One of my earliest memories is watching the movie Jaws on an old box television, the kind with rabbit ears bent in every which way, and a remote ‘clicker’ that was still trudging along since Eisenhower was president. These were the summers of wood-paneled Cape Cod-style houses and window units blowing at full blast. The smell of fried shrimp and faces covered in smeared ice cream. The beach continues to be the place to go for us coastal dwellers. Yes, we do enjoy the mountains and inner parts of the country. But we are ocean people by birth and habit. Without it, we’re like a crustacean drying out in the sun. Eventually, we’ll break.
At the time of this writing, we are in the midst of ‘Shark Week,’ the annual chum-fest of shadowy spectacles that toys with our primal fear of venturing into the unknown and being eaten alive by one of nature’s most beautiful and deadly creatures. And yes, this excites me. Not the idea of being eaten, but knowing our place on the food chain has slipped once you step foot in the water. It humbles you and demands that you respect it; much like the ocean itself, if you don’t respect it, it’s likely to let you know in a bad way.
Shark attacks are rarely, if ever, captured on video. One would assume in our current digital climate that we’d have better documented cases, but alas such events remain rare, which is reassuring. The most infamous ‘close call’ of the last few years came when pro surfer Mick Fanning was ‘investigated’ by a juvenile great white shark at Jeffrey’s Bay in South Africa. The video is chilling, and luckily for Fanning and the surfing world, he somehow reacted a split second before the shark took a bite out of his board. The video can be found online, but no doubt, the reality of what ‘could have been’ is ever present as Fanning, along with friends and compatriots in the water, all emotionally rejoiced that it ended with just a scare. Such is the threat to those of us who surf and call the ocean our extra-curricular playground.
In truth, tragedy does strike unexpectedly and occasionally one of us is taken by a man-in-a-gray-flannel-suit. The horrific story earlier this summer out of Maine is one such example. Others are permanently maimed or scarred. Some choose to forgo the ocean afterwards. Others, like pro-surfer Bethany Hamilton (who lost her arm to a tiger shark in 2003), not only beat the odds and got better at surfing, but she has become an international star for inspiring millions with her perseverance. Her case should be the guide for all of us; when life deals you a savagely unfair hand, how do you respond?
Ok, still with me? I hope my fondness for sharks hasn’t gotten the better of you. There’s more to go here.
I fell down a solid YouTube rabbit hole the other day, as we all do. Turns out, some of New Jersey’s fabled relics of the infamous 1916 shark attacks can still be found if you know where to look. On the murky banks of the Matawan Creek, a few miles from the salt water of the Raritan Bay, lays what remains of the swimming dock where five boys were swimming on the morning of July 12, 1916. Now just a dozen or so deformed pilings sticking out of the creek, it was here eleven year old Lester Stillwell was pulled under by an unknown predator. The other boys, naked from skinny dipping, made it to shore and frantically ran through the streets of Matawan seeking help. Shopkeeper Stanley Fisher knew Stillwell and helped assemble a search party on the creek. Knowing the boy suffered from epilepsy, Fisher dove into the creek and eventually found a lifeless Stillwell underwater. But he, too, was attacked by the shark and bled to death at a hospital in Long Branch later that day. The shark would not be finished as it attacked thirty minutes later downstream, biting the thigh of fourteen year old Joseph Dunn as his friends were exiting the water from the shouts of locals warning them of what had just taken place in Matawan. Today, the creek is a shadow of its former self. Passenger boats could safely trek through its depths of 20 feet in 1916, but a dam creating an artificial lake in 1928 effectively turned the creek into a tidal zone that collects storm runoff. Now it’s a safe passage for kayakers and small outboards. But the eeriness of the creek continues to play on the psyche that something sinister took place here not long ago.
The 1916 shark attacks, which began on July 1 in Beach Haven, continue to draw curious researchers and historians to the Jersey Shore every year. What caused such a flurry of fatal attacks in just a short amount of time? The well-written book, Close to Shore, by Michael Capuzzo, posits that it was very likely a rogue shark that might have been responsible for all of the attacks. Michael Schleisser, a New York City taxidermist, carnival barker and fisherman, reeled in a nearly eight foot juvenile great white shark in the Raritan Bay days after the Matawan attacks. According to him, when he opened the fish’s stomach, ten pounds of human remains were found to be intact. Schleisser was photographed with the shark, making the newspapers, and displayed it in the window of his storefront. But its whereabouts are unknown as the shark soon disappeared. What’s interesting about this is that the attacks abruptly stopped after Schleisser’s catch. Some marine biologists have long maintained that a bull shark is likely the culprit of the Matawan Creek attacks, considering bulls are known to be able to travel thousands of miles upstream in fresh water rivers. But Capuzzo finishes his book by citing ichthyologist George Burgess’ analysis that the lunar tidal charts indicate the creek experienced an unusually high tide that day; the salinity levels were high enough to potentially sustain a small great white for a short period of time. While that seems to me as a plausible scientific explanation, coupled with the end of the attacks after the caught white shark, there is still great debate whether it was a single shark or not. Alas, the rogue theory, made famous by Richard Dreyfuss’s character Hooper in Jaws, remains skeptical to some in the marine community.
I’ve seen sharks in the wild. Some while swimming, passing through clear breakers on an August day. Others swimming under me while surfing. I once spotted a twelve foot tiger shark in Sebastian Inlet, Florida off the fishing pier. And yet I remain committed to my life in the ocean, and my fascination with its scariest inhabitants. In truth, sharks should not be feared. We’ve come a long way, thankfully, from the mass hysteria of slaughtering thousands over safety concerns. Most shark species, including the great white, are now internationally protected from poaching. Some Asian countries continue to hunt sharks for their fins, a delicacy for shark fin soup (which tastes awful) and is not worth the barbarity of cutting their fins off and tossing the still breathing sharks overboard to their deaths. Sharks are the bouncers of the deep. They regulate ecosystems and devour the sick and the dead. Yes, they can put fear into the hearts of shipwrecked crews and bathers alike. But their importance far outweighs our own insecurities. Humans have a tendency to think of themselves as the center of everything: the world is our oyster. Some sharks love oysters too.
Sharks are good for the tourism business too. The Caribbean makes millions off international visitors eager to dive with reef sharks. South Africa, home to the terrifying events known as Black December in 1957/58, specializes in cage diving with the massive great whites that lurk in their cool waters. That’s something I hope I can do one day. Not be nearly eaten like Hooper in a cage, but see one of nature’s most beautiful predators up close and in its world. Great whites are the Tyrannosauruses of the ocean. Children flock to their cartoon merchandise and yearn for a tooth to wear around their neck for a reason. A tooth is a terrible thing to waste. Just ask Matt Hooper.