Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [33]
As if we humans didn’t carry diseases of our own. If gorillas understood biology well enough, at the sight of every approaching cluster of camera-wielding human tourists, they would immediately begin screaming, “Run, everybody, run! It’s those filthy measles-transmitting humans again!”
Perception is not the same as understanding. Therefore, spare a thought for the poor shark, which performs its role of top predator sans the kudos and admiration the handsome lion and sensuous tiger claim effortlessly as their birthright.
There are 360 species of shark, from the ten-inch-long spined pygmy shark to the largest fish in the ocean, the forty-foot, fifteen-ton whale shark. As if further proof was needed that Nature indeed has a sense of humor, the pygmy shark will bite while its gigantic cousin will not. In fact, I can attest that if you scratch a juvenile whale shark under its enormous, plankton-swilling mouth, it will go vertical in the water and hang there like a contented puppy until you tire of caressing it. Just don’t try to catch a mature one by its tail, which will knock you aside as effortlessly and indifferently as a teenager flicking a half-eaten Cheeto at a friend in history class.
Below the whale shark and considerably above the spined pygmy shark in size are a number of strikingly attractive sharks that boast of no-nonsense dentition. I’ve already spoken of the great white. A step down from this master of the seas are the hammerhead, the tiger shark, and Carcharhinus albimarginatus, the silvertip shark. Growing to a length of more than ten feet and weighing in at more than 350 pounds, the silvertip is virtually a poster child for everyone’s idea of the classic shark: sleek, beautifully proportioned, and active. Silvertip distribution is worldwide in many of the tropical seas.
Silvertip Reef in northern Papua New Guinea got its name not only because the eponymous shark could frequently be encountered there, but because the occasional scuba operation to reach this isolated corner of the ocean discovered that the sharks could be acclimated to recognize when they were about to be fed by visitors. So along with the usual assortment of victuals intended to keep their passengers properly nourished, the infrequent dive boats that visited this location developed the habit of including among their supplies a suitably attractive mishmash of tasty shark snacks.
In our case, this consisted of a steel oil drum full of frozen fish parts too rank, slimy, tasteless, bony, or organ-rich to meet the minimum specifications of even the most undiscriminating pet food manufacturer. In other words, to a shark, chateaubriand.
Every one of us on the Tiata had heard about Silvertip Reef long before we anchored there. For several of the divers on board, it was the principal reason they had signed on for the current itinerary. Though we had enjoyed superb diving for more than a week in the vicinity of the main islands of New Ireland and New Hanover, including a rare visit to the remote Tingwon Islands, the promise of Silvertip Reef and everything we had heard about it had never strayed far from our thoughts. And now, we were there.
As we assembled in the dining room for the usual predive briefing, it was clear from Captain Dave’s uncharacteristically somber attitude and expression that the forthcoming dive would be different in a number of respects from those that had preceded it. His usual jauntiness was absent, his gaze noticeably more intent. We were not going into the water to look for sea horses or to take pretty pictures of batfish and purple chromis. Not this time.
“The sharks may already be here,” he told us. “They’ve learned to recognize the sound of the boat’s engines and connect it with a feed. They might well be right under your fins as you jump in. Once you’re in the water and have checked out your gear, ignore them and head straight down to the reef. Find yourself a spot and settle in. No