ScubaSarus
Guest
He is the article that appeared in the New Haven Register. I took at the last names to protet privacy. You may want to print this as it is long.
HEADLINE:
This was no boating accident - just a long day at sea hunting sharks
HELEN
IN THE JAWS OF DESPAIR
OFF BLOCK ISLAND - You could call this the story of how I did not go shark diving, or learned to love the idea of being a lifelong landlubber. It didn't start out that way. I had clung diligently to the shark cage for more than an hour. But that was before it went into the water. What else could I do as the 35-foot Snappa sped away from Block Island in 5-foot swells; clinging to the bars of that shark cage helped me keep a grip on my churning stomach. I do, however, digress, as the first question to be answered is what would a woman of sound mind be doing in the first place, heading roughly due east in the Atlantic Ocean in a boat full of five men determined to face off against sharks? The answer begins with Scott of Haddam, the boundlessly enthusiastic naturalist and creator of the cable access show "Expedition New England." It's a show, as previ-ously chronicled in the Register, that provides viewers with a peek at flora and fauna of the region, the idea being to inspire said viewers to venture
out and discover those two Fs for one-self. I am no stranger to such viewing, and in fact have been known to find wildlife without even having to venture out of my own house. But Scott, 42, apparently thought I needed a new view, one that would take me to the open ocean in the vicinity of lati-tude 41.17 and longitude 71.58. That spot,somewhere south-east of Point Judith, R.I., Scott explained, is ripe for shark diving. (Otherwise known as the activity in which you place yourself in close proximity to a bite radius as long as your forearm, with a few metal bars and a small wooden baton the only thing available to prove to any overly curious animals that you are not a snack.)Scott's idea was to film (he's done it before) these great sea creatures, to present viewers with an underwater glimpse at animals that are both the target of sports fishing and are being decimated by being inadvertently caught in some types of commercial fishing nets. Presenting images of the sharks, Scott and others believe,
will help encourage preservation of an indispensable element of the aquatic food chain and ma-rine life in general.What a great news story, thought I, and I would get a chance to swim with sharks! (This is not withstanding that I never got over seeing "Jaws" as a kid, am generally
terrified of sharks and was overwhelmed by the desire, once aboard Snappa, to shout, "We're gonna need a bigger boat!")I had jumped at the chance to go. Trust me, however, after what actually happened on that boat, I would rather take a dip with a shark any day.
Getting back to the boat, there I was, clinging to the 270-pound shark cage on the deck of Snappa, keeping my eyes peeled to the horizon in an attempt to ward off the feeling I should not have eaten breakfast.
Tooling along at a nice 15 knots (that's about 17 mph) is a little faster than I am used to, as most of my boating experi-ence of late includes gentle day sails on Long
Island Sound. But Snappa Capt. Charlie had all well under con-trol and plowed through rough seas toward our goal of spew-ing all kinds of yummy shark bait into the water to attract big toothy fish.
Then the unexpected occurred. In the middle of the endless blue water floated what seemed a top prize for those inclined to attract large and hungry predators: a dead harbor seal.
That seal, which had lost its life, likely horribly, in the tan-gle of a gill net, would be a plump morsel to add to the chopped-up fish parts, otherwise known as chum, intended to provide a smorgasbord for finned photo prey of the day. Out came the boat hook and up onto the boat came the long-dead seal. And the long-dead-seal odor.
Imagine the worst odor, ever, multiply that by 100 - you get the picture. Correction: You almost get the picture. With-out a briny whiff, it's impossible to imagine it. I got sick. Forty-two times.
Forty-two times over the next seven hours. Seven hours in which the shark cage went into water, the chum went into the water, Scott et al went into the water and an odd floating diver's viewing platform/contraption Capt. Charlie calls the "playpen" (I
thought of it as the lunch plate) went into the water.
I did not go into the water. I did not don a wetsuit. I did not speak. I did not lift my head off the deck, except when absolutely necessary. I lay as perfectly still as possible on a rolling ocean, promising gods of the sea that I would never so much as think about setting foot on another vessel if I could just get off that
boat.I wasn't alone in ministrations off the port gunwale; one fellow boater even admonished me not to hog the best spot for such activity.
I won't say who else got seasick and who didn't. That would not be sporting, especially as my fellow boaters were mostly from Greater New Haven, including Scott's brother Earl of Branford, Jonathan of Durham, Chris of Middletown and the out-of-stater Dennis of Pennsylvania. But I will say Scott had no problem as that boat pitched and swayed, his cameras at the ready for
any glimpse of tooth or fin. The problem was, we didn't see any sharks.
It wasn't for lack of trying. While I kept my head as flat on the deck, Capt. Charlie, a 33-year veteran seafarer, offered up the dead seal and lots of dead fish to any shark that might have been nearby.
But there were no takers. I hope it was not a sign there were so few sharks in the area that none caught the scent of the chum line.
