Shark Story

I’m a newly minted SCUBA diver, so you can imagine how eager I am to explore this underwater world that until now had limited me to a minute or less at a time. You can also imagine how a newbie diver could get himself hurt. Well, don’t imagine, because I wasn’t diving when it happened. I was snorkeling.

Last Thursday my friend Dave and I HAD been diving, but had to abort 5 minutes in because air started to leak from his tank, and we couldn’t fix it. We swam to shore, removed our gear, and grabbed some lunch on the beach where his wife, my brother, sister-in-law and nephew were.

I was disappointed, of course, and bent on getting some enjoyment from the water, even though the visibility was about 6 feet. Still in my wetsuit (but no longer in my booties or gloves), I put on my mask and snorkel and went back into the water.

Yes, I had forgotten that the buddy system applies to snorkeling too.

I no longer had my weights, and now had to fight the buoyancy of my wetsuit to swim down. Still it was better than the super short and shallow dive from an hour earlier: I saw a large bat ray buried in the sand flapping his wings. He saw me and gracefully swam away. Among the scattered rock reefs I spotted rockfish and a sheep crab. Near one rock I was delighted to find a sand dollar. I picked it up and surfaced for air. With excitement I brought my prize to my mask for a look, but somehow the sand dollar had turned into a boring little stone.

One thing about the underwater world is that human eyes don’t belong there—not even when looking through a mask. Light refracts in a funny way, and your brain gets tricked.

I chucked the stone and immediately went down to look for the actual sand dollar, but the current must have moved me a few feet, and the visibility was too poor for me to find the old location.

How disappointing. I had found a pure, white piece of sea-symmetry and lost it! Sure, you can find them on the shore too but those ones are always dirty and broken. So in my stubbornness, I decided to keep searching for little rock reefs along the sea floor where I might find another sand dollar. Looking down from the surface through 8 to 12 feet of murky water meant that these reefs below only appeared as shadowy forms. I would take a deep breath, force myself down to inspect, and often come up empty-handed. But on my last plunge below, I was simply glad to come up TWO-handed.

Just like the other times, I swam down to check out a rock and hopefully find that elusive sand dollar. My approach meant better visibility with every foot, but the rock was still very much a rock, until in one split second it came alive and snapped my left hand in its mouth. I wish I could say that I took the opportunity to push farther and rip out the creature’s spine, but the truth is that I could do nothing but let out a quick underwater scream into my snorkel. And before I had time to pull my hand back, the thing had let go, apparently deciding I was too skinny for its caloric needs (my Shark Week savvy friends have eaten up the chance to share such interesting facts with me. Sharks can apparently detect in a 10th of a second whether or not their prey is worth eating; I thank God for making them that way). Anyway, I surfaced quickly, and then prayed before inspecting my hand. All digits remained! Plus many new features, like lacerations and punctures. The blood flowed freely and when I saw it my pulse beat to the rhythm of Jaws. Swim to shore and stop the bleeding! After a gasp or two, my medically trained sister-in-law wrapped my hand with her infant son’s little blanky (which is now in a landfill somewhere). I then had the lifeguards doctor it a little more with their kit.

My first theory blamed that bat ray I had seen. The dark head that had flashed at me looked about the same as the ray’s head. But there was a problem: rays don’t have teeth! So my next guess was “eel,” but I had never heard of a sand-dwelling eel with a head the size and shape of football—and the head was about all I could make out clearly in that water. That night, after getting cleaned up and stitched at Urgent Care in Hollywood, I used my 10 functioning fingers to surf Google for answers. The best bet is that it was an Angel Shark. They bury themselves in the sand and wait for prey, snapping at it in a tenth of a second. They will also bite a human hand or foot that gets too close.

I also thank God for making shark teeth razor sharp, since, like a scalpel, the wounds they inflict heal quickly (amputations excepted). My hand is looking and feeling much better, just one week later. I admit I’ve enjoyed the hype and press this foolish wound has earned (earned?) me. My students return on Tuesday, and I’m almost afraid my scars won’t be big enough to match the macho mystique of the story. Funny how vanity can be both harmed and served by a blemish.