Text and photos by West Coast Editor Steve Casimiro
The first time you swim with sharks should be dramatic. There should
be storm-tossed seas, fang-like Farallon Islands jutting from the
water, hungry great whites thrashing as the first mate chums stinky
fish guts overboard. You’re shivering into your cold chain mail shark
suit as the grizzled sea dog captain growls, “Arr! Don’t be a-worryin’,
lad! I’ve only lost three customers to the sharks—this week, harhar!”
Yes, that would be a great shark story.
But it’s not my shark story. For me, there was no “arrr”. Just three six-foot grey reef sharks--and me in my underwear.
Comments