We were all awake long before the sun was up that Saturday: 5:30 AM to be exact, and it seemed like it was going to be a cold one. All dressed smartly in layers, Jill, Rachel, Jordan and I were ready, as instructed by Jordan (our liaison with the shark dive company) to be picked up by the van that would take us to our boat. The van (again, in true South African fashion) was late, but we all took it in stride, recouping our losses by sleeping on the way there. According to Jordan, it would then be another hour on a boat to "Shark Alley," an area between two well-known Great White hunting sites, before we would arrive at the dive spot. When we arrived at a small restaurant for the breakfast included in the tour, we were read the riot act about being patient. "If we're extremely lucky," said Dixie, our videographer, "we could wait 5 minutes for the sharks to show up. But we could also wait hours." How many hours, Dixie did not say, but I felt myself up to the challenge of whiling away a few pleasant hours on a boat in the South African sunshine.
What I failed to remember was the last time I'd been on the "high seas" in South Africa: on the way to and from Robben Island. More specifically, what I'd forgotten was my penchant for nautical nausea. Not long after we embarked, Jill and I were overcome with the misery of seasickness. Clinging to the railings on the bow of the boat as we careened back and forth like a bobbing cork, we both closed our eyes, willing away the urge to vomit. (If my mom is reading this, I'm sorry for always making fun of you for forcing Dramamine on me every time we've ever been on a boat. In my old age, I can no longer endure roller coasters and boats without pharmaceutical assistance.) If you've never experienced seasickness, you're very lucky. Seconds feel like minutes, hours feel like centuries, and there is no escape from the never-ending rocking and bobbing. Even with the super cool bonus of seeing Great White Sharks, I have very little patience for seasickness.
Seals (aka Shark food!)
After the initial hour of misery, we arrive outside of Shark Alley. The waiting game continued for another hour. Then another. Then another. While the first wave of people wishing to hop in the cage sweated, wandering around in their wetsuits waiting for the sharks to show up, the four of us made the best of the situation, sun(burn)ing ourselves as the boat continued to rock. We waited until late in the day before any real shark sightings took place. In fact, the majority of the shark sightings occurred just after the shark cage was raised from the water, just before the crew was ready to "call it a day." You'd think I would have been soured on the whole shark diving experience, but I wasn't. When the sharks finally showed up (gargantuan, emotionless, shadowy things), there wasn't even time for us to put wetsuits back on. As the crew had explained, sightings were often fleeting, and you couldn't take them for granted. Jumping in the frigid water without a wetsuit had its unforeseen side benefits: When you're too cold to function or even breathe properly, you don't have the ability to feel seasick anymore.
Go figure!
My encounters were brief, and my time in the cage itself was short, but somehow, waiting all day for those few moments with the sharks was sweeter because I had to be patient for them. Through the sunburn and the seasickness, I had to be patient, and in the end, it paid off. I'd like to be an easygoing kind of person that can shrug off inconsequential, temporary inconveniences. Every day that I'm here, I believe I come closer to being that kind of person, and for that, I'm thankful.
Julie and Jill, attempting to look "aloof," but looking more "green."
"Live every week… like Shark Week." -Jill Macdougal
