I watched a 17-minute YouTube video last night that reminded me why I don’t play in the sea much these days.
It followed a young fisherman out in a skinny kayak that had enough cameras to make China blush.
The skies were blue, the waves were soft, and so, with these perfect seafaring conditions, it came as no surprise that the lad was able to snag himself some sizeable fish, which he then wisely used as live bait to catch much larger fish.
However, no more than nine minutes into the video, something changed.
The seagulls took flight and a distant ripple emerged some twenty feet away.
The fisherman stopped paddling and let the oar sit on his lap, waiting.
One second passed, then two.
Nothing happened beyond an uptick in breathing.
Then, without warning, a dorsal fin sliced through the surface and a dark, torpedo-shaped mass began swimming towards him.
“Fu*k,” he said, his voice betraying what his eyes knew. “Great white, great white!”
He quickly severed his fishing line and paddled to the faraway shoreline, glancing over his shoulder with every stroke.
Lo and behold, the apex predator tailed him.
At one point, it got so close to the kayak that my thumb was poised to skip the video. Things got so dire that the young chap started tossing plastic bottles into the water in a bid to distract the shark.
And it did…
For all of a few seconds.
But here’s what truly made my blood run cold:
Despite every fibre in his being begging him to row quickly, he couldn’t. Not because he was unable to, but because it risked inciting the predator even more.
Imagine that for a second.
Paddle too fast, and you could be lunch.
Paddle too slow, and you could still be lunch.
A truly terrifying dilemma.
The sea was thankfully not painted red that day. After what felt like an hour of shaky breaths and stuttered prayers, the lad eventually crashed on the black-pebbled shoreline and leapt out from the bruised kayak.
When he spun around, the dorsal fin slowly slipped beneath the teal surface, not to be seen again.
And that, lords and ladies, is why I don’t play in the sea much these days despite completing an entry-level scuba diving course and once wanting to be a marine biologist.
Sure, I don’t live among the most shark-infested waters in the world, but that doesn’t change the fact that the oceans are not our domain.
We so arrogantly assume that just because we’ve got big brains and have birthed incredible things, we get a free pass in nature.
HA!
Needless to say, I won’t be venturing into the sea any time soon.
I much prefer the safety of my writer’s corner where I can write about these harrowing events rather than play them out in real life.
Does such caution dull the sheen on life?
Maybe.
But at least I get to keep my legs, my life, and have a little more time in this world to do the things I love, like crafting stories brimming with heart-stopping moments like these.
Speaking of which…
Did you know Chapter 1 of Among Wolves opens with a remarkably similar event to the story above?
I won’t spoil it, but if you like your fantasy rugged, wild, and totally unforgiving, then you can get the latest instalment of The Divided Region here:
DJJW