I have a feeling, though, it was a result of something else. Sharks don't like rotting seals any more than I do.
HEADLINE:
This was no boating accident - just a long day at sea hunting sharks
HELEN
IN THE JAWS OF DESPAIR
OFF BLOCK ISLAND - You could call this the story of how I did not go shark diving, or learned to love the idea of being a lifelong landlubber. It didn't start out that way. I had clung diligently to the shark cage for more than an hour. But that was before it went into the water. What else could I do as the 35-foot Snappa sped away from Block Island in 5-foot swells; clinging to the bars of that shark cage helped me keep a grip on my churning stomach. I do, however, digress, as the first question to be answered is what would a woman of sound mind be doing in the first place, heading roughly due east in the Atlantic Ocean in a boat full of five men determined to face off against sharks? The answer begins with Scott of Haddam, the boundlessly enthusiastic naturalist and creator of the cable access show "Expedition New England." It's a show, as previ-ously chronicled in the Register, that provides viewers with a peek at flora and fauna of the region, the idea being to inspire said viewers to venture
out and discover those two Fs for one-self. I am no stranger to such viewing, and in fact have been known to find wildlife without even having to venture out of my own house. But Scott, 42, apparently thought I needed a new view, one that would take me to the open ocean in the vicinity of lati-tude 41.17 and longitude 71.58. That spot,somewhere south-east of Point Judith, R.I., Scott explained, is ripe for shark diving. (Otherwise known as the activity in which you place yourself in close proximity to a bite radius as long as your forearm, with a few metal bars and a small wooden baton the only thing available to prove to any overly curious animals that you are not a snack.)Scott's idea was to film (he's done it before) these great sea creatures, to present viewers with an underwater glimpse at animals that are both the target of sports fishing and are being decimated by being inadvertently caught in some types of commercial fishing nets. Presenting images of the sharks, Scott and others believe,
will help encourage preservation of an indispensable element of the aquatic food chain and ma-rine life in general.What a great news story, thought I, and I would get a chance to swim with sharks! (This is not withstanding that I never got over seeing "Jaws" as a kid, am generally
terrified of sharks and was overwhelmed by the desire, once aboard Snappa, to shout, "We're gonna need a bigger boat!")I had jumped at the chance to go. Trust me, however, after what actually happened on that boat, I would rather take a dip with a shark any day.
Getting back to the boat, there I was, clinging to the 270-pound shark cage on the deck of Snappa, keeping my eyes peeled to the horizon in an attempt to ward off the feeling I should not have eaten breakfast.
Tooling along at a nice 15 knots (that's about 17 mph) is a little faster than I am used to, as most of my boating experi-ence of late includes gentle day sails on Long
Island Sound. But Snappa Capt. Charlie had all well under con-trol and plowed through rough seas toward our goal of spew-ing all kinds of yummy shark bait into the water to attract big toothy fish.
Then the unexpected occurred. In the middle of the endless blue water floated what seemed a top prize for those inclined to attract large and hungry predators: a dead harbor seal.
That seal, which had lost its life, likely horribly, in the tan-gle of a gill net, would be a plump morsel to add to the chopped-up fish parts, otherwise known as chum, intended to provide a smorgasbord for finned photo prey of the day. Out came the boat hook and up onto the boat came the long-dead seal. And the long-dead-seal odor.
Imagine the worst odor, ever, multiply that by 100 - you get the picture. Correction: You almost get the picture. With-out a briny whiff, it's impossible to imagine it. I got sick. Forty-two times.
Forty-two times over the next seven hours. Seven hours in which the shark cage went into water, the chum went into the water, Scott et al went into the water and an odd floating diver's viewing platform/contraption Capt. Charlie calls the "playpen" (I
thought of it as the lunch plate) went into the water.
I did not go into the water. I did not don a wetsuit. I did not speak. I did not lift my head off the deck, except when absolutely necessary. I lay as perfectly still as possible on a rolling ocean, promising gods of the sea that I would never so much as think about setting foot on another vessel if I could just get off that
boat.I wasn't alone in ministrations off the port gunwale; one fellow boater even admonished me not to hog the best spot for such activity.
I won't say who else got seasick and who didn't. That would not be sporting, especially as my fellow boaters were mostly from Greater New Haven, including Scott's brother Earl of Branford, Jonathan of Durham, Chris of Middletown and the out-of-stater Dennis of Pennsylvania. But I will say Scott had no problem as that boat pitched and swayed, his cameras at the ready for
any glimpse of tooth or fin. The problem was, we didn't see any sharks.
It wasn't for lack of trying. While I kept my head as flat on the deck, Capt. Charlie, a 33-year veteran seafarer, offered up the dead seal and lots of dead fish to any shark that might have been nearby.
But there were no takers. I hope it was not a sign there were so few sharks in the area that none caught the scent of the chum line.
I have a feeling, though, it was a result of something else. Sharks don't like rotting seals any more than I do.
