It is 6am and I am more worried about having got up at 6am after working a night shift than I am about the fact that I am up at the crack of dawn to go shark cage diving. This worries me. I amusingly worries a friend of mine too, who at 1am this morning was humming Jaws music every time he passed my desk and his parting shot was “maybe I won’t see you tomorrow, a Great White could look at you and think ‘auderve’”. Well, I had thought of that.

Pick up for the trip to Gansbaai was 7am outside the Table Bay Hotel at the Waterfront. Mini-bus driver Dirk was moustached, cellphoned and spent the two hour drive talking into his phone at full volume, one hand precariously on the steering wheel taken off to change gears at 120kph while overtaking. He was unflappably brilliant, just the right person to pick up grumpy tourists in the early hours of the morning.

I must admit, for all my bravo in booking the trip, I was a bit doubtful about this shark cage diving thing. Shark attacks are big news in the Western Cape and a lot of people have (loudly) blamed the shark tour operators for luring the sharks into the shallower waters of the coast.

I had booked the tour – aimed at foreign tourists but there is a “special discount” if you sport a South African accent – with a Waterfront tout who gave me a rather blank look when I asked about ethics and possible harm to the sharks. But the brochure had eco-tourism splashed all over it and gave a blurb about changing the human perception of Great Whites as 2m to 10m man-eating hunters. I decided it was worth the risk.

Carcharas in Gansbaai, a sleepy village of wide empty roads, and what I was about to do sunk in. The shark tourism operator proclaimed itself (among the kitsch tourist paraphernalia) as the Great White Shark Embassy of South Africa. The small brick old-style house was packed with references to Gaia and Earth Mother and reminders about appreciating a species that had claimed the Earth long before us, that had evolved while us humans were still mere amoeba.

Most of the tour was backpacking Germans and Brits. Our boat was the 42-foot double-deck Barracuda. Our group of 19 was briefed before we boarded. The sea was “flatter than flat” so we should be ok for seasickness. No one was to throw up in the toilet, “we do that overboard” (there was even a sign above the really dodge toilet on board to remind us: “No vomiting”).

The 15 to 20 minute ride out to sea would take us to the notorious “Shark Alley” between Dyer Island and Pearly Beach. There was good visibility, our skipper was Frank and we would spend four hours on the boat. There were also a couple of Sharklife people on board, which made me feel better about the whole ethics thing.

Shark Alley and we waited for what seemed like hours. The boat circled the area slowly, one of the crew pouring a mixture of sea water, blood and fish bits (urgh) into its wake. The idea of chumming is create the scenario of a shark kill, attracting sharks in the area who might want to scavenge a piece for themselves. Then we would wait, agonisingly, and circle again, pour, circle, wait, pour. Infinite patience.

Frank advised us to suit up while we waited. I bet you James Bond never had so much trouble getting into his kit, grunted a Brit. I agree. Like his, my suit just didn’t want to pull over the flab.

Shark chumming seemed to be a lot of waiting around and I decided to sit out on the side of the boat looking out towards the island. So there I was, dangling my legs over the side, appreciating the view, when a 3m shadow passed beneath my feet. I was so surprised all I managed was a photo of my toes.

I watched the first group of divers lower themselves into the 3m cage, then the second group. Each group of five was allowed half an hour in the water before the next group got a turn to see the creatures underwater. There were quite a few sharks around the boat now, swirling blurry masses of 4m to 5m.

I must admit I was a bit nervous about getting into the cage, a thick wire mesh with a viewing panel. That cage looked mighty small and that shark was mighty big. Going for the chum, the shark would often ram into the cage, splashing the boat and its tail jolting the cage. I felt there was no aggression in this though. More like the shark was just frustrated because it was not getting what it was promised by the bait.

My turn. Booties on, weighted, underwater disposable camera prepared (it is sometimes fun to be a tourist). Clamber in and wait for a shark to swim past. “Ok guys, ready,” shouted Frank and we dived. Didn’t see anything but the tail. Dive again and wow. I don’t like being in the cage and I don’t like being underwater but that shark – all 6m of it – had blown my mind. Immediately I am thinking of the photo as another massive creature glides towards me.

And sharks really do glide. I was expecting many things – Jaws, Deep Blue – but the elegance and grace of a Great White as it moves, slides, through this mass of ocean. That was unexpected.

I spent about half-an-hour in the water. Sometimes the sharks came so close to me I could put out my hand and touch them. The best way I can describe something like this is to say the experience was humanising. Watching these massive beautiful creatures I was conscious of how human I was, and how small.

I had dived with an American from Washington, with whom I had spent the previous hour discussing our respective travels to India (only someone who has been there would understand its insaneness). We were both quiet for a while after the dive and then, just as quietly, hung our diving booties up on the rack – while the two German brothers chomped at the bit to get back into the water.

It was not that we did not want to go, that was not the point. It was because that one moment was perfect. That one space of breath when you could, if you chose to, put your hand through the metal grill surrounding you to touch the ruler of the ocean, a massive lethal creature that has captured the human fascination. Touch it that is, if you wanted to brave its jaws and teeth. The shark embassy had done its thing – I am a shark-converted human. I even bought a t-shirt saying so.

Fact box:
I booked the tour through Classic Cape Charters at the V&A Waterfront. The tour operator was White Shark Adventures, a member of the Great White Shark Protection Foundation.
Cost of the tour was R1 100 (with the handy accent discount) and included my pick up to and from Gansbaai by the brilliant Dirk, breakfast, lunch, snacks, drinks, plenty of coffee, all equipment, a certificate attesting to the fact that I had dived with a Great White and a DVD.
Not everyone on the boat dived, and you don’t have to (although you do pay the same price). If you have issues with space, having a mask on your face, or breathing underwater you might have problems but the diving was pretty basic.
For more information, visit www.WhiteSharkAdventures.com

Published in Pretoria Star, November 2006