It’s late afternoon in the middle of the Atlantic. I’m
clinging to a thin length of rope, treading water in a cloudy slick of blood
and fish guts. At one end of the line is our fishing boat – Bones. At the other
end is the severed head of a wild blue marlin. It stares at me through a pale
glassy eye, its javelin bill pointing skyward and its mouth jammed open as if
permanently posing a question – namely, ‘What the hell are you doing?’
It’s a fair question. Swimming next to me in this soup of
chum is 54-year old Neil Burnie – vet, big-wave windsurfer, saxophonist,
fisherman…and shark-rider. He scrapes repeatedly with his knife on a two-foot
chunk of flesh that used to belong to the marlin, watching as the blood spirals
off into the deep. The sound of the blade cutting into the meat will make the
sharks come quicker. Onboard, Choy Aming cleaves freshly caught tuna and throws
the carcasses, still spilling crimson, into the mix.
The tiny island of Bermuda – the only landmass in 1,000
square miles of ocean – has receded so far into the distance that you could
blot it out by holding a finger in front of your eye. Roughly 200 feet below
us, a safe 14 miles from sandy shores filled with frolicking tourists, is a
submerged volcano. This is Challenger Banks, where the island’s big-game
fishing fleets come to mine a bounty of tuna and mahi-mahi. It’s also tiger
shark territory, which is why we’re here. Burnie and Aming come to the Banks in
various guises: to tag sharks, film them, document their behaviour, or like
today, to play with them.
At this point I’m not sure what scares me more: the imminent arrival of
nature’s most feared predator, or that my companions in this ocean wilderness
are Aming, whose ambition is to be the first man to bite a shark, and Burnie,
who told me earlier, ‘I can’t think of any more natural way to die than to
re-enter the food chain.’ I’ve already been shown footage of them taking turns
to ride an 11-foot tiger shark, clinging to its dorsal fin as it zips through
the water. This boat trip is not for tourists.
KILLER REPUTATION
I try to regain eye contact with the marlin. We’re in this
together - two lumps of shark bait hanging from a rope. Clinging to the line -
like an umbilical chord to the safety of the mother ship - I can’t help
thinking of what I’ve read about Tiger sharks. Apparently the second most
dangerous shark in the world - after the Great White – it’s known as the
‘garbage can of the ocean’ since it trumps all others in its reputation as an
indiscriminate eater. They have a diet so diverse that scientists have sliced
them open to find rubber boots, bags of charcoal, hubcaps, deer antlers, a suit
of armour and trainers (with the legs still attached). All this is about as
reassuring as the boat’s first aid kit – a tourniquet and needle and thread.
Right now it’s eerily calm. Schools of baitfish dart close
to the surface and sunlight strobes through the deep blue water.
‘Tigger’ is not living up to his rep. We’ve been doggy
paddling in a smoothie of his favourite foods for three hours and he’s just not
interested. Apparently, this is pretty typical behaviour. Burnie and Aming have
been studying tigers in Bermuda for four years as part of a team of researchers
that staff The Bermuda Shark Project. One of their goals is to separate myth
from reality when it comes to these much feared, but little understood
predators, and in chasing this, they’ve spent more than 40 hours free swimming
with tiger sharks. The idea that it is a brutal killing machine unable to
control its blood lust does not gel with what they have observed - a skittish,
circumspect hunter, nervous in human company, and cautious about what it
attacks. Even when it does go in for a kill, clamping on to
the marlin head
like a dog with a chew toy, Aming sees little reason to be
afraid.
‘I’m not trying to sell you care bears here - this is a
voracious 800lb
predator - but in the right circumstances it’s reasonably safe
to check them
out.’
SHARK SURFING
Ask anyone in Bermuda about these two guys and they will say
they’re crazy, but as with the sharks, the reality is more sophisticated. Aming
has a degree in wildlife biology and years of experience on conservation
projects, including radio-tagging lions in Botswana. Dr. Burnie is a respected
vet and a renowned spear fisherman. Still, there’s enough truth there to fuel
the myth.The first time Aming rode an 11-foot Tiger shark, he insists he was
not afraid. They had been swimming with it for 45 minutes, analyzing its
movements and behaviour and they were convinced it was ‘inquisitive but not
aggressive.’
They’d seen a shark-riding stunt on Jackass and had talked about trying it
themselves.
‘We decided this was the fish,’ says Aming. He gulped a
lungful of air through his snorkel and fin-kicked to the shark’s level. Gently
grabbing hold of its dorsal fin and placing one hand on its immense muscular
flank, he began to kick along with it.
‘It wasn’t fear. It was a mixture of awe and adrenaline. I
never felt in danger and the shark did not seem to mind that I was there. It
was amazing to feel the sheer power of its muscles as it swam.’
Shark riding, while not an every day occurrence, is
something they look to do whenever they find the ‘right fish’. Burnie once free-dove with a shark to a depth of 40 feet and followed it up
to
the surface, joining an entourage of sucker-fish in its slipstream.
