people on board. I would be lying if I told you that I wasn’t the least bit afraid or that the theme music to Jaws wasn’t running through my head. When we were eight minutes out of the harbor the Captain wound the engine down and called for the anchors to be dropped. I could still see the shore in the distance.
One of the crew then made his way to the aft of the boat and started to scoop a smelly, oily, red substance from a vat into the ocean. The unpleasant mixture was chum: sliced and rotted fish. The Captain explained attracting sharks is much like fishing for any other quarry; lay down a scent trail and wait. The Captain explained that the sharks abide by nobody’s schedule but their own, and that we may be waiting anywhere from ten minutes to three hours. There was also the very real possibility that the sharks may not come at all.
However, after a mere five minutes of waiting, a crewman on the upper deck alerted the captain to a shadow gliding towards our vessel. The captain gazed into the water. He could obviously see something that we couldn’t and called for the cage to be lowered into the water. This was not the sturdy cage that you see in the movies. In all honesty, it reminded me more of a sardine can. It was rectangular, and had just enough room inside for four or five people to stand shoulder to shoulder. The top of the cage was kept above water. This allowed its occupants to raise their heads out of the water to breathe. There were no snorkels or respirators: it was simply a case of holding one’s breath and coming up for air when necessary.
Before we entered the cage the captain had quickly explained what the two horizontal bars on the sides were for. The lower bar was for hooking our feet around to hold ourselves under water. The upper bar was for our hands: under no circumstance were we to stick body parts outside of the cage lest they be mistaken for chum or bait. We were not to grab the chain link that surrounded the cage; sharks sometimes brush against it and their teeth would slice off an unwary diver’s fingers like “knife through butter”.
The water was much colder than I expected, but I didn’t dwell on the temperature for too long. More pressing was the fact that all that separated me from the sharks were some steel bars and a chain-linked mesh. I checked on my wife beside me and made sure that our GoPros were recording. This was a rare chance to look into another world; a world in which leviathans swim with effortless grace in chilling silence. We didn’t want to miss a second.
The time had come. I took a deep breath and pulled myself under. I looked around. Nothing. No charging shark, no rows of teeth bearing down at me, no thrashing fury. The rolling seas had tinged the water with a slightly milky consistency and visibility was limited to less than 50 feet. As I let my eyes settle, the underwater world became a bit clearer. I could see finger-sized fish pecking at smaller morsels of chum, and larger fish trying to get at the tuna heads from the chum.
Then a silver shadow glided to my left. I span around…nothing. I looked down just in time to see a wide shadow beneath me fading from view. I rose for air and saw one of the crewmen point at a spot not too far in front of me. I quickly dived again, and what I saw coming at me was like a scene from the Jaws. Not 20 feet from my face was Carcharadon carcharias, aka the white pointer, the white shark, the white death: the great white shark.
At 3 meters in length and weighing in at easily over 1 ton it dwarfed me – and any ego I had left. The shark swam effortlessly through the water, its iconic dorsal fin below the waterline … and it was headed straight for me! I have never felt so helpless, nor so in awe of another creature. Yet the shark itself seemed almost meek as it made its way to the cage, investigating the metal contraption and its strange contents. On the shark’s third pass, however, it opened its maw wide, and within I saw death. Death in the shape of rows upon rows of serrated daggers. It sheathed its weapons as quickly as it showed them, but the view served as a reminder of the respect that should be paid to these majestic, but deadly animals.
In no time at all my time in the cage was up and I had to wait until my turn came round again. I went to the upper deck as a precaution against sea sickness and also to get a bird’s eye view of the events below.
It was frustrating to see several more sharks swim close to the cage while I was up there. As I watched shark after shark seemed to glide by our boat. At one point there were three very large specimens circling the vessel. However, my turn eventually came around again and once more I was treated to some close-up views of the impressive fish.
We ended up seeing eleven sharks in those three hours at sea. Each one was between two and three and a half meters in length, and each weighed more than a mid-sized hatchback. Those three hours changed me forever. My respect for these creatures was taken to a new level. I learned that the great white is not a monster, rather it is a supremely efficient alpha predator, whose prowess and grace are to be admired. Great white sharks truly are masters of their domain, and it was a great privilege to witness them in their natural surroundings.
By Norman Dacanay