Ten yards in front of me, a 14-foot great white shark churns the water into a pink foam as it chews basketball-size chunks of elephant seal from a fresh kill. The sheer violence of the attack is breathtaking. The tail thrashes the ocean for purchase, levering the head back and forth in a whipsaw motion. The serrated teeth carve out another 20 pounds of seal meat. It’s two in the afternoon and I’m having a great day at the office, better than most. Better than that seal to be sure.
I’m here filming the research the Monterey Bay Aquarium and Hopkins Marine Station of Stanford University are doing with white sharks. The day started at 6 a.m. and after a three-hour boat ride I was holding a 25-pound camera on a raised platform in a small skiff that rolls and bobs in a heavy swell. We’re about a hundred yards offshore of the Farallon Islands, 25 miles west of San Francisco, California. In the rear of the boat are Sal Jorgensen and Scot Anderson, two scientists who spend a month here each year luring great white sharks close enough to touch, and hopefully attach a scientific tag to. The sharks are longer than the skiff and weigh a ton or more.
Shark tagging in Northern California typically takes place in October and November, a collaboration between the Monterey Bay Aquarium and Hopkins Marine Station of Stanford University, next door to the Aquarium. Tagging focuses on three areas: the Farrallon Islands, Point Reyes and Ano Nuevo.
The objective is to learn more about the size of the white shark population in Northern California and its condition. A recent estimate put the number of white sharks in the area at less than 250. “The goal is to really understand how many there are, and whether that population is rising or falling,” says Randy Kochevar, Science Communications Officer at Hopkins Marine Station.”We have spectacular apex predators right here off our shores. But with such a small number, it doesn’t take a large perturbation in the environment to have a significant impact.”
Life Aboard the “Dinner Plate”
Yesterday was a complete bust, and today has been slow. Sal and Scot dictate a research paper to each other and I watch the ocean, trying to stay balanced on the rocking skiff. My attention is focused about 30 feet out on the water where a grey piece of carpet resembling a seal silhouette floats. Today’s faux seal is named “Scampi”, maybe in hopes that a tasty name will prove inspirational. The idea is that a great white will see it floating on the surface, mistake it for a real seal and strike. If that happens the shark is lured back to the boat and into tagging range without ever letting it bite the decoy. If it bites the decoy, the game is over since the shark will know it’s been duped.
Every few minutes what I’ve come to think of as “the shark detector” beeps a number at us. It’s detecting the electronic tags that we’ve attached to them. Every tagged shark transmits a different number. And there are plenty of sharks without tags as well. We are literally afloat in shark-infested waters. Great white sharks migrate around and at this time of year, our scientists estimate there might be up to a hundred sharks within a few miles of us. Which ought to be worrisome while drifting around in a tiny boat referred to as “The Dinner Plate” but that’s not what worries me. What worries me is screwing up at the critical moment.
With no warning, a huge dorsal fin and tail fin roll over on the decoy and it’s a scramble on the skiff since we are surprised by the sudden activity. Scot starts furiously reeling in the decoy, Sal makes ready with the tag and I try and keep track of it all while framing up shots. The shark dives under the boat. It is huge, with a head the size of a beer keg. We lose sight of it for moment, then it surfaces at the rear. Sal lunges with the tag, the shark thrashes the water with a three-foot tail and it’s gone. High fives all around. It would be the only shark we tag on this mission, but still a success.
Scot yells something about a predation. I ask what’s going on. He says, “Put the camera away, I just saw a natural predation and we’re heading over there.” Natural predation? Ah, a shark attacked a seal. I stuff the camera back in the bag and Scot jams the throttle forward toward whitewater and circling gulls. As we approach, I grab the camera and Scott directs me to line it up with the largest piece of floating seal. I hit the record button and listen to Scot count down 3-2-1.
He’s been at this long enough to know that the shark is circling under the elephant seal, rising toward it. Action! The camera is steady and rolling as the shark lunges out of the water with the seal in its mouth.
I’m lucky to be here to see it and to share it with others.
We’re saddened to announce that the young great white shark we released on October 25 off the coast of southern California has died. This is a very difficult day for all of us at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and for everyone who saw and cared about this animal.
Based on the shark’s behavior and overall condition prior to release, our white shark team had every confidence that he would do well back in the wild — as was the case with five other young great whites released from the aquarium.
Unfortunately, according to data from the tracking tag he carried, the shark died shortly after he was released.
"Our Husbandry team is unrivaled in its knowledge of young great white sharks, and I’m so proud of the passion and dedication they demonstrate each day," said aquarium Managing Director Jim Hekkers. "This is a difficult time for all of us –- and especially for the team members who devoted so much attention and care to an animal that had such a powerful impact on the attitudes of our visitors toward conservation of ocean wildlife."
While this is a setback, in the weeks to come, our white shark team will review its procedures and protocols to see if there are any changes we should consider so we can continue to do what we do best: give our animals exceptional care and, through our living exhibits, inspire visitors from around the world to care about –- and care for -– ocean wildlife.
Right now, while we are shocked and saddened by this loss of this shark, we remain fully committed to our white shark work.
Five other great white sharks have been successfully returned to the wild after spending periods between 11 days and six-and-a-half months at the aquarium. One other animal –- a small shark that fed only once during its 11 days on exhibit –- was also transported south to Goleta for release. Four other sharks were released in Monterey Bay.
Tracking data from all five sharks confirmed they survived their release, though one of the sharks died four months later in a fisherman’s net in Baja California.
Exhibit of young great white sharks is one element of Project White Shark, our work with research colleagues to learn more about white sharks in the wild as well as to inspire visitors to become advocates for shark conservation by bringing them face to face with sharks on exhibit.
