What I learned from my encounter with a Great White Shark
This past summer I was awarded the ultimate test: life or death.
It was a gorgeous day — a balmy 87 degrees, rare for the Northern Californian coast, and the air was more still than I had seen in years. With no swell, the lake-like conditions of the usually tumultuous Montara beach were just asking for a paddle. The water felt glorious; mild in the heat of the day, a stark contrast to the normal frigid temperatures. The steep slope of the beach that causes intense shore break in the winter was clearly visible below.
It was beautiful.
I began paddling north. The sun was hot on my back, burning my skin, but I was enjoying myself too much to care. I worked my way down the beach with long, smooth strokes of the paddle, listening to the wistful “whoosh” it made as it playfully pushed against the water.
A few splotches of kelp stood out in the otherwise crystal clear water, and I paddled over to get a better look. Maybe there were some fish around?
Nope.
Nearing the north end of the beach I passed a couple of surfers looking for waves. A few tiny sets rolled in and glassy 2-foot waves broke about 50 feet from shore. I continued on. I thought about my day and my life. What did I want to see and feel and do and be? It’d be funny if I saw a shark, I thought.
Then I did.
A 12-foot shadow swam directly under me. I know it was a 12-foot shark because it extended past my 11'6" board. It came out of nowhere, silently, completely submerged. It cut through the water with a body built for speed, but moved slowly now, slowly enough for me to recognize its infamous white belly and glance into its dark, expressionless eyes. They were staring at nothing and everything. It was aware of me and my awareness of it. There was an acknowledgment of power. Kelp was tangled around its tail, the bulb dragging 5 or so feet behind. The kelp moved with the shark, side to side, levitating. It was unearthly and beautiful and raw and powerful, and I stood frozen as this age-old beast passed beneath me. I felt so special and so small. I had the intense feeling that it was a privilege I was allowed here, not a right, and I was not welcome to stay for long.
I understood in those moments that humans are not of the sea. We may enjoy it from time to time, but it is their home. We do not speak the language of the wild anymore, but they do. The shark continued on to deeper water.
Then I was afraid. I took a fast paddle, then remembering that sharks attack splashing things I took a deep breath and slowed my pace. I didn’t look back. I rode a little wave to shore and stood, shaking, coming to terms with the fact that I had just seen my nightmare in the flesh. I realized I was mad at myself. “Goddamnit,” I thought. “I should have stayed with it.” Try as I might, I could not rewind time to return to the moment. Then I remembered the surfers. Ripping off my leash and tossing my board to the side, I ran up the beach, breaking into a full sprint. Arms above my head in the universal “fin” sign I yelled at them. “SHARK! Over there!” They either didn’t hear or didn’t care. They didn’t get out of the water.
I didn’t paddle back. I carried my 35 lb board the mile back to the parking lot. I also carried the shark with me. I have never experienced such utter awe and fear simultaneously. There was a shark! A Great White Shark! Literally RIGHT there. I still haven’t decided if I would stay out with it were it to happen again. I guess I’ll have to wait to find out.
I spent the next 48 hours learning everything I could about sharks. I must have watched 20 videos and drawn countless pictures and told the story hundreds of times. Interestingly, no matter how I tried to convey it, I can’t quite express exactly what it felt like to be with the shark. It’s something you have to experience for yourself.
I have a great appreciation the vast swath of saltwater that surrounds the land we reside upon, and the life it holds. I want to protect it. The shark made me consider my life not in the next 3 or 5 or 20 years, but in the next 500 or 800 or 1000 years. Reconnected with nature, in awe of the mystery of the world, and grounded indefinitely, I pondered these questions:
What can I do now that can impact the world then? Who can I be to embrace the wild, to be the best version of myself? What does the best version of myself even look like?
I credit the shark with the urgency I feel to answer these questions in the constraint of one lifetime. I am so excited to find them.
