Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [77]
The water erupted behind the boat.
With the decoy clamped in its jaws and its head and upper body facing toward us, the enormous great white came completely out of the water before slamming back in on its right side. It looked more like a whale breaching than a fish jumping. White water geysered in every direction as it smashed back into our wake. The noise of the colossal splash reached us even above the deep-throated hum of the boat’s engines. I gaped at the now calm patch of ocean that had been so briefly but violently shattered by the impossible leap. Had I actually seen what had just happened, or had I imagined it?
Standing nearby, Monique helpfully reconfirmed the stunning reality that had just transpired in front of me. “Did you get it?” she asked me when the cheering on the boat finally died down.
“What?” I turned to face her.
“Did you get it?” She indicated my camera. “The picture?”
I didn’t know. Retiring to the shelter of the boat’s small cabin, I rewound the tape. And there it was. It looked utterly unreal, as if I had imported a few seconds of footage from a television documentary. But I had indeed just seen a great white shark go completely airborne directly aft of the very boat on which I was still a passenger.
Subsequent to that one instant of experiencing Nature at her most spectacular, Ron and I would happily have returned to Simon’s Town, concluding our monthlong visit to South Africa on a note as high as any wildlife enthusiast could desire. Now that we had been granted the privilege of beholding a sight seen by only a few, we allowed ourselves to relax. If we saw another attack and breach, all well and good. It would count as a bonus. If not, well, we considered ourselves content. I had seen, with my own eyes, an airborne great white. I picked up a muffin.
Not even Chris or Monique could have predicted what happened next.
Like everyone else on board, I continued to watch the decoy. Occasionally, I would let the camera run, capturing yet more endless dull footage of dark water and our V-shaped wake. From time to time, I would take a bite of muffin or chew on a mouthful of crackers. The air was clammy and chill, but the cloud cover had finally broken for good. Above the bay, patches of blue sky struggled to assert themselves.
It is the times when Providence is not called upon that it often chooses to manifest itself most forcefully. I just happened to have the camera running.
I heard Monique let out an “Oh, my God!” This from Monique Fallows, who every year spends months at a time in the company of sharks, and whom you’d think would be jaded. There were gasps from the others on board.
Directly behind us, fifteen feet and more than a ton of great white had launched itself from the depths. Shooting straight up with the decoy in its mouth, it rose out of the water like a Polaris missile, seemed to hang motionless for a moment, and then did a complete flip before returning to the sea snout-first. It was the kind of jump a big game fish like a marlin might make—not a great white shark. I lowered my camera. As I did so, I happened to catch the eye of the visiting cinematographer.
Though from the time we had left the dock he had been genial enough, we had exchanged little in the way of conversation. He was on assignment, had work to do, and was understandably more involved with his equipment than his fellow passengers. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had actually seen him smile. And a wide smile it was, too.
“Got it?” I asked hopefully, echoing Monique.
He nodded. His tone was restrained, but he was unable to keep the elation from his voice. “Got it.”
So had I, with my little hand-held consumer video camera. It is a wonderful thing to be able to freeze-frame