Since 2002, we’ve tagged and tracked 47 juvenile great white sharks off southern California. Earlier this year, we were the lead sponsor of legislation enacted in California that outlaws the shark fin trade –- a major factor in the global decline of shark populations.
In the past decade, we’ve allocated nearly $2 million toward studies of adult and juvenile great white sharks in the wild –- research aimed at better understanding and protecting white shark populations.
This highly-spiced way to make mussels is a bit of a departure for those accustomed to mussels steamed with white wine and herbs. While the dish has bold flavor, it’s a mellow and balanced combination, well suited to the briny sweetness of the shellfish. Serve with lots of crusty bread to soak up the savory juices. Sweet paprika can replace the smoked paprika and pepperoni can substitute for the chorizo sausage for a milder dish.
Farmed mussels are a "Best Choice" because they’re raised in an environmentally responsible way.
An insider’s look at moving an apex predator from the ocean to the aquarium
I wake ten minutes before my alarm goes off — and my body and mind instinctively know that I have an epic day in store. I skip my normal morning adrenaline run and drive to Malibu Pier, arriving at 7:45 a.m. sharp, knowing that the coming hours will peak my endorphins. Waiting to greet a great white shark is not an everyday occurrence, after all.
By 10:30 a.m. the land-based team is getting restless. We’ve heard that the floor of the ocean net pen, home to the white shark for the past several days, is being lifted by our boat crew and dive team. That means the white shark should be arriving soon, but there is still no “chicken in the coop.” I bite my nails as the minutes pass until finally, at 11:11 a.m., we get the call: “The shark is on board!”
Whew! Everyone flies into action. The shark’s transport trough – the vehicle that will carry him down the pier, from boat to transport truck — is filled with salt water while the oxygen level is regularly monitored. The team walks briskly down the pier scanning the water for our boat, the Lucile, as two- to four-foot swells build on what had been a calm sea. All reports are that the swell will only grow in intensity for the next several days.
This is not welcome news.
When it’s two miles off shore, we spot the boat racing toward the pier. It’s essential that the crew time the operation when there’s a lull in the southern swells, so people and shark can safely get ashore. Fisherman and passersby gather to catch a glimpse of the action. On the far side of the pier dozens of surfers are hollering and inviting the waves to grow larger. Meanwhile the white shark team is muttering incantations to King Poseidon to pacify the great Pacific, even if only for a few moments, so they can get the shark on land.
The team senses a lull. “Here we go,” yells Joe Welsh, our associated husbandry curator who’s at the helm of the Lucile. I can feel everyone’s heart rate increase. The adrenaline is flowing and transport team coordinator Scott Reid leans over the boat while Manny Ezcurra, our lead shark curator, hands him one end of the stretcher that’s holding the shark. Manny jumps onto the landing, and takes the other end. Water is flowing out of the stretcher as the two navigate their way up a flight of wooden stairs to the mobile trough, holding protectively onto their precious package. The young male great white shark is raised in the air, reminiscent of a baby being baptized, and gingerly lowered into the trough.
“Lid Angela! Help lift the lid!”
I do what I’m told, waiting for my next order.
“The button, the button -– go hit the button at the crosswalk!”
As the team rolls trough and shark down the long wooden pier, I sprint to where it meets the Pacific Coast Highway, my mind absent of everything except getting the young shark across the street safely and quickly. I hit the button, once, twice…impatiently, five more times… in hopes of getting a quicker response from the mechanically programmed light.
“Bobby!” I yell across the highway to our transport truck driver. “Hit the button!”
“I already did!” he hollers back.
As I look behind me, I see our veterinarian, Dr. Mike Murray, and a couple of white shark biologists sprinting to catch up with the shark. They reach us, out of breath. Waiting for a green light has never felt so infinite, but at last it comes. We look left, then right, before racing across the highway; dozens of cars and even more eyes looking at this motley group pushing a wooden box across America’s most scenic highway, in the heart of Malibu in the middle of summer. I’m curious what they think of it all.
I watch our team of aquarists, curators; truck driver and veterinarian merge as a well-oiled machine. As they reach the transport vehicle, two men grab the ends of the gurney and hoist the great white shark up the large stairs in a stretcher while another opens the lid on the 3,200-gallon mobile life support transport tank (also known as the finabago) that will hold the shark for the drive north up to Monterey. The sling is pushed down into the water and the four-foot, seven-inch male shark swims in smoothly and freely, ready to explore his temporary habitat.
Now it’s essential that Dr. Mike, the aquarium’s veterinarian, is confident that the shark’s swimming pattern is consistent and relaxed before the team is cleared to drives him north. As a smile creeps across the doc’s face I hear myself take a deep breath. I’ve been unconsciously holding my breath since we crossed the highway. Dr. Mike’s face tells me everything I need to know without having to look through the finabago’s window myself.
“You want a peek?” he asks. Coolly but quickly I walk to the window and lift the heavy white lid. As the day’s adrenaline starts to leave my body I peer into a blue pool of clear water. In a moment, I’m eye-to-eye with the king of the ocean (well, at this size, maybe a prince).
“You are safe,” I whisper. “In a few months you’ll be released back into your wild habitat. Until then you’ll inspire tens of thousands of humans to protect you and your brethren.” He circles past me, his majestic, prehistoric and predatorial eye grazing past mine.
“Thank you,” I think deeply as I close the window and head toward the car.
“Time to go home,” I hear from behind me.
The truck heads north, Bobby at the wheel, Manny and Dr. Mike aboard to monitor the shark during the six-and-a-half hour drive.