‘I was able to have a shark’s eye view of Choy, the marlin
and the boat, while filming over its dorsal fin. I realized after that the
camera was switched off but the sequence is burned in my memory.’
Pulling out of the pretty, palm fringed harbour earlier that
morning, Burnie – stubbly, with greying hair and a rakish build - explained his
MO.
‘The great tragedy of our age is that too many of us will
end our days in nursing homes, regretting what we didn’t do with our lives,
bed-ridden and waiting for the release of death.’
Then he broke into a rendition of ‘Riders on the Shark’, his
adaptation of the Doors classic. Aming affectionately describes Burnie as a
hugely intelligent, overgrown ADD child. Until he met him, the Bermudian boat
captain and documentary filmmaker never imagined he could be the ‘sensible one’
in any partnership. A seasoned world traveller who surfs hurricane swell for
fun, Aming has the same alpha male approach to life,
but he’s also a passionate animal lover and is in it for
conservation as much as thrills. Burnie, a Liverpudlian who has lived in
Bermuda for 22 years, talks the same talk but you can tell he lives for the
adrenaline rush.
‘People thinking I’m crazy is something I’ve dealt with my
entire life, but I believe it’s a crime not to live life to its fullest,’ he
explains. From the comfort of the boat his ‘live like you were dying’ maxim had
seemed inspiring. Now, neck-deep in bloody water, it just sounds like a bad
country song.
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS
When the shape of a colossal tiger shark - its striped sides
dappled by sunlight - finally looms into view, I can feel my blood cool a few
degrees. My one consolation is that I can piss myself and no-one will notice.
Panicked, I start to make for the boat, but then I remember what Aming told me:
‘Never turn your back to a shark, and never let your dominance drop for a
second’. So, feeling not a shred of confidence, I stay and face my fear. The
shark cruises about 20 feet below us and then cuts in front of me, curving
upwards in a sweeping arc, its steel-grey body gliding effortlessly through the
water. Driven by a powerful sashaying rudder of a tail, its movements are slow
and cautious. He’s truly menacing, but fortunately he ignores me, cruising
towards the marlin head. I fire off a couple of shots with my camera while back
pedalling to the boat. My heart is pounding - something else Aming told me to
control. Damn it - I’m acting like shark bait! My poor friend the marlin can’t
watch any more. Tossed by surface swell, it turns away as the shark moves in
for a closer look.
But look is all it does. Then it’s on its way, its shape
dissolving into the infinite blue. Our brief encounter offered only a small
glimpse into the behaviour of the shark. Documenting its habits is a
painstaking process and even after four years of the Bermuda Shark Project,
there are still many questions left to answer. I put it to Burnie that riding
sharks doesn’t seem to fit with the wider scientific remit.
‘It’s partly Jackass stunts, I can’t argue. Some of what we
do is not scientific. Some of
our activities are entirely separate from the
goals and methods of the
Bermuda Shark Project.’
The most obvious difference is the use of a shark cage. The thrust of the
project has been to attach GPS satellite tracking tags,
either with pole
spears from the cage or by boating the shark, flipping it so
it goes into a
transcendental state and then helping it back into the water.
It is the
first major study of sharks in Bermuda and the idea is to record
data on its behaviour and movements. But Aming also attaches value to the
out-of-cage encounters. Up to 38 million sharks are killed each year to satisfy
the fin soup trade in Asia, and its reputation as a killer is a conservationist’s
nightmare. Saving the cuddly panda is one thing…but the sharks?
During a brief surface-break, he explains, ‘We’re boys with
egos and there is an element of, “Fuck, yeah, I just rode a shark!” but we also
wanted to show that it could be done. Most of the time when you see sharks on
television they’re ripping something to shreds. That’s not even one per cent of
what they do. I think our footage is definitely good PR for sharks.’
The return of the shark interrupts his flow. This time it’s
the classic Jaws
moment: dorsal fin slicing through the water as it approaches
the boat
before brushing against the engine and the swim ladder. I hear a
splash from behind me as Aming jumps in.
‘I think we can ride this one!’ he yells. But Burnie is
already on it.
‘I’m going to hand feed him’, he shouts, waving the chunk of
marlin flesh in front of its nose. ‘Let me hand feed him first and then we’ll
ride him.’ The shark checks out the rack of meat in Burnie’s fist and glances
back at
the marlin head, like a diner at a buffet unsure where to begin.
Burnie
swims toward it and then I hear an anguished shout that chills me to
the bone.
‘Fuck!’
I fear the worst. Aming had told me he wouldn’t want anyone
to try to save
him if he was attacked, and Burnie’s attitude is ‘keep
filming’. Still, I feel compelled to help and start making my way to him. Then
Burnie’s head bobs back to the surface.
‘I dropped the marlin rack,’ he says flatly. As soon as he
let go of the
bait the shark was there, dragging it away to enjoy his meal in
peace.
The game’s over for the day. With the sun dropping, we make our way
back to
the welcoming turquoise waters of the inshore reefs.
Under a
blood-red sky, I share a final, knowing glance with the marlin head,
now
propped upright in a bucket, almost grinning with relief.
‘Thank Christ for
that.’
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