Swim with sharks without a cage

“On the third passing of the Galápagos sharks, I catch eyes with one of them and it begins swimming in my direction because I ended up drifting between the group and the boat. [...] The shark is gliding in my direction and there is a point where I want to swim backward as fast I can, but I remember that Berry said you need to let the shark know you’re a dominant predator as well. So I float my ground, not moving backward or forward, with my shoulders pointed at the shark. It gets close enough to where I could stick out my arm and grab its snout, but it turns quickly, keeping its eye contact with me before joining its three companions following the boat. At that moment, my fear of these creatures turns into a deep respect. Observing how they move, how they glide effortlessly through the water with minimal movement. Instead of letting my imagination wander off with visions of an eating machine, I begin to appreciate how efficiently designed these animals are and how beautiful they look in their element.”

“In the open ocean, I float at the surface, heart pounding, emotions seesawing between fear and fascination. The sharks haven’t noticed us yet. They circle far below, near a fish house: a manmade structure known to attract schools of fish and, in turn, predators. Two sharks glide by together, side by side. Contrary to popular belief, most shark species don’t need to swim constantly to breathe. Suddenly, a six-foot Galapagos shark rockets up from the depths with its mouth wide open. My body locks up. Muscles tighten. My brain shouts: DANGER. SWIM AWAY. But at the last moment, just a meter away, the shark banks and drifts off. A wave of relief crashes over me. I’m okay. Everything’s fine. More sharks start rising from below, mouths agape. At first it’s terrifying. Then it becomes oddly… funny? They look ridiculous, zooming upward with mouths wide open like cartoon characters.”