Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [75]
Below them, drawn upward by all the activity, the piscine equivalent of jet interceptors have begun to stir. Armed not with guns or missiles but with razor-sharp, serrated, triangular teeth set in multiple rows in jaws, the great whites begin working to single out potential victims. Ideally, they are looking for the younger, less experienced seals.
The deadly dance between predator and prey that takes place in False Bay perfectly exemplifies the great white’s preferred method of attack. In this eternal ballet, the initial advantage goes to the seal. Great whites can strike with incredible speed and force, but they cannot turn as quickly as a seal. Think of a power lifter trying to catch a gymnast in a game of tag, or a battleship attempting to run down a PT boat. One has the advantage of overwhelming size and strength while the other is far more agile.
Seals know they are safe when they can see the shark. So great whites essentially mug their prey, coming up on them from below and behind. Just prior to the moment of impact, the shark’s eyes roll back into its head. This is a protective reaction. Seals have big teeth and sharp claws. Like a raptor smashing talon-first into the spine of a rabbit, the shock of a great white’s initial strike is often enough to kill. In False Bay, this hit is also delivered with enough force to not only drive the prey completely upward out of the water, but to send the shark airborne along with it. Hence the name Air Jaws that has been applied to the hunting great whites in this part of the world.
But where to look to see the phenomenon, and how to observe a behavior that is as transitory as it is fantastic?
“Keep your attention near the horizon,” we were told. All very well and good, but drifting in a small boat in the middle of an enormous bay one sees an awful lot of horizon. We drifted and stared, stared and nibbled snacks. With each passing moment, the parade of departing seals moved farther and farther out to sea. Soon the island would be bereft of all but the youngest pups.
“There!”
At Monique’s excited shout, I turned sharply to my right. Off in the distance, a large gray-white shape was just falling back into the water. There was no mistaking the cause. A great white had taken a seal and having breached, was falling back into the water on its left side. The entire episode occupied a second, maybe two, of astonished time. Then, just like that, it was over. Eyes alight, adrenaline pumping, I looked over at Ron.
“Well, we got to see it, anyway.”
The only flush to his face came from the cold. Dejectedly, he held up a half-consumed muffin. “I was eating. I missed it.”
I felt terrible for him. Having come all this way, the long drive, the cold and soggy night—it just wasn’t fair. But that’s wildlife viewing. It never is fair or reasonable. A certain Australian tiger shark as silent as it was contemplative could attest to that.
The morning, however, was far from over, and our hosts had a surprise in store. I don’t know if they employ it on every trip, but they had a reputation to uphold, and they were not about to let a professional film crew depart without helping them to acquire the best footage possible. In the course of their extensive studies of great white shark behavior, Chris and Monique have developed a method of, if not ensuring a good shot or two, at least greatly improving the odds on behalf of the photographer.
In making their attack from behind and below, great whites rely on their excellent vision. Unable to catch a sprightly, far more nimble seal that’s able to turn on a sand dollar and dart off in any of three dimensions, they search for one that’s swimming or resting on the surface. This is a principal reason why surfers are sometimes attacked. From below, especially in murky water, a surfer or especially a boogie boarder sitting on